Chapter 10
ten
JOAN
The orchard was closed for Thanksgiving and the day after, so I didn’t technically need to be at work. But George had asked if he could see me on Friday, and I’d said yes. Ian was filming, and I’d told Sophia that George was fine with me for the day if she wanted to sightsee or explore.
The weather was chilly but not too cold, and by midday, the sun was shining brightly in a cloudless sky. So I texted Maggie a quick note and then found what I was looking for in the shed behind my parents’ house before making my way across the road to pick up George.
“We’re going fishing? Really, Joanie?” he asked when he saw me.
The “Joanie” was new. It seemed like he’d picked up the nickname yesterday from my family.
“Yep. I have all the gear we’ll need.”
He pumped a little fist in the air, and I laughed, happy to see him come out of his quiet, reserved shell so much lately. He seemed like a different kid when compared to the one who’d silently watched me work and rarely smiled.
We made our way across the yard and down the hillside.
Junior and Nola’s house overlooked the pond at Grandpappy’s, but several attractions were closed in the winter, so there were fewer tourists about.
All the u-pick operations were out of season.
Most visitors were up at the General Store or over by the Orchard Bake Shop.
My truck was parked on the worn tractor path right next to a cherry tree beside the water. There was a bench and a scattering of Adirondack chairs nearby as well.
I showed George the fishing rods I’d brought. There was a kid-sized one that Brady had used many years ago. It had a little case and was still in good shape.
We worked on casting for a while. It took some time, but the kid’s movements evened out. He was eventually able to coordinate swinging the rod and releasing the line.
“Okay, let’s go bait our hooks,” I said, and moved toward the plastic container of nightcrawlers I’d left on the bench.
I was mostly going to do this part on my own. Hooks were sharp and dangerous, and he could learn just by watching.
But when I glanced over to George, he was pale, staring at the worms with a stricken expression.
“That’s bait?” he asked, in a small voice.
Patting the seat next to me, I nodded. “Yeah. They’re worms. Fish like to eat them.”
“And you poke them on the hook like that? Alive?”
His horrified frown had me shifting in my seat. “Uh, yeah.”
I guess I’d never considered the life of an earthworm. But to a sensitive kid who loved animals, I could see how this might come as a shock.
Quickly, I thought about what I had in my truck.
The food pantry in town was always depleted following Thanksgiving.
Using most of their stores, they put together holiday meals for families in need.
They usually put a call out afterward to replenish their shelves.
I was planning on dropping off a load of canned goods the next time I was in town.
They were currently bagged up in the backseat of my truck.
“I have an idea,” I said. “Sit tight.”
George watched me carefully put the lid on the moving nightcrawlers before I hurried over to my truck.
A minute later, I returned to the bench.
Grateful for the pop top, I opened the vacuum-sealed can. “Fish like corn, too.”
“Okay,” the boy said, brightening a little.
He studied the way I carefully loaded each yellow kernel onto the length of the hook. When I was finished with both of our rods, I smiled at George. But he looked uneasy again.
“What’s the matter?”
“How does the fish get the corn off the hook?”
I hesitated. “The fish goes after the hook. The corn is bait.”
“Like a trick?”
“Well, yeah.” My voice was soft when I admitted, “That’s fishing, George. I’d planned on releasing whatever we caught. Right back into the water.”
“After you stab it in the mouth with a hook?”
“Yes . . . I suppose so.”
The kid looked so conflicted. I knew he didn’t want to hurt the fish. And while it wasn’t a dilemma that had ever kept me up at night, I could see how fishing might seem cruel.
“I have another idea,” I said.
And that was how we found ourselves standing on the edge of the pond, feeding canned corn to the fish in Grandpappy’s pond.
The murky brown water churned around the brim and catfish as they fought one another for a snack.
With sticky fingers and a big smile, I watched George laugh as he threw another handful.
I grinned too, even as the happiness in my heart was accompanied by an underlying sort of ache.
George had been through so much. And despite the loss he’d endured, he was still a good-natured, big-hearted kid.
He was smart and thoughtful, inquisitive and kind.
He cared about animals and people. He told everyone to have a nice day. What seven-year-old did that?
George deserved goodness and light. He was owed some normalcy from the universe. Some happiness. And if I got to be a part of that—even for a little while—I wanted it.
I’d take him hiking or teach him every single thing I knew about farming. I’d let him feed the fish instead of catch them. I’d do whatever it took to make this little boy smile, to be a small part of his life.
Later, when our hands were clean and we sat side by side on the bench watching some geese float in the distance, I said, “We should invite Ian to feed the fish.”
“That’s okay,” George said simply.
I’d noticed some friction there and was curious why the kid was standoffish with his uncle, a guy who was trying so hard.
Every time Ian caught sight of my friendship bracelets, he got this look on his face.
Part pride and part longing. It was painful to watch George ignore him, especially when the boy was so attached to me, someone who’d been a stranger until very recently.
George had been with Ian for nearly a year. I would have thought that, by now, their relationship would be a little less rocky.
“You don’t think Ian would like feeding the fish?” I asked, making sure my tone held no judgment.
