“Hand it over,” he replies.
Taking the folded piece of pink paper from my front jeans pocket, I slide it across the table between us. I watch him pick it up and tuck it into the breast pocket of his shirt, not even bothering to look at it.
“I’ll hang onto this for a bit if you don’t mind. Before I take a look-see, I’d like to ask you for a small favor.”
“A favor?”
“Yes.” He leans his elbows on the table and tents his fingers together, his eyes narrowing and focusing on my face.
I stare back at him, my heart hammering in my chest. Wasn’t he anxious to read what I’d written on the paper? A quick glance? A peek? How could he show so much restraint by not looking at it immediately?
I want to blurt out what I’d written but hold back, profoundly curious about this favor he has in mind.
“I’d like for you to hang out in Heartsboro for a while. Get to know the community and my farm. You know, become familiar with the ins and outs of our day-to-day business. The townspeople we work with. The lay of the land. I need you to dig deep and see for yourself why this place is so special. I think you’ll learn pretty quickly that it’s worth a whole heck of a lot more than you or your big company might think.” He pats his breast pocket.
“Okay?” I’m confused but hopeful I can honor Ralph’s request.
“There was only one other time I thought about selling. It was back in the crash of 2008. I asked Rosie if she wanted to sell everything and travel. You know, see the world? Do you know what she said to me?”
I shake my head, enthralled by his obvious adoration for his late wife. The way his tired eyes light up and half of his mouth turns into a lopsided smile. The way his voice scratches with longing, his whispered words a testament to his love.
“She said, ‘I don’t need to travel, Ralph. The world comes right to my window every single day.’”
My heart cracks wide open, the warmth of Rosie’s words oddly comforting. It’s as if she’s right here with us in the café, her presence reminding Ralph and I that everything will be okay.
“How beautiful.”
I knew right then I’d do just about anything for the dying man.
“I want you to get to know the farm, Madison. And I have one more request, if you don’t mind.”
I tilt my head. “You name it.”
He leans back in his chair, his words steady and filled with purpose.
“I’d like for you to get to know the heart and soul of Jamison Farm. I’d like for you to spend some quality time with my grandson, George.”
Chapter Seven
George
I pop the last bite of turkey sausage into my mouth and stand abruptly, my chair scraping the worn kitchen floor. The noise startles Earl, and he lifts his snout from the rug near the back door. The old dog watches me curiously as if hoping for a scrap of table food as I carry my breakfast dishes to the sink with a clatter.
“Why the rush?” Betty Lou asks. She’s standing at the stove in the main house with a spatula, flipping pancakes in a cast iron skillet. “You don’t want any more pancakes? You feelin’ all right, Georgie?”
I nod and politely push my chair in at the round kitchen table, careful not to scrape the floor again and bother the dog. I hate how jittery I get when I’m excited.
“I’m fine.”
My grandfather’s place setting sits untouched, a coffee cup ready to be filled and a plate and cutlery waiting to be used.Pop is usually up way before me, but Betty said he might sleep in because he was out later than usual last night.
My gaze hones in on his empty plate, and I notice the blue flowers decorating the clean center. I’ve never noticed them before, as my plate is usually covered in food.
Forget-Me-Nots, I think to myself. The adorable blue flowers on my grandma’s china remind me of tiny sky-blue stars.
I shake off my random thoughts. “I… uh, I want to get an early start. Set things up for the weekend tourists before it gets too hot.”
She seems to understand. “You stay hydrated out there. The weatherman said it’s gonna be another scorcher today.”
