6. SAM
CHAPTER 6
SAM
Every time I pull up in front of my grandparents’ farmhouse, a fresh wave of grief laced with guilt rolls over me. Gomer must feel it too, because the moment I turn off the engine, he squirms out of his harness and sets his jaw on my forearm, pressing heavily. After giving him a scratch behind the ears to let him know I’ll be okay, I hop out of the truck and open the back door so he can hop out.
Gesturing for Carlos to follow, I head around the porch to the side door to use the boot scraper before ushering him and my dog into the kitchen. Something’s simmering on the stove, so I know my grandmother must be around somewhere.
After yelling upstairs, I try the basement.
“Samuel? Is that you?” she calls from below. “I’ll be right up.”
But the moment she appears, she says, “Samuel, get that dog out of the kitchen.”
“Gran, Gomer is trained to be with me at all times.”
“You know I don’t like animals in the house.”
“I’ve seen your sheep in the living room.”
“Only when there’s a flood warning.”
“Gomer’s not a pet, Gran. He’s a service animal.”
“I think there’s a reason why he failed at that, and you know it. He’s not any smarter than his namesake.”
“Namesake?”
“Gomer Pyle. From the TV show?”
“Never heard of it.”
“I suppose it was on before you were born. In any case”—she marches to the screen door and opens it—“out, Gomer.”
After a quick glance at me, he skulks past her to flop down on the porch with a grunt.
Gran pulls the door closed and then turns a sweet smile on Carlos. “Samuel, are you going to introduce your guest, or are you going to make this man think I didn’t raise you right?”
“I’m Carlos, ma’am. Sam’s new boss.” Carlos offers both his hand and a smile that’s a bit too flirtatious. “Lovely home you have here.”
“Ethel Bedd,” she says, shaking his hand. “So nice to meet you. What happened to his old boss?”
“I might be getting transferred,” I say, unwilling to give in just yet, “to the Columbia and Greene Counties’ office.”
My grandmother’s smile widens. “Well, that’s wonderful. So you’ll be staying here?”
“No, I, uh… It might not happen, and if it does, it won’t be for several weeks.”
“Well, you let me know if that changes.” Her lips twist to the side. “I have two WWOOFers moving in later this month. I was going to put them in your old bedroom. But you could take the attic.”
“Since when do we have WWOOFers?” Even though my bro ther begrudgingly allowed me to hook him up with some Cornell Ag student interns over spring break, anytime I’d suggested the family bring in volunteer labor in exchange for room and board with a program like World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms, my ideas had been shot down. Just like all my plans for the farm.
“When Lia started setting up the new community market, I expanded my kitchen garden and canning operation. I need help, and we have the room.” She gestures vaguely upstairs. “So I signed up, and these girls are coming.”
“I wish you’d’ve talked to me first,” I said, struggling to keep my temper in check. “I could’ve gotten you set up with people who know what they’re doing. But of course, no one ever listens to my ideas, whereas anything Lia or Molly says goes.”
“We’re doing just fine, Samuel—which you’d know if you ever came home.” My grandmother would never raise her voice at me in front of a stranger, but her tone shifts just enough to cut.
“I’m sorry, Gran. I’ve just been?—”
“Busy,” she says, finishing for me. “I know you work hard. In any case, you are always welcome here.”
“I know, Gran. But it makes more sense for me to have a place near the main office.”
Her lips press together briefly, but she forces a smile as she turns to Carlos. “I’d feed you all lunch, but I promised I’d pick up Diane from the Crowders’ farm.”
“We ate at the diner. Just wanted to stop by and say hello,” I say before the name registers. “Who is Diane?”
“Your sister’s friend from college. She came to interview me abo ut the seed saving last week, and she stayed to make videos with some of my friends.”
A woman named Diane who’s interested in seeds? Could it be the same person? She didn’t say anything about doing interviews, but it’s not like we got into too much detail about work.
“Where is Colleen?” I ask, wondering if I can find out more.
My grandmother waves a hand in the air. “She went into town for something. I can’t remember what.”
“Excuse me, Gran. I’m just going to let her know I stopped by.” Stepping into the dining room, I mutter, “Since she’s the one who told me to.”
Me: I’m here. Where are you
Colleen: I had to do some errands.
Me: Do you have a photo of Diane
Me: The woman who is here interviewing people
Colleen: Why?