“Nah. He’s a movie star. He has big, important meetings. He doesn’t have time for fun stuff like that. He doesn’t have time for—”
He cut himself off, but the “me” was loud in the stillness of the chilly afternoon.
With my gaze focused on the distance, I said, “Your uncle is pretty famous. I was nervous around him at first.”
I felt George’s attention on the side of my face. “You were?”
“Oh, sure. It’s weird to see someone in real life who’s been on a movie screen. Was it like that for you, too?”
“No. My mom never let me watch his movies. I didn’t know about all that until I came to live with him.”
I turned just enough to meet George’s gaze. “I bet that was real hard, moving to California.”
He nodded and looked down.
“But once I got to know your uncle,” I said, “I wasn’t as nervous. I realized he’s pretty silly sometimes. Not like a big, serious celebrity.”
George smiled a little and agreed, “He is pretty silly.”
“And don’t you see him every evening? Doesn’t he read you a bedtime story and tuck you in?”
I knew Ian did this because he’d told me it was the best part of his day. He didn’t always make it in time for dinner. And George didn’t always let him watch Wheel of Fortune, but the bedtime story was something Ian consistently made time for.
“Yeah, I guess,” George admitted. “He does the voices. He’s pretty good at it.”
Smiling, I told him, “The movie stuff is just your uncle’s job, like farming is mine. If you really needed him, George, he’d be there for you. He’d find a way. He loves you.”
“It’s a weird job.”
I nodded because that was true. I’d thought it enough that I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t agree.
“When I was growing up, I went to school with kids whose parents were lawyers and doctors and pharmacists and businessmen. But my dad was a farmer. My classmates had a lot more money than me, and my dad was always busy, always had dirt under his nails. But he’s the hardest worker I’ve ever known, and he’d do anything for his family.
So when kids used to tease me about Dad showing up in overalls and muddy boots to my chorus concert or my piano recital, I didn’t let it bother me. ”
Truthfully, I’d told those kids off and got in a number of fights in elementary school, but I wasn’t going to mention that.
“He was my dad, and I loved him. I was proud of the work he did because it put food on our table and a roof over our heads.”
I shifted on the bench to face George. He mirrored my pose.
“Doesn’t Ian take care of you?” I asked. “Buys those flavor-blasted Goldfish you like and those Spider-Man pajamas that are your favorite? Made a room and a space for you?”
“Yeah,” George whispered, and my heart nearly broke.
“I know your life changed when your mom—when you came to live with Ian. And none of that is fair. But Ian’s life changed, too. He loves you, and he’s working hard to make sure you always have a safe, stable life with him.”
George was quiet. His little brows pushed together thoughtfully. Then he finally asked, “Did kids really use to make fun of you?”
“Yep.”
“I went to a school in California, but kids picked on me, too. Uncle Ian said I didn’t have to ever go back there.”
I nodded, letting that knowledge wash over me. Of course, Ian would be protective. Maybe hiring a private tutor like Sophia seemed outlandish to some people, but not to Ian, whose nephew had been struggling.
I was sure the situation with George’s arrival had been tumultuous and disorienting, but Ian had stepped up and taken control, simplified the schooling situation, and protected his nephew at the same time. I could respect that decision. Admire it, even.
Sometimes being the bigger person didn’t count for anything. Especially when someone you loved was hurting. Ian had the means to make that one problem go away, and he had.
I tapped George on the knee. “That was your uncle taking care of you. And he brought you here to Kirby Falls so he could be close to you while he works.”
Realization seemed to dawn across his features as he looked up at me. “Yeah, he did bring me here. Gloria wanted me to stay in California with Miss Sophia.”
Gloria.
I opened my mouth to get a last name out of the kid, but before I could, he shifted gears suddenly, the way only a child can. “My mama was a lawyer. She helped people who couldn’t stand up for themselves.”
George rarely mentioned his mother. I didn’t want to interrupt by demanding Gloria’s name and address so I could pay her a visit.
“That sounds like it was important work,” I said gently.
“Yeah.” He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment.
“Your uncle has an important job too because it lets him take care of you and Sophia and Darren—”
“And Eddie J,” the kid interrupted.
I frowned. “Who’s Eddie J?”
“He’s the best,” George gushed. “He’s Ian’s assistant, but he lives in California and couldn’t come with us.”
“Well, it sounds like you guys are a team. You and Ian and Sophia and Darren and Eddie J.”
“Yep.”
I noticed George didn’t feel the need to correct me and add the infamous Gloria to the list, whoever she was. I needed to ask Ian about her.
“Just like you’re a team with your family,” George said.
“That’s right,” I agreed.
“The orchard team,” he said, and then looked at me very seriously. “Can I be on your team, too?”
I didn’t think I could swallow around the tightness in my throat, so I didn’t bother. Just croaked out, “Yeah, George. Of course you can.”
He grinned wide, and I could tell he had another loose tooth. “Because I’m your assistant farmer.”
“No, because you’re my friend and a farmer in training.”
“Thanks, Joanie. Let’s go feed some more fish.”
The boy bounded up happily like he hadn’t just taken a wrecking ball to my heart.
That evening, I went home and dug a hole in my backyard, churning up the ground and releasing a can of worms back into the soil where they belonged.