Getting Somewhere (22 page)

Sarah watches as Ellie moves a little distance away from Grace with the apparent intention of getting a closer look at the bike, keeping her back to the rest of them, then turns and joins the group with a happy grin she may have needed just that moment to paste on. She says, “Looks like fun. Good luck there, Jenna,” lifts encouraging eyebrows to Grace, and then spends the next hour before supper in her room with the door closed.

TUESDAY, JULY 10

“WHY CAN'T YOU TAKE BOTH OF THEM?”

“I told you, Ellie, Lauren doesn't want to go. Why do you have to make such a big deal out of this? Sarah says she still feels too weak, Cassie has no desire whatsoever to go into town, and Lauren said she doesn't want to go. That leaves Jenna. Jenna wants to go. She did a great job at the market and I think she just wants to see it all, have a feeling for the whole operation. Isn't this exactly what you wanted? I can't believe we're even having this conversation again. What's going on with you?”

“Nothing. You're right. I just needed to hear it all, everything you just said, okay? You sometimes expect me to understand things without actually offering the explanation.”

“I guess I wonder why you would need the explanation if you actually trust me with the girls.”

“Grace, that is not fair. Wouldn't you want to know what conversations had taken place in your absence? Can't you see that I just want to share in the decisions, or at the very least, be informed about how they are made? I believe that sounds an awful lot like exactly what
you
wanted.”

“So, there's no problem. We're arguing about a nonexistent problem.”

“I don't know that we're arguing at all. It's a conversation. Thanks for filling me in. Is there anything you've been wondering about that I could fill
you
in on?”

Ellie's voice sounds almost flirtatious and Lauren can't help but stop to listen more carefully. Cassie is acting like she hasn't heard a word but Lauren knows she's heard it all, too. She hadn't even planned to eavesdrop but the women are so caught up in their argument that they haven't noticed that the back door is open and that Cassie and Lauren are right behind it.

They've been sent out here to compost the produce—carrot tops and outer cabbage leaves, the roots they cut off the onions, and anything else that has been removed or can't be sold. They are supposed to make layers, spreading a bucket of the garbage and then a couple shovelfuls of the manure that Grace gets from a neighbor's farm, then top it with leaves and straw. The pile is high enough now that they have to lift the bucket to waist level to pour it out, and the mixture of odors is enough to make Lauren gag.

This is about the worst job on the farm, and Lauren is trying to figure out why she is being punished, since she told Grace this morning she didn't want to go to the pick-up, thought Grace would be happy about it and let her off easy for the rest of the day. Lauren can't imagine why Jenna is the one getting all the attention from Grace, thinks the woman would be more interested in . . . well, someone more feminine. Isn't that the way it's supposed to work? Still, this is good. In fact, Lauren couldn't have planned it better. Now Grace is taking Jenna and that is making Ellie mad. Perfect. Divide and conquer. Lauren almost grins to think of the trouble they are going to be in.

Lauren doesn't know if the women just forgot about them or if they don't care if they are overheard, but she is lingering over the job even though she'd rather be doing almost anything else. Cassie has spread the manure neatly over the last bucket load and is waiting for Lauren to dump the next one, but Lauren is ignoring her. She has actually turned toward the shed so she can hear a little better.

Grace's voice sounds farther away now, as if she has turned her back to Ellie, and Lauren thinks how pathetic Ellie is, begging for Grace's attention and not getting it. Lauren feels her stomach lurch with a surge of anger, reminded of her mother pleading for her dad to notice, trying to please him, and him acting completely oblivious, maybe even hurting her intentionally with his disregard. Lauren can remember the moment when it dawned on her, when she realized that she had a choice to make, whether to be like her mom, as she had always wished up until that point, or side with her dad, the person who could manipulate the world.

It was when her dad kicked Evan out. Lauren hasn't thought about it in a long time, can't understand why she is suddenly chilled to the bone, her legs feeling weak. The picture she has kept blurry is suddenly bright and intense before her, blocking her way like a traffic accident: Lauren's mom begging for her dad to change his mind, telling him it didn't matter who Evan loved, that he would always be their son. Lauren can see her mother's mascara dripping down her face, her eyes all red and puffy from crying, her glossy nails gripping her father's arm as he tried to leave the room. His words are imprinted on Lauren's mind, like a photograph she has lost or hidden away:
Our son has chosen this sickness. I will not condone such behavior and I will not let any member of my family do so either. From this point on, you will have no contact with Evan and we will not speak his name. Nothing I've worked to provide for this family will ever be used to support him or that lifestyle. This is the last time we will ever discuss it.

Lauren's mother had collapsed on the floor then, like some overdramatic beauty queen, and Lauren had seen how her mother's weakness had poisoned Evan, made him become a fucking fag and lose their father's love. Lauren knew then which side she needed to be on, and though, at the time, she didn't understand exactly what Evan had done, she ran to her room and got rid of everything that reminded her of Evan, threw away the birthday cards he had painted for her, tossed the empty Pepperidge Farm cookie tin where they had always traded secret notes into the back of her closet. Evan wouldn't be coming back, and though Lauren would wake from dreams of him for years, she knew he had left an empty space in the family that she was supposed to fill, that all her father's love and attention could now go to her.

Cassie has now reached for the bucket that Lauren is supposed to be dumping, but Lauren stops her with a hand on her wrist, a finger over her lips. She hears Ellie say, “Do you think we could work together to plan this a little more from now on? We had the girls signing up for their work assignments before. Maybe we could—”

“Don't you think they're a little beyond that? It's working a lot better without it.”

