The Last One (9 page)

IN THE MONTHS AFTER my parents died, I had to make way too many hard decisions. Would I be Ali’s guardian? That wasn’t even a question. She was fourteen, and sending her off to live with our grandparents in Alabama was the last thing either of us needed. Would we keep the farm? That was more complicated. The land where I’d been born, where generations of Reynolds had lived and died, wasn’t something I could toss away lightly. But I was eighteen, just about to graduate from high school. I’d been working with my dad as long as I could remember, but helping out was a far cry from running the place.

That was when the Burton Guild had stepped in. Those men walked me through my options, and from the vantage point of twelve years distance, I knew they’d saved our lives. The Guild had helped me decide how much land I could reasonably manage on my own, and then they’d found people to lease the rest of the farm. The idea was that as I gained years and experience, I would be able to take back parts of the farm that I needed, as I needed. It was a good plan. So far, we’d been able to close out two leases.

I stood now in the late afternoon sun, scanning the acres of rich red Georgia clay. The field that butted the rear property line was my favorite place to stand at the end of the day and survey what I’d accomplished and what still needed to be done. Vidalia onion plants surrounded me, healthy green tops swaying in the breeze. Harvest was underway, but it was a slow and painstaking process that had to be done by hand. We’d hired on a few high school kids to help as we did every year, and the work was coming along. Several truck loads of the bundled onions were already crated in the barn, and we could barely keep up with the demand at our farm stand.

The stand was our main source of income. It was well known in the area and had been since my great-grandparents had sold their first basket of tomatoes back in the thirties. I glanced down at my old beat-up work watch, the one I wore in the fields to keep track of time so I didn’t have to risk losing or destroying my cell phone. Ali should be closing up about now, walking back to the house with Bridget. I snagged a bunch of onions, thinking of dinner, and made my way through the half-picked rows.

I passed through the tomato plants, pausing to rub a leaf between my fingers. Something was eating them, and I frowned. I’d have to amp up our organic pest spraying—only natural ingredients, as defined by the state—or risk losing the plentiful white blossoms and tiny baby green fruit. If there was one thing I’d learned over the past decade, if I got lax on any front, the bugs, the critters or the weather would get ahead of me, and I’d lose plants, food and money.

The walk back to the house was quiet, with only the occasional buzz of cicadas to keep me company. At the shed, I stopped, stripped off my sweat-drenched T-shirt and ran water in the old sink. I used the rag hanging on a hook nearby to wash my face, my arms and my chest. I remembered my dad and my granddad making this stop every day during the spring, summer and fall as they returned from fields, and it had become part of my ritual, too. Ali said it saved on the mess in my shower and in the kitchen sink, and anything that kept my sister happy was worth doing.

I climbed the two steps to the kitchen door and opened it, making a mental note to oil the squeak tonight. Or maybe this weekend. I tried to remember where I’d left the WD-40.

“Sam, is that you?” Ali called from the front of the house.

“No, it’s your other brother who’s been working out in the fields all day and brought you some fresh-picked onions. Who else were you expecting?”

“Could you please come in here and stop yelling?”

I frowned. What was she up to now? I tossed my dirty shirt into a basket in the laundry room and followed the sound of her voice.

“What do you ...” I began speaking as I rounded the corner and then stopped abruptly. All rational thought left my brain, because sitting on my mom’s blue love seat was an all-too familiar red-head with big green eyes that mirrored my shock.

Her eyes closed, and I saw her lips press together as her chest rose and fell in a deep breath. Her chest. No, I couldn’t go there. I jerked my gaze up and stared at my sister.

“What the hell’s going on? What’s she doing here?”

Ali’s eyes widened. “Sam, language. And what’s wrong with you? This is Meghan. Our ArtCorps volunteer. She just got here a little bit ago, and Bridget and I were showing her around.” She drilled me with a hard stare that said I was being rude, I was embarrassing her, and if I didn’t pull it together, she was going to make me pay.

“I didn’t know it was you. I had no idea. I mean, I knew it was the town, but it’s not like I chose to come here. I was assigned.” Meghan spoke through clenched teeth. “I wasn’t supposed to be in Georgia. I signed up for Arizona. Or New Mexico.” She stood up. “I’m sorry. I can leave. I can—”

“No.” Ali caught her arm. “Just hold on a minute. I’m lost here, but clearly you know my brother. Or at least he knows you. Would one of you care to fill me in?”

Involuntarily I glanced back at Meghan. Her eyes had fastened somewhat south of my face, and I remembered I wasn’t wearing a shirt. Her lips parted a little, and I saw the tip of her tongue dart out.

“Any time now, Sam.” Ali’s arms were folded, and she was wearing her no-nonsense mom face.

I exhaled and rubbed the back of my neck. “Remember a few months back when I stopped on my way home to help the girls whose car had broken down?”

My sister’s brows drew together. “Yeah, I think so. From out of town, right?”

“Yeah. Well, Meghan was one of the girls.”

“Okay.”

I looked down at the floor, studying the intricate design at the edge of the Persian area rug. “Then I ran into her again. At Boomer’s, when she was picking up her car.”

Ali rolled her hand in a keep-going gesture.

“I may have ... I guess I kind of, uh, gave her a hard time about being drunk that night. When her car broke down. I might have gone a little overboard with it.”

Ali opened her mouth, and then she popped it shut. She looked at Meghan, and then at me. “What exactly did you say to her, Sam?”

I flushed. “I don’t remember. Um, I guess, that she was irresponsible. And that it was stupid to get so hammered when you’re in a strange place.”