Me: Just curious
Colleen: Seriously?
Me: Do you have a picture or not
Colleen: Look at my Instagram. I posted a photo from a Vassar thing. It’s the two of us standing on either side of a cutout tree a month ago.
After swiping over to the app, I scroll through my sister ’s feed. A breath whooshes out of me when I find her. The woman I’ve dreamt about for months, the player I’ve missed battling on Trivia Crush, is here.
In Fork Lick?
If I weren’t the one driving this afternoon, I could maybe figure out an excuse to stick around until Diane returns. But if I am going to work with Carlos, I can’t skip out on him in the middle of the workday. Maybe it’s for the best. She probably hates me. And if, by some miracle, she doesn’t, I’d probably just screw things up anyway.
“It was great to meet you, Mrs. Bedd, but we’ve got to get to an appointment,” Carlos is saying as he and my grandmother join me in the dining room.
Feeling like I’ve been caught doing something naughty, I shove my phone in my pocket.
“At least come to Sunday dinner when you get back in town, sweetheart.” Her tone has softened, and my grandmother’s warm hand grips my forearm as she gives me a brief peck on the cheek. “Even if you’re not going to stay here. Your sister and brothers would love to see you.”
“Um, I have to check my schedule, but I might be able to get back this weekend.”
“Come if you can, honey. And you’re welcome too, Carlos. Anytime.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I might just take you up on that.” He inhales deeply and tips his head toward the stove. “Something tells me you’re a wonderful cook.”
“I get by,” Gran says, her cheeks pinking up. “Say hi to Baabara on your way out.”
On the front porch, after I call Gomer, Carlos asks, “Is Barbra your sister?”
“Baabara is my grandmother’s pet sheep,” I say, emphas izing the bleat in her name and pointing to the monstrosity of a shed as we pass it. “And that is her palace.”
“Oh. Impressive.” Hard to say if he’s too shocked by the turreted sheep cote or what, but Carlos doesn’t say anything else until we’re back in the truck, where he just gives me the address of his first afternoon appointment. After I’ve punched it into my phone and we’re on the way, he clears his throat. “You got a little testy with your grandmother there, son.”
“I know,” I admit, half my brain stuck on that photo of Diane. “It’s just so frustrating. They never, ever listen to me. Not when my grandfather was alive, and not now.”
“Hm. That does sound frustrating.” He shuffles through his bag, pulls out a file folder, and studies its contents.
“So, what? You’re not going to tell me what I should’ve done instead?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Isn’t that the point? Of me”—I swoop a hand in the air between us—“coming to work with you?”
He closes the file and looks out the window, but I doubt he’s really seeing the rolling hills lined with crops passing by. After an uncomfortably long silence, he says, “If you weren’t talking to your family, would you have said things any differently?”
“I’d keep my tone more level, but I’d still make the same suggestions—the ones I’ve brought up time and time again. Consider diversifying. Hops would be an excellent choice, especially with the grant support that’s on offer and the new laws limiting New York brewers to working with state-grown crops. But what do they do? Plant strawb erries because my brother’s girlfriend—who is a banker, not a soil scientist—thinks it’s a good idea.”
“It sounds like you may have skipped an important first step.”
“I tested the soil and water a long time ago. I know that?—”
“Not that step,” he says. “Did you ever ask your family about their goals for the farm?”
“Not in so many words. But it’s my farm too.”
“Are you the one putting in the work?”
“Not exactly, but it’s obvious what they— we —should do. It’s basic stuff… if the goal is to hang onto the farm, that is.”
Carlos nods as I continue to vent my frustrations with the choices my grandfather and now Ethan have made for the farm, as well as the many suggestions I’ve made for changes, all of which have been ignored. When I finally run out of steam, he’s silent for so long I wonder if I’m going to get fired or something. Finally, he clears his throat. “I can tell you’re a quick thinker. I imagine that your brain cycles through all the potential solutions to a problem, perhaps faster than you’re aware of. But as an outsider, you can never know all the variables. Even on your own family farm, if you’re not there on a day-to-day basis.”
“Sure, but I still?—”
Carlos holds up a hand to stop me before I can get going again. “I’m going to suggest that you make an effort to slow your own brain down. Ask what the client’s goals are. Listen before you speak. Take it all in. Go back to the office, come up with all the ways we can help them meet their goals, then present those to the client so they see all the po ssibilities and what investments they’ll have to make. Then, you let them come to their own conclusions.”