Even Lauren can hear the comment hit Ellie like a slap. Ellie doesn't say anything, and Lauren can hear Grace's voice moving closer.

“I mean, it was good at first but I don't think they need it anymore. That's a good thing, right? Like things are working out without you having to plan it so much. Everybody's doing what they're supposed to, well, except maybe Lauren, but I don't think a schedule is going to have much affect on her anyway. You can just relax, loosen the reins.”

There is a long pause, and then Ellie says, “Well, I still want to talk about it some more. Let's you and me and Donna figure out a time we can sit down and kind of review everything, you know, like an evaluation. We're not too far from halfway through. Wouldn't it be good to talk it over, see how we all think it's going?”

Lauren can picture them perfectly, Grace's jaw working back and forth, her arms crossed, her right hand kneading her left upper arm where she must have a sore muscle because she is always doing that. They have moved to the front of the shed so their voices are harder to hear, but Lauren can still make out Grace saying, “Okay, that's fine. Let's get together and talk about it.” Her voice sounds tired, resigned, and once again, Lauren is reminded of her mom, all the energy she uses to talk her dad into one simple thing, anything, just so she can feel like she's gotten her way.

Ellie says, “Do you want me to call Walt about the cooler? If I call now, I bet he'd be able to get out here in the morning.”

There it is, Lauren thinks. Ellie kissing up just like her mother. God, this makes her sick.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“One more thing.”

“What?”

“Do you think it would kill you to actually hug me or maybe even kiss me once in a while?”

Grace doesn't answer for a long moment. Lauren hears her say, “No, it probably wouldn't kill me.” Lauren has taken a step closer to the back door without even realizing it. Her scalp is tingling and her fists are clenched. She hears nothing, and then Grace calling out, “Hey, Ellie.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

Lauren's ears are filled with a roar. She turns to see that Cassie has all the produce composted but she's just standing there, her face flushed the color of the inside of a ripe watermelon. Lauren takes two long strides toward the compost pile, swings back her leg, and sends a bucket flying into the air with her kick, its short clumsy flight bringing it down inches from Cassie's feet. Lauren feels a scream climbing up her throat, rushes away from the house, away from the people, into a wide empty space that still isn't big enough to contain her anger.

S
HE CAN'T FORGET
the letter this time. Lauren was absolutely furious when she found out Jenna had forgotten about it. Just having the damn thing in her possession has been making Jenna so nervous that she even considered telling Cassie. But, when she tried to talk to Cassie, asked her if she wanted to take a turn on the bike or go for a walk, Cassie just shook her head and scurried away, seems to be avoiding Jenna. Jenna has no idea what that's about, but she'll worry about it later. Right now, she just needs to get Lauren off her back by figuring out how to get rid of the stupid letter once and for all.

She can't think where to put it. On Saturday, she'd barely even tried to hide it, just wrapped it loosely in the flannel shirt she'd removed early in the day. She won't need a long-sleeved shirt today to go to the CSA pick-up and has no need to bring a bag with her. She will have to slide it into her shorts in the back and hope it doesn't get too crimped or sweaty enough for the ink on the envelope to run. She is scanning her mind for a top she can wear that will hide it, not too thin or transparent, long enough to cover the top of her shorts. It crosses her mind to just toss the letter away, drop it in a trash can or tear it into tiny pieces and flush it down the toilet. She suddenly wonders why Lauren trusts her to actually mail it.

Jenna realizes then that nothing is forcing her to mail the letter. She might feel a lot better if she did just throw it away and say she sent it. How would Lauren know? And how would it feel to have to live with that lie? She's certainly done that enough on her own behalf but can't think of a time when it had the potential to hurt someone else this way. She does feel a little sorry for Lauren, has no idea what it must feel like to be separated from your parents if you actually miss them.

In her room, Jenna tucks the envelope in the back of her shorts. It is too dense to contain just a letter, but Jenna has already made up her mind not to think or care about what might be inside. Grace has told her that she'll be a few more minutes, so Jenna wanders out to the barn and walks the bike to the driveway, thinks she'll ride just out to the road and back until Grace is ready. As she approaches the road, still wobbly but getting more and more steady, she notices that the red flag is sticking up on the mailbox. She pulls the bike up to the post, glances back down the driveway, then opens the door to see a small pile of letters propped up on the inside of the box, ready to be picked up by the mail carrier. Jenna pulls Lauren's letter out of her pants and slides it in among the others, quickly shuts the little metal door, and rides back into the yard, laughing to herself how easy that would have been for Lauren to just do herself.

“T
HIS MIGHT ACTUALLY
be boring for you.”

Grace and Jenna are on their way to town. Jenna is relaxed now, her elbow stuck out the frame of her open window, her hair lifting and settling against her bare shoulders with the breeze. Her chest feels full of her beating heart and she is flushed with the kind of well-being you feel singing along with one of your favorite songs on the radio.

Jenna wants to ask Grace what kinds of music she likes, what concerts she's been to, what her favorite books are, what high school was like for her, why she lived with her grandparents, a million other things, and sees the next few hours stretching out before her as a palette for adding new colors and textures to a painting that is forming in her mind. She knows it will not be boring even if it's not as busy and dynamic as the market, and she is sitting up in her seat, caught in the momentum of moving forward.