Chapter 18
Walker grinned as he drove Fernando’s tiny car into Hobson Hills. His omega looked at peace again, and Beans was happy with his head out the back window. As was Pug. The October air had a bite to it, sharp and clean.
“Tomorrow, I want to go to the bookstore with Valentina and Beans, then get a cinnamon roll at Zoe’s place.”
“Deal,” Walker agreed easily. “Maybe with Janelle, too. I think she’s one of my people.”
Fernando smirked. “She is. You, her, and Pug will get into so much trouble.”
“She’s been thinking of another prank for Mal.”
Fernando shook his head. “When will you all learn?”
“Never.”
They only had a couple of days in Hobson Hills since they drove this time, but it had been worth it to bring Beans and Pug.
“Are you sure Grammy wanted us both out to the cranberry bog today?”
Walker nodded. “We’re going there first thing. She wants to show us something, and I want to see the berries now that they’re ready to harvest. Maybe I’ll even get to help her some.”
Soon, they pulled into the small gravel space next to the bog. Grammy and Gramps were already there, standing together on the dock, snuggling.
The cranberry bog stretched out like a dark red lake beneath the sun. The forest nearby whispered secrets as the wind blew through the golden leaves, and he could see a small, old house close by in the trees.
“This is beautiful,” Fernando said softly, eyes wide with awe. “I see why you like the bog.”
They walked together to the docks, Beans excited to be out of the car. The large puppy ran to Gramps and Grammy, tail wagging, as he begged for pets.
“Oh, you’re a good boy, aren’t you?” Gramps asked, kneeling down to properly scratch Beans’s sides.
Beans grinned and wiggled as if to say, Of course, I am a good boy, Gerard. Now, get to scratching, sir.
Grammy shook her head and tossed waders to all three of them. “Nice to see you, Pug. Now, let’s get to work. These berries won’t harvest themselves.”
Gramps snuck her a look, then quickly scampered away with Beans. “I’ll just take this pup for a walk. He’s been in the car a long time.”
“So have I,” Pug said, giving their retreating figures a longing look.”
Grammy gave them a stern look. “Now, we have work to do before I show you something special.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they all said, giving small salutes.
She laughed, then instructed them on how to harvest the berries. A light fog clung low over the bog, turning the whole field into a soft, silver dream. The wooden boards creaked under their boots as they hurried behind Grammy.
“Slow down, slow down,” She laughed, adjusting her wool hat. “Cranberries won’t run away.”
“They look like they’re floating,” Pug said, leaning over the edge of the flooded bog.
The water was speckled with red as thousands of tiny crimson berries drifted on the surface like scattered jewels.
“That’s the trick,” Grammy said. “They float. That’s how we gather them.”
She stepped carefully into the shallow water, her tall rubber boots making gentle ripples. In her hands was a long wooden rake with curved teeth.
“First,” she said, holding it up, “you loosen the berries from the vines.” She dipped the rake into the water and gently combed through the plants beneath the surface. The water trembled, and more berries popped free, bobbing up to join the others.
“What the frick?” Fernando gasped in delight. “They’re popping.”
Grammy grinned. “That’s the sound of October.”
Walker crouched down and poked one berry. It drifted away slowly. “They’re so red.”
“Because they’re finally ready,” Grandma said, giving him a knowing look. She handed Fernando a rake. “Your turn.”
Fernando waded beside her, tongue stuck out in concentration as he copied the motion. More berries floated up, and soon the water was crowded with berries.
Grammy pulled a floating boom, a long yellow barrier, across the bog, guiding the cranberries together into a thick red cluster. “Now we herd them,” she explained. “Just like sheep.”
Pug laughed. “Berry sheep.”
With long nets, they slowly pushed the berries toward a pump at the edge of the bog. The machine hummed softly, sucking the floating fruit into a large crate.
Pug picked one up and held it carefully. “Can we eat them?”
Grandma chuckled. “Sure. Go ahead and give it a try.”
He took a bite and immediately scrunched up his face. “That’s so sour. Disgusting. How could you do this to me, woman?”
Walker and the others burst into laughter. “Serves you right,” Walker said, shoving his friend.
“That’s why we make sauce,” Grammy said, chuckling. “And juice. And pies.”
The fog began to lift as the sun climbed higher, lighting the bog so the cranberries glowed like rubies across the water.
Grammy leaned on her rake and looked out over the bog. “My Dad showed me this same thing,” she said softly. “One October, years ago.”
