Getting Somewhere (18 page)

“No, really. Look. See? It's to my parents.” Lauren steps around to the side of the bed, waves the envelope in Jenna's face. “Okay, I did put a note in there for Jason, not that they're ever going to actually give it to him, but obviously I couldn't say anything to get either of us in trouble since they're going to read it first. I just can't see what the big deal is. Nobody is going to get mad at you anyway, even if Grace caught you. You're her little fave, right? She really does hate my guts, and she's always watching me like a hawk, though maybe that's about something else. The point is, I probably wouldn't have been able to mail it myself if I'd gone anyway. Please? I'll . . . I'll do a work shift for you or something.”

Jenna laughs. “Like you actually do your own.”

“Okay, but this is really important. I'm just going to feel so much better, be able to relax and stuff, you know? If I know they aren't all worried about me.” Lauren is watching Jenna carefully, sees her beginning to soften.

“This is total bullshit, Lauren. Just so you know I know. When did you ever give a fuck about your parents or if they were worried about you? But what I need right now is you out of my face. So, I'll take it. Okay? I don't know why, but I'll try to mail your stupid letter.
Try
, hear that? I'm not going to go out of my way. If it doesn't work out, you'll just have to do it yourself.”

“Okay. God, thanks Jenna. I really appreciate it. And I'm serious. I'll pay you back.”

“Whatever.”

Lauren is almost out the door when she remembers something. “Hey, I've seen you talking to Cassie. Is she your new little friend?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Lauren is a bit taken aback at the malice in Jenna's voice, tries to lighten her tone.

“I want to know what happened to her, why she's here. Has she told you?”

“No, and I wouldn't tell you even if she had.”

“Ah, so you want to keep the secret all for yourself. What do you want for it?” Lauren isn't sure why she wants to know so badly, but suddenly she really does. Plus, she hates the idea that Jenna—or anyone—might know something important that Lauren doesn't.

“Lauren, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I know that's why you're hanging around with her. What other reason could there be? Would you tell me if I gave you some little white goodies?”

“What?”

“Come on, Jenna. Where do you think Sarah got them?”

“Okay, Lauren. I don't want to hear anything about this.”

“You don't want to hear about the real reason Sarah is supposedly ‘sick,' or you won't trade your spying on Cassie for some awesome addies for yourself?”

“Either one. Now get out or I'll narc you out.”

“Oh no, you won't. Then you'd get precious Sarah into trouble, too. Maybe I'll just have to find out Cassie's secret myself. Maybe you're just not having any luck getting it out of her because nobody in her right mind would ever trust someone like you.” And Lauren slams the door and scoots down the hall before Jenna can propel herself off the bed.

L
AUREN IS RIGHT
about one thing. Cassie doesn't trust Jenna. Not anymore. She's been in the bathroom all this time and has heard the whole thing.

SATURDAY, JULY 7

JENNA THOUGHT WAKING AN HOUR OR TWO EARLIER
than usual wouldn't make a difference, but she had a hard time getting up. Grace tells her they will get coffee at the Dunkin' Donuts on their way to the market.

Jenna has tasted coffee before and didn't like it, but she doesn't tell Grace that. Even so, Grace orders both cups with cream and sugar, and Jenna guesses that is the way you camouflage the horrible bitter taste of the stuff. She does like the warmth of the cup in her hands, the feeling of the liquid going down her throat.

Once they arrive at the market, Jenna is immediately awake. They have gone from driving for what felt like endless miles, barely passing a single car, through the seemingly abandoned town, streetlights still glowing eerily in the half light of dawn, to a thrumming bustle of activity. There are people everywhere, all in a hurry but smiling and friendly, waving and yelling greetings, stopping to talk with arms loaded. The tables and tents are already set up, and apparently all the farmers have assigned spots where they back their trucks up and unload their wares. After Grace expertly backs into her spot, Jenna opens her passenger door slowly so as not to bump the neighbor's truck and sidles down between the two.

They don't talk much as the crates are unloaded from the truck, placed in stacks two high around the inside perimeter of their U-shaped booth space. Once everything is unloaded and a selection of each item laid out on the table in flat wicker baskets propped up by a small block of wood on the back side, Grace slams shut the tailgate of the truck and lays her hand on Jenna's shoulder, nodding at each table in turn.

“Looks good, don't you think?”

“I think so, yeah. Should we should make some kind of sign for the tomatoes that says, like, ‘season's first' or something?”

“Absolutely. Make it all fancy, whatever you want. I'm going to try to get three dollars a pound for those babies. Write that on there, too.”

Jenna selects a green marker and cuts a piece of card stock to fit into one of the plastic sleeves that Grace keeps at the back of an old file box filled with all the signs for everything she grows, plus a printout about the farm, sheets of stickers, rubber bands and spare pens, and the scissors. Jenna loves the way she is finding everything she needs in that box, feels completely silly loving the stupid little sign she is making, carefully outlining the block letters, filling them in with thick swipes of the marker, drawing a little tomato up in the corner with the thin red marker.

