Chapter 13
Walker stood still on the wooden dock and surveyed the odd sight in front of him.
He’d never seen a cranberry bog before. Grammy Wilson’s bog was situated between forest, lake, and hayfield and was currently dry.
The cranberry vines spread out on either side of the path in glossy, low tangles, their leaves deep green and waxy.
Here and there amongst the foliage, the berries were a pale pink.
“They’re not red,” he said, disappointed.
“Not yet.” Grammy tapped one gently with the tip of her finger.
“We’ll start harvesting in September.” She shaded her eyes and looked toward the forest of dark spruce.
“When I was a little girl, my dad and I would go out to our bog before breakfast. The mist was so thick you could pretend you were the only people left in the world.”
“Sounds peaceful.”
“It was.” She gestured around them. “Still is, even without Dad.”
A grasshopper sprang from the vines and landed on Walker’s boots. He froze. Normally, he’d shake it off, but the quiet of the moment kept him still.
“Don’t move,” Grammy whispered, delighted. “Oh, I love the little grasshoppers.”
“I won’t,” he promised, smiling down at the small bug. The insect flexed, considering him for a moment, then bounced away into the green. “Does it hurt them? Flooding the bog?”
Grammy shook her head. “No, dear. They like the water, and it’s necessary. We flood in the fall so we can harvest. It makes the berries float. In a month, this will look like a proper cranberry bog.” She looked down at the ripening fruit. “Right now, they’re busy becoming what they’re meant to be.”
Walker rolled one between his fingers. It was firm and cool. “They’re lucky. They know what they’re supposed to be.”
She laughed, startling a blackbird from the reeds of the nearby lake. “Yes, they do. Sour if picked too early, but worth the wait if given the time they need. Maybe a bit like you.”
“Hey,” he said, laughing. “I’m in my prime.”
She reached over and patted his cheek. “Maybe, but you’re still of two minds, aren’t you?”
He pretended not to know what she meant, and they walked on. The planks creaked softly beneath their weight. In the distance, a tractor idled near a hay field, low and steady. Gramps waved to them before getting back to work.
“Here we go, then. We need to check for pests.” Grammy stepped off the plank path and into the bog without hesitation.
Walker hesitated only a second before following. The softness of the vines underfoot surprised him. “I’m not hurting them, right?” he asked, worried.
“Don’t stomp,” Grammy said without turning. “They’re tougher than they look, but they don’t like being bullied.”
He adjusted his steps, lifting his boots more carefully. The cranberries nudged against him, tapping his shins.
They stood together, looking out over the stretch of green. He tried to picture it as a field of red, ripe berries, ready to be harvested. “Can I come back when they’re red?”
“Of course,” Grammy answered with a smile, eyes soft. “You’re welcome here anytime, sweet boy. Now, let’s get to work.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They worked quietly together for a while, looking over the flowering vines. Walker had no idea what he was looking for, but Grammy would occasionally point to a weed, and he’d pull it out before tossing it in the basket he carried.
“Do you do this every day?”
“Twice a week. I have a routine for each day, just like you, young man. Monday and Friday, I care for the bog and gardens; Tuesday through Thursday, I work in the family’s store; Saturday, I nose around my children, making sure they’re not making a mess of things; and Sunday is family time.”
“Don’t you get tired? I thought you were retired.”
“At my age, work is either your prison or your peace. For me, it’s my peace. It keeps me happy and sane.”
“I’m afraid of losing that,” he whispered. “The military fits me. I know what I’m doing each and every day.”
“If you leave, you’ll create a new routine.” She huffed and pointed out another weed. “It will be hard going from seeing the world as a straight line. Someone points, and you go. It’s easier. Eventually, though, you’ll have to be the one pointing for yourself.”
He sighed. “I like straight lines.”
Grammy chuckled. “Real life isn’t straight lines. You don’t have a single road to travel on. It’s more like a garden.
“A garden?”
“Everything’s wild and has a mind of its own. Growth is quiet, not loud or dramatic. You can’t force your plants to grow faster. You water them, you tend them, and you wait. Sometimes it will surprise you with how quickly it grows, but most of the time it takes ages.”
“That sounds complicated.”
“It is.” She gently smacked his arm, laughing. “Do you like tending to this bog?”
Walker smiled slightly. “Yeah, it’s peaceful, and I like spending time with you.”
“That’s all life is. Tending to what’s around you.” She smiled at him, eyes full of kindness. “In one of your emails, you said the best part of the military for you was helping folks, remember?”
He nodded and recognized a weed, quickly pulling it out. “A couple of years ago, my unit got to help rebuild a bridge for a village. It was the fastest path for them to reach a water source for their crops, so it was really important.”
“You did good.” Grammy bent and examined a vine. “That’s what I mean about tending to what’s around you. You just have to be kind, help where you can, and take care of yourself. If you see a weed, pluck it out. If there’s an injured vine, nurse it back to health.”
“What if I make mistakes?” He asked.
Grammy’s laugh echoed across the bog. “Oh, you will. We all do. Maybe you won’t recognize a weed right away, and let it flourish in your garden. Eventually, you’ll know its true nature. You just need to learn to do better after the mess-up. That’s how everyone learns.”