Walker looked up from where he worked. “Thank you for showing us this. It’s so peaceful and straightforward. I love it.”
Grammy smiled. “That makes me very happy, sweet boy.”
Water lapped gently against the rubber waders as they moved slowly through the bog, their scoops pushing floating cranberries into long red ribbons.
Walker tried to keep up with Grammy, though her pace surprised him. For someone in her seventies, she moved through the water like she'd been doing it all her life. Which, he supposed, she had.
“Careful with the scoop,” she said, glancing over to Fernando. “You go too fast, and you’ll just push them away.”
Walker adjusted his grip on the wooden handle and dipped the scoop into the water. He pulled it toward him slowly, watching the berries tumble into the wire basket.
“Good job, Walker. You’re a pro at this.” Grammy patted his shoulder.
“Really?” He smiled wistfully. “I could do this all day.”
“That’s longer than my grandkids ever lasted,” she said with a chuckle. “They help because they have to, but they don’t love it as you do.”
“Maybe they won’t mind if I help you now,” he said. “We’re moving here, you know.”
Grammy hid a smile. “Gerard told me.”
A gust of wind rippled across the bog, sending the floating cranberries shifting like tiny red marbles. They worked for a while in comfortable silence. The scrape of scoops and distant chatter from Fernando and Pug drifted across the water.
Finally, Walker said, “Did you enjoy doing this when you were a kid?”
“I did, through all the tough times and good,” she replied.
“Dad and I would tend it, then in the fall, family came out to help.” She scooped another row of berries, guiding them into the boom.
“They didn’t complain, though,” she added.
“Back then, this meant Thanksgiving pies and keeping the farm running another year.”
Walker nudged a cluster of berries toward her line. “Can I help each fall? After this year, I’ll have a lot more free time.”
“Well,” she said, “someone’s gotta keep the tradition alive.”
Walker scooped another basketful of cranberries, watching them shine deep red against the gray water. “Maybe I will.”
She smiled but didn’t look at him, just kept working. “That would make me very happy.”
After a while, about half the berries had been harvested. Grammy looked over them proudly. “You three did a very good job. Now, I think it’s time I show you my surprise.”
“Is it more work?” Pug asked, snickering. “Walker said you all stayed busy in Hobson Hills, and I’m starting to believe it.”
“Eh.” Grammy shrugged. “It kinda is more work.”
They climbed back onto the dock and took off the waders, leaving them in a wet pile. Walker fully intended to come back and finish the harvest.
“This way,” Grammy said, walking toward the house in the forest.
The building sat alone at the edge of the cranberry bog, looking like an exhausted grandparent.
Its gray wooden siding had long ago lost whatever paint once protected it, leaving the boards silvered and rough from years of wind and rain.
A narrow porch wrapped around the front, its railings crooked, one post braced by a weathered plank that looked almost as old as the house itself.
It was still picturesque, though. The cranberry vines stretched out in long red carpets across the low fields, their color deep and dark in the fading afternoon light, and behind the house, tall pines and maples stood close together, their leaves halfway through turning.
Rust-colored maple leaves drifted lazily down, gathering along the porch steps and across the packed dirt path that led from the bog.
The wind carried the smell of damp earth and cold water, the perfect autumn scent.
“The inside is a lot nicer,” Grammy said, opening the door. “Come take a look.”
Inside, smooth hardwood floors gleamed. A large living room, kitchen, and dining area lay open. The appliances looked brand new, shining silver. The counters were white with dark, swirling marble tops, and a small kitchen island sat in the middle of the space. A stack of papers lay there.
“There’s a bathroom at the back,” Grammy said, leading them through. “Come look upstairs.”
One spacious room with a private bathroom was on one side, and two smaller rooms with a connecting bathroom were on the other.
One upstairs window of the house hung slightly open, its screen rattling faintly whenever the wind picked up. The glass panes were uneven and old, warping the view of the bog beyond them so the red fields seemed to ripple even when the air was still.
The place had the quiet of age. Somewhere that had seen many seasons come and go. Beyond it all, the cranberry bog stretched toward the hayfield, while the old house kept its silent watch at the edge of the field.
“Wow,” Fernando said, looking around. The inside is gorgeous, Grammy. You all did a really nice job fixing it up.”
“We were motivated with love.” Grammy smiled softly. “Mateo, Abel, and Valentina helped a lot, too.”
Fernando snorted. “I can see why Mateo and Abel would help, but Valentina doesn’t do manual labor if she can help it.”
