“And stay out of trouble, young lady.”
Grinning, I replied, “I make no promises.”
We said our goodbyes and hung up. My amusement lingered until I heard the unmistakable crunch of plastic outside. RIP birdfeeder.
Apparently, I’d have to make a trip to the hardware store this weekend. Clearly, that bear wasn’t going to feed itself.
The following day, I strolled up to the little trailer we used as a ticket booth at the main entrance. It had a long counter across the front and two windows for Grandpappy’s visitors to purchase entry to a variety of entertainment. We had the corn maze, hayrides, apple-cannon shooting, the pumpkin patch, the sunflower maze, and, finally, the pick-your-own-apple side of the operation—the reason why I’d dropped by. I knew Larry was on the schedule to work the ticket booth this morning. She’d be on her own until lunchtime when business would pick up and Lori, one of the part-timers, would be in to help out.
“Hey, Larry, do me a favor,” I said by way of greeting.
My cousin glanced up from inside the trailer where she was counting out cash from the till. Her winged liner was spot-on, as always, and if I was a betting woman, I’d say she was wearing her beloved black combat boots. Larry’s dark hair was in a little topknot, and she eyed me as I propped my arms on the counter and stared up at her.
“What do you need?”
I laid my chin atop my forearms and made my eyes real big. “Lower the u-pick bucket cost by a penny.”
Larry sighed. “A penny? Again, Mac? Come on.”
“It’s important. I’m thinking of the farm.”
“This is a waste of time.”
“Competition is healthy,” I argued. “Capitalism, baby.”
She rolled her dark eyes heavenward.
“Just do it, Larry.” I pulled out the big-cousin scowl. We were the same age, but that was beside the point. “And don’t tell Will.”
Larry shook her head but reached for the chalkboard sign propped up in her ticket booth window. “You and that Brady Judd have a problem. It isn’t natural or healthy to be so obsessed?—”
“Don’t start,” I interrupted and began backing away. “I’ll see you for lunch. Pizza with Becca. I’m buying.”
“Fine,” she called, visibly buoyed at the thought of Apollo’s delivery with our new friend. “And I want pineapple on my half!”
I kept walking and lifted my arm, giving her a thumbs-up.
Becca Kernsy had shown up back in August as a tourist on an extended work-from-home vacation, but I had a feeling that girl was here to stay. My family was half in love with her. Except for my cousin Will. That man was gone—head over heels and never coming back. I couldn’t wait for the day he realized it. Will needed something to shake him up, and Becca might just be up for the task.
Work stayed steadily busy throughout the day and into the evening. Leafers were in town in droves. They spent their tourist dollars in our small town while they took in the sights, snapped Instagram-worthy photos of fall leaves, and visited Grandpappy’s for apple picking. Since it was October, the pumpkin patch and corn maze were especially busy, too.
My regular duties as a full-time employee included rotating in and out of different positions. One day, I might work in the General Store alongside my parents, Robert and Patty, or the next, I could be scheduled to man the corn maze entrance or the apple cannon. I usually filled in where I was needed. I didn’t have a specific role on the farm like most of my family members.
My aunt Maggie wielded her spatula over at the Orchard Bake Shop, making pastries for the morning rush and cakes for special occasions. Maggie’s husband—my uncle William—was the head farmer and stuck to tending the fields. My cousin Will was sort of the overall manager at Grandpappy’s. He handled the accounting and ordering and just generally had to put out fires all over the place. I did not envy him that position. Sure, it would be nice to know what my schedule looked like from week to week. And maybe having some authority on the farm was something to aspire to, but with all of that came responsibility. Duty and obligation and accountability made things messy.
I just showed up when I was supposed to and did what I was told. There was freedom in that. I didn’tloveworking with the tourists, but who really enjoyed their day job? It wasn’t like I’d gone to college and studied business like Will. I didn’t have a specialty or specific skill to offer. I was just another cog in the machine that kept Grandpappy’s moving, and that was good enough for me.
One of my regular tasks was working the seasonal farmers’ market in downtown Kirby Falls. Grandpappy’s had a booth there, and we set up weekly, selling homegrown produce and goods from the bakery, like jams and jellies and scone and muffin mixes. I usually had to take a farmers’ market shift every few weeks.
And, lucky me, tomorrow was Saturday. I was expected bright and early.
I arrived on Main Street the following morning with two travel mugs of coffee and very little patience. I didn’