“So, mistakes aren’t the end?”
“Nope. They’re learning experiences. The end only comes when you stop tending to your garden.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“Oh, it is simple. It’s just not easy.” She patted his cheek again. “Very few things are. Now, after we finish here, we’re going to visit my granddaughter Janelle’s greenhouse. She’s going to show you how to tend to the flowers she grows. They sell well this time of year.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Walker crouched behind the kitchen island in a stranger’s house, trying not to laugh. Across the room, Janelle stood on a chair, carefully adjusting the last piece of fishing line.
“Is it too much?” she asked, head tilted in consideration.
Her curly brown hair was gathered atop her head, and she wore leggings, mud-covered work boots, and a large T-shirt printed with the words Sometimes I wet my plants.
Her purple cat-eye style glasses gave her a vintage look.
Grammy’s granddaughter was an odd one, to say the least, and Walker absolutely, one hundred percent loved her.
“I have no idea what we’re doing,” he finally answered her, shrugging.
“It’s not enough,” she answered, humming to herself. “Malcolm Reed spent years pranking us Wilsons without our knowledge. Do you know how many times I got blamed for one of his jokes?”
“I do not.”
“This is basically community service.”
“Sure.”
Janelle climbed down and put the chair back where it belonged.
“Tomorrow, you can help me switch up the plants in my cousin’s flower bed.
Right now, there is beebalm next to Noah’s hosta plants.
I’m going to sneak in a fern. It will look horrible.
” She cackled. “Of course, I’ll fix it next week, but until then, he’ll have to live with it. ”
“I’m not sure that’s the prank you think it is.”
Janelle gave him a pitying look. “You’re new to this, Walker. Don’t worry. Big sister will help you learn the way.”
“I’m older than you. Plus, Grammy told you to show me how to tend to the flowers the store sells. Not whatever this is.”
She ignored him and surveyed their work.
The living room lights were off except for a single lamp in the corner.
The coffee table had been moved slightly, so it would feel off to poor Mal.
On the couch sat a life-sized figure made of pillows and blankets, dressed in an old hoodie.
A baseball cap shaded its “face,” and under the brim, Janelle had taped a printed photo of a screaming squirrel.
To top it off, a Bluetooth speaker was hidden behind the curtains, queued to play a low, ominous whispering sound effect, and tied to the front door handle was a thin fishing line that ran all the way to Janelle’s hand.
The lock clicked.
They both froze.
“Positions,” Janelle whispered, ducking behind the island with Walker.
The door creaked open. A visibly pregnant man stepped inside, juggling a grocery bag and his phone.
“I love you too,” the man said into his phone. “I’ll see you tonight.” He tucked his phone into his pocket and looked around. “Why is it so dark? I thought I left the light on.”
He nudged the door closed with his foot. The fishing line went taut in Janelle’s hand.
Mal took two steps forward and stopped. “Why is the table over there?”
Janelle shook with silent laughter, making Walker shake his head.
Mal squinted at the couch. “Is someone there?”
Janelle pressed a button on her phone. From the curtains came a low, distorted whisper: “Maaalll.”
Mal dropped the grocery bag, and limes rolled across the floor. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Very funny.”
The whisper came again, slightly louder.
“Maaalll.”
Mal’s gaze locked onto the figure on the couch. “Cain, honey? Is that you?”
Silence.
He took a cautious step closer.
Janelle waited until he was right in front of the couch. Then she yanked the fishing line. The front door slammed shut behind him.
Mal screamed. Not a dignified shout, but a full-body shriek. At the same time, Janelle hit play on the speaker at full volume. The whisper turned into a cacophony of doom.
Mal spun toward the couch.
The squirrel stared back at him.
There was a long, stunned silence.
“What the fuck?” he said softly, looking around the room.
Walker collapsed onto the floor laughing, and Janelle joined him.
Mal stood there, breathing hard, hand on his chest. “You absolute gremlins.”
“You screamed,” Janelle said, wheezing.
“I did not scream.”
Walker sat up, wiping tears from his eyes. “You hit a pitch only dogs could hear.”
Mal looked down at the scattered groceries. Then, very calmly, he walked to the couch and picked up the squirrel photo.
“You know,” he said, “I was going to refrain from pranking the Wilsons now that Gramps knew about the other half of his family. And you, Walker.” He arched a brow. “Yes, I know who you are. I was going to leave you and Fernando be. You’re Wilson adjacent, but I was going to be kind.”
Walker and Janelle froze. “You were?” Janelle asked carefully.
Mal nodded. “Now, though. It’s on.”
“For me?” Walker asked, pointing at himself.
“Not quite.” Mal slowly tore the squirrel photo in half. “For both of you.”
The silence stretched for a moment.
“Mal,” Janelle said, chuckling nervously. “Let’s not do anything we can’t undo.”
Mal smiled slowly. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, picking up the scattered groceries. “It won’t hurt.” He paused. “Too much.”
Walker and Janelle exchanged a look. “Lock our doors tonight?” he suggested.
“Definitely,” Janelle agreed.
From the hallway, Mal called out, “By the way, I’ll be telling Grammy about this.”
“Shit,” they said together. They both ran for the door at the same time.