“She wanted you and Walker to have a nice home.”
Walker and Fernando both froze in place, staring at Grammy.
Pug started laughing. “I knew it! This is great. The baby can have this room, and I’ll take the other when I come to visit. Beans will really like it here. He can do his business all over the place.”
“You’ll sell us this house?” Walker asked, surprised. He had money saved up so they could do a down payment easily. “How much are you thinking?”
“Zero.” Grammy shrugged. “It’s been here longer than Gerard, and I have. No one in the family was interested in it, but I wanted to keep it just in case. And here we are. I have a new grandson who needs a home and who happens to like working in the cranberry bog.”
“Grammy,” he said, shocked.
Fernando was already wiping his eyes. “Really? I’ll help in the bog too when you need me, Grammy.”
She shook her head. “Nope. I’ll be helping you two. The bog comes with the house. You can provide berries to Farm Fresh and sell them at the farmer’s market every weekend in the fall. I usually make a tidy little sum. It will be a nice supplement for you two.”
“Grammy,” Walker said again, tears filling his eyes.
“You’re family now, Walker.” She hugged him close, and he got that mysterious warm feeling again. He knew what it was now. It was love.
The next day, Fernando left Grammy and Walker in the cranberry bog. The two got along a little too well, if he was being honest. Walker might pick up some bad habits.
Fernando fought a grin.
The middle school auditorium smelled faintly of dust, old curtains, and fresh paint.
Ms. Bautista stood at the edge of the stage holding a clipboard while a dozen theater students sat scattered across the first few rows.
Some leaned across the seats talking, a few were already flipping through scripts, and one kid in the back was trying to balance a pencil on his upper lip.
"Alright, alright, settle down," Ms. Bautista called, clapping twice. Her voice echoed through the empty theater.
The chatter slowly faded.
"I have someone I want you all to meet." She turned toward where he stood in the wings and gestured.
Fernando stepped out from behind the curtain, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the size of the room. He wore jeans and a faded band T-shirt, and carried a stack of folders awkwardly pressed to his chest.
"This," Ms. Bautista said, smiling, "is Mr. Medina. He’ll be teaching English next year, but for now, he's going to be substitute teaching and helping out with the theater club."
Fernando lifted a hand in a small wave. "Hi."
One of the seniors in the front row squinted at him. "Helping how?"
"Everything," Ms. Bautista said immediately. "Sets, rehearsals, tech week, costume runs, the occasional emotional breakdown."
A few students laughed.
Fernando chuckled nervously. "Hopefully not my emotional breakdown."
"No promises," someone muttered from the back. Fernando recognized the boy Valentina had a crush on.
Oh, we’ll be spending a lot of time together, he thought, maniacal laughter filling his mind.
Ms. Bautista continued. "Mr. Medina just graduated from university, where he minored in theater. He was brave enough to volunteer his afternoons with you, chaos goblins."
"Hey!" a girl called out.
"Accurate though," Valentina’s crush agreed, shrugging.
Fernando stepped forward a little, still clutching the folders. "I did a lot of stage management and lighting in college. I also built sets, painted backdrops, and once had to fix a prop door five minutes before opening night."
"Did it work?" Valentina’s crush asked.
"Barely."
That got a few more laughs.
Ms. Bautista nodded toward the stage. "He's going to help us with this year's winter and spring shows, which means you'll be seeing him a lot."
The boy with the pencil raised his hand without removing it from his lip.
Ms. Bautista sighed. "Yes, Trevor."
The pencil dropped. "Does he sing?"
Fernando blinked. "Uh… not well. I usually stay backhouse." Gigi and Nolan were the ones who liked acting, singing, and dancing. Well, he liked it, but wasn’t exactly great at it.
Trevor leaned back in his seat. "Good. Less competition."
A girl with a script grinned. "We'll make him sing by February."
Fernando looked at Ms. Bautista. "Is that… a thing that happens?"
"Oh, absolutely," she said cheerfully.
The students started murmuring again, but this time with curious energy.
Ms. Bautista clapped once more.
"Alright. Welcome Mr. Medina properly by not scaring him off on day one."
Trevor raised his hand again.
"No more questions," she said.
Trevor lowered it slowly.
"I was gonna ask if he believed in ghosts," the boy muttered.
Ms. Bautista groaned.
Fernando glanced up toward the dark catwalks above the stage. "Should I?" he asked.
Half the theater kids immediately started talking at once.