And then, they are so busy they don't have time to think about anything or talk anymore. At times throughout the morning, there is actually a line formed at their tables, and Jenna sees immediately how Grace has set it up so that the scale and the cash box create an orderly process for people to go through, moving from the edges toward the center. Some things people can just pick up for themselves, which is why Grace bags up peas and beans ahead of time, has them in one pound packages so that there's not a lot of extra discussion about how much each person wants. Occasionally, somebody, usually an old lady, will ask for half a pound and Grace always does it, never refuses to fulfill a customer's request. It's not unusual for her to throw in something extra either, like another zucchini or yellow summer squash when people want six, or another cucumber, and she encourages people to mix and match.

The tomatoes are completely gone in the first hour, and they sell out of salad mix before the market is half over. Jenna can tell Grace is upset about that, but she is able to convince some of the people to take mature heads of green leaf and romaine lettuce instead or the new Asian mix she is trying this year, suggested by Donna. Grace seems totally in her element, moving swiftly from one person to the next without making anyone feel hurried, explaining the same things patiently over and over again while convincing people to buy all kinds of things they had no idea they wanted, talking up the vegetables like one of those traveling medicine show hucksters. Jenna tries to follow her lead, keeps her face open and smiling, makes eye contact with everyone, asks Grace to address questions she doesn't know the answers to even if they seem completely stupid or trivial.

Finally, around eleven thirty, when the only things they have left are a few bunches of beets, a half bushel or so of zucchini, some cucumbers, some bags of Asian greens, and a few beans, Grace asks Jenna if she'd like to take a break, walk through the market and look at the other booths, maybe buy them a drink and something for a snack.

She pulls a ten-dollar bill out of the cash box and hands it to Jenna, says, “Whatever you want. Sorry you didn't get a chance to see it when things were still full. Maybe next time, huh?”

Jenna feels a little uncomfortable taking the money but doesn't see how she can refuse. She slips the bill into her back pocket and squeezes out of the booth, glances back at Grace who is already chatting with another customer, many of whom she seems to know.

The booth right beside theirs sells bison meat, and Jenna notices that they have installed a small freezer on the back of their truck. None of the meat is displayed, but they have a poster of all the cuts available, information about the benefits of eating buffalo burgers, photos of their farm, or ranch, or whatever it is, and Jenna stops to look at the giant furry creatures. There is one picture of a mother and her calf that makes Jenna smile until she remembers that these people are selling the meat, kill the animals to make a living, and moves quickly on.

The next booth has pottery, and Jenna is a little surprised to see something that is not food. She scans the other side of the lane and notices a couple of other tables with things like jewelry and one with soaps and lotions and figures these must qualify as local products, too. She is struck suddenly by the fact that she is alone, has ten dollars, could easily walk out the other end of the grounds and be gone. Nobody is watching her, and it seems just as strange that she could also walk up and turn a bowl over to look at the price on the bottom and no one would think a thing of it, just assume she was shopping, maybe even an adult. The sense of freedom is both exhilarating and terrifying, spins a wavery lightness through her head, and she forces herself forward, shaking loose the thought that she'll just go back to Grace.

The next couple of vendors are vegetable growers, and Jenna takes a deep breath and concentrates on their displays, imagines herself gleaning ideas for things to grow and ways to present them to customers. The table in front of her is pretty empty now, but Jenna sees several large stacks of crates on the bed of the truck and guesses they are pretty serious farmers and had a good day. The man is just slipping out the back of the booth, but the woman stands from a stool and steps up to her table, smiles at Jenna, leaving Jenna almost no choice but to acknowledge her.

“Were you looking for anything particular today? Sorry, I'm kind of wiped out.”

“No, um, I'm, uh, a vendor. Just taking a break.”

The woman peers at Jenna curiously and then a look of recognition crosses her face.

“Well, well. You must be here with Grace.”

Jenna nods, tries to smile, but something about the woman's tone has put her on the alert. She leans forward on the table and studies Jenna a little too closely.

“One of Grace's girls, huh? I must say I'm a little surprised. Grace is usually so hush-hush about whatever's going on out there at her old granddaddy's farm, I didn't expect the evidence to show up right here in front of us. Got you working hard, does she? Kind of a taskmaster?” She snickers a little fiendishly, and Jenna doesn't know how to respond, feels her face go hot.

The woman seems almost pleased by Jenna's obvious discomfort.

“Hey, don't worry about it. We're like one big happy family around here. Everybody knows Grace
real
well. Her little secrets are safe with us,” she says, waving her arm to take in the entire market, but her gaze is focused squarely on Jenna.