He pauses, and when I glance over, he raises his hands in the air and then lets them drop onto his thighs with a slap. “It’s the only way I know how to get buy-in.”
He lets me sit with this speech until we’ve pulled into the driveway of the farm we’re visiting and I’ve turned off the engine. Then he holds out a folder labeled with the farm’s name in block print. “If you like, you can start here.”
I open the folder, but the words swim on the page. I can’t seem to get past wanting to see Diane again. I mean, she might not even remember me. She probably won’t want to talk to me. But I still want to try. I never got a second chance with my grandfather. I’m not going to waste this one.
“Sounds like a plan,” I say to Carlos, closing the folder. But before I join him outside the truck, I tap out a text to my sister.
Me: Tell Gran I’ll be at Sunday dinner
Colleen: Yay! And I really hope you’re moving back. I miss you.
Me: Miss you too, Ree.
Dealing with my family at Sunday dinner is worth it if it means a chance to win over my ice-loving trivia queen.
Unfortunately, that’s not what the universe had in mind for me, because instead of staying in the Hudson Valley for the weekend, I get a call from my landlord that has me racing back to the place I’ve called home for the past six months: my apartment near the CCE Erie County offices. Instead of spending the weekend trying to woo Diane, I end up dealing with the aftermath of a burst water pipe in my ceiling.
Good news is I won’t have to break my lease to take the transfer. Bad news—or more good news depending on how you look at it—all the fancy suits I bought on Congento’s dime are toast. Along with most of my furniture and half my books.
Also, I completely forget about Sunday dinner until I wake up Monday morning to a string of texts from my sister.
Colleen: Sam, where are you?
Colleen: Are you coming to dinner or not?
Colleen: This is not good.
Colleen: Dammit, Sam. Call me. You’d better have a good reason for missing this.
Colleen: Are you dead? You’d better not be dead.
Groaning, I type out an apology.
Me: Sorry, sorry. I had to go back to Buffalo
Colleen: I thought you were coming to Sunday dinner.
Me: My apartment flooded
Me: Most of my stuff is ruined
Colleen: So are your chances with Diane.
Me: What are you talking about
Colleen: Did you or did you not have a thing with her?
Me: How do you know about that
Colleen: So the answer is yes!
Elton John starts up, and I realize I left my sister hanging. I don’t want to face the twin interrogation, but I do want to know what she meant about me losing my chance with Diane.
She starts talking the moment I accept the call. “The dinner you missed? It was one for the record books.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ethan and Alex got into a huge fight.”
“They were both there?” From what I’ve gathered, Alex hasn’t shown up for Sunday dinner—an important tradition for our grandmother—for years. Not that I have either, but at least I, like our youngest brother Jackson, have the excuse of living and working elsewhere. Alex lives just down the road.
“It was a total shitshow, Sam-Dan.”
When my kindergarten-teaching sister curses and uses my childhood nickname, I know things are bad. I no longer have a couch, so I lean on the kitchen counter as Gomer presses against my leg. “What happened?”
She groans. “Everything our brothers have been mad about for the past ten years got dredged up. Right in front of Diane. She made some excuses and left before anyone got up this morning. Gran’s really upset.”
Before I can ask if they know where she went, my sister adds, “You should’ve been here, Sam.”
I cough out a laugh. “Believe me, if I’d been there, it would’ve been worse.”
There’s a long silence, and I pull my phone from my ear, thinking that the call got dropped. It’s still live, so I put it on speaker. “You still there?”
“Sam-Dan, why do you hate us so much?”
Suddenly so tired I can barely hold up my head, I set my phone on the counter, take off my glasses, and slump onto my forearms. I used to tell my sister everything. Everything G-rated, anyway. But ever since I quit Congento and fought with my grandfather, I haven’t been able to.
“Sam?”
“I’m here.”
“I really do miss you, Sam-Dan.”
“I know. Me too.”
And then it becomes clear. It’s bad enough that Grandad died hating me. I don’t want the rest of my family thinking that I hate them. It’s probably a good thing that Diane left again, though, because mending my family’s fences is not going to be pretty.
“I have to finish out my assignment here, Colleen. But then I’m coming home.”