“And that I wasn’t a very good friend to Laura,” Meghan added. When both Ali and I turned to look at her, she glanced away. “Sorry.”

“Sam, did you lose your mind? Why would you ...” Ali shook her head. “Was she driving drunk?”

She already knew the answer to that question. I’d told her all about it the morning after I’d towed Meghan’s car to Boomer’s.

“No. Her friend was the designated driver.”

“Uh-huh. And just how was this any of your business? What did she say to you at Boomer’s that day?”

I swallowed. “She said ... thank you. For helping them.”

Ali blinked several times in rapid succession. Shit, she was pissed. I knew the signs. I braced myself, ready for her to explode on me. Instead, she swung her head around to Meghan.

“Meghan, I’m so sorry. My brother is an ass. I have no clue what got into him to say those things to you. Sometimes I think he was raised by wolves. But please, don’t let his idiocy ruin this for all of us. I promise you, I’ll make sure he behaves while you’re staying with us.” Ali gripped my forearm, her nails digging into the skin. “Right, Sam? You’re going to try to remember how to be a decent person. You’ll be courteous, and you’ll tell Meghan how happy you are that she’s here to teach in Burton.”

Before I could get out an answer, she added one final shot. “And you’ll apologize, right now.”

“He doesn’t have to do that.” Meghan fiddled with the strap of her handbag. “He was right. I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away that night. I was upset, and I used that as an excuse. I put Laura in a bad position.”

If she ‘d acted like a spoiled brat or let Ali force me into an apology, I could’ve hung onto my resentment. But agreeing with everything I’d said that day made me feel like scum. It didn’t help when Ali put an arm around her shoulders and rubbed her back.

“Oh, aren’t you sweet to let him off the hook ... but you shouldn’t. Trust me, my dear brother has had his share of getting carried away, as you put it.” Ali shot me a dark look. “Why’re you just standing there, with no shirt on? Go get showered. I’m going to show Meghan to her room and then get started on dinner.”

“Where’s Bridget?” I stopped at the bottom of the steps.

“One of the girls from the stand is dropping her off after they close up. I wanted Meghan to be able to get settled before we let Bridge at her.” Ali picked up the small suitcase that sat by the front door. “Your room’s this way, Meghan.”

I watched her follow my sister around the staircase and down the short hall that led back to the only downstairs bedroom. She didn’t look my way, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the swing in her hips.

And if I groaned as I stomped up the steps, who could blame me?

“ ... SO WHEN I HEARD about ArtCorps, I was really excited. The kids in Burton can’t wait to meet you. We’ve got a room set up for you at the elementary school, and don’t worry, it’s air conditioned.” My sister hadn’t stopped talking for a solid ten minutes, and when she paused to take a breath, Bridget took over. Meghan hadn’t said much beyond “Yes” and “Thanks.” I hadn’t said anything at all.

“I’m looking forward to meeting everyone.” Meghan smiled at my niece. “What’s your favorite medium?”

Bridget’s eyebrows drew together, and Meghan hurried to clarify. “I mean, what kind of art do you like best? Drawing, oil color, watercolor, sculpture ... ?”

“I like to paint.” Bridget took a bite of lasagna.

“That’s my favorite, too. I like watercolors.” Meghan wiped her lips. “Maybe we can do some painting around the farm while I’m here. What’s your favorite subject? Uh, what do you like to paint? The sky, or plants, or animals?”

“She likes horses.” I hadn’t meant to speak until I heard the words spurting out of my mouth. All three females at the table turned to look at me.

“Yup, I like to paint Mr. Fred’s horses. Uncle Sam won’t let them come live here, even though this is a farm and the only animals we have are Loopy and Butler, and even though they’re in Old MacDonald—” She shot her mother a reproving look. “They aren’t real farm animals.”

Meghan laughed. “What are they, then?”

“Loopy’s a dog, and Butler’s my cat. They live in the barn.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “But at least you have them. I never had any pets growing up. Oh, except my brother had a hermit crab one summer.”

Ali stood up to clear the table. “So where are you from originally, Meghan?”

“Florida.” She glanced away, her mouth tightening, and I remembered her friend Laura’s words.

Her dad died almost two years ago, and last fall, her mom got re-married, to one of their best friends. Meghan likes him, but you know ... it’s still difficult.

“And do you have just the one brother?” Ali was in full discovery mode. I watched Meghan to see if it was bothering her, but her face was pleasantly blank.

“Yes, just one. Joseph. He’s younger than me.” She laid down her fork, lining it up with her knife.

“I wish I had a brother.” Bridget picked up a piece of tomato from her salad plate and popped it into her mouth. “Or a horse.”

We all laughed, and Ali shook her head. “Sweetie pie, I think you have a better shot at the horse at this point. If you’re finished eating, bring your plate over and then run upstairs for your bath.”

“But I want to talk to Meghan.” I heard the hint of whine and stepped in to save her from the wrath of her mother.

“Hey, squirt, she’s not going anywhere. You heard your mom. Get moving.” I gave her a light swat on the backside.

“Okayyyyy.” Bridget dragged out the last syllable and favored us with a sigh that was laden with drama. “Promise you won’t go to bed before I come back down?”

“I promise.” Meghan nodded with all due solemnity and picked up her plate as Bridget scampered away. Holding it in one hand, she leaned to pick up a bowl, and I tried not to notice how the neckline of her green shirt sagged, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage.

“Sit down, Meghan, you don’t have to help. Sam, you do. Get off your ass.”