Jenna would like to just walk away but, for some reason, she is rooted, staring at the woman, her fists clenched, her jaw clamped tight. The woman looks like she is just about ready to say something else when her attention is diverted, and Jenna sees the man hurrying back up to the table as if suspecting that he might be needed. He glances at the woman, but focuses on Jenna, searching, it seems, for some clue to the conversation he just missed.

The woman says meaningfully, “She says she's with Grace. Kinda young, don't you think?”

The man gives her a long, hard look, then turns back to Jenna, extending his hand. “First time at the market?”

Jenna nods, doesn't take his hand.

The man frowns slightly and withdraws his hand, tucks it into his pocket. “Well, it's so great to have you here. Hope you guys had a good day.”

Jenna nods again, doesn't even glance at the woman as she gives the man a slight smile and moves quickly away.

Jenna's heart is thundering, but she takes several deep breaths, attempts to concentrate on her grumbling stomach, begins searching seriously for something to eat and drink. Toward the other end of the market are several bakery vendors, and Jenna can hardly imagine how she will decide what to get. The giant chocolate chip cookies look fantastic, but they haven't had lunch so she tries to think of something that would be more filling. She finally decides to buy a round bread called foccacia that has onions and peppers in rings on the top. It costs four dollars, but is enough for both of them and leaves her money to buy two cherry turnovers and two bottles of apple juice.

Grace is very pleased with the food, apparently just as hungry as Jenna, and takes out her pocket knife and carefully slices the foccacia into four equal triangles. Jenna thinks she has never tasted anything so good. Grace gets up several times to help customers, and Jenna tries to chew more slowly so that her food isn't completely gone before Grace even has a chance to start on hers. They are sitting on the lawn chairs that Grace keeps folded underneath the table and hadn't even set up until now, the food resting on paper napkins on their laps. This is the first time either one of them has sat down since they arrived here a little before seven. It is nearly twelve-thirty now and the market closes at one.

Jenna is just savoring the last bite of her turnover when she hears someone call, “Grace? Grace Van Heusen? Is that you?”

Grace stands up to get a closer look and throws her head back and begins to laugh.

“Barbara Morgan. I can't believe it.” Grace runs around the back of the booth to get out, and the women collide in a hug.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the woman named Barbara exclaims. “I thought you moved away, like, fifteen or twenty years ago.”

“Well, I did. But I came back. What about you? What are you doing here?”

“Oh my god, it's a really long story. I moved back to town about six months ago.” Barbara gestures toward the booth. “Is this yours? Are you farming?”

“Yeah, this is mine. I'm farming the old place since my granddad died. I've been back, oh, let's see, going on eight years now.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know about your grandfather. I can't imagine how you could be living there if he was still alive. Last I heard, the two of you were barely on speaking terms. What happened? Did you . . . ?”

Grace waves her hand as if to dismiss the subject and says heartily, “These things work themselves out. He, well, you know how he was, probably just, I don't know, just . . . afraid for me or something. Being overprotective . . .”

Jenna can tell that Grace has become instantly tense, her jollity extremely forced. Since Jenna had understood that Grace and her grandfather were quite close, this new information has attracted her attention.

When it doesn't look like Grace is going to continue, Barbara, who has been frowning at Grace with a skeptical expression, says brightly, “Well, I'm just glad to see you. I figured you were so long gone there wouldn't be any point in trying to look you up. It just never occurred to me that you might be back here. Eight years. Wow, I just can't believe it. And who is this beauty? Is this . . . ?”

“Oh, gee, I'm sorry. Barbara, this is Jenna. She's helping out on the farm for the season. This is her first day at the market. She has been the most fantastic help. I don't know what I would have done without her today.”

Jenna is standing now, and Barbara is leaning across the table with her hand extended and Jenna wipes hers and then shakes it. She can't think of anything to say.

“So, when are we going to get together? We have so much to catch up on. I want you to meet Mary. Hey, are you about done here? Could you come right now? Just stop in for a beer or something? Or maybe you haven't eaten. We could have some lunch, talk a bit?”

“Oh, Barbara, I'd really like to, but we should probably get back. Let's figure out another time that's good.”

“Come on, Grace. Just a few minutes. Meet Mary and have a beer and then you can get back. I just can't believe we've run into each other after all this time. I don't want to lose track of you again. You guys have already been working all day anyway, haven't you? I bet you never take any time off to just relax.”

Grace laughs, looks down at her feet. “I . . . can't. Not right now. We really need to get back and . . .”

Barbara begins to nod, smiles knowingly. “Ah, okay. Someone waiting for you back there, huh? Oh my gosh, you're not back with Christine, are you?”

Grace shakes her head, smiles as if a little confused. “No, I—”

“I just thought of that. She was kind of the source of all the tension with your grandfather, wasn't she?”

“I guess . . . I mean, no. I haven't seen her since . . . then. I live with my partner, Ellie, and a woman named Donna who also helps on the farm and then we have four . . . interns who are helping out for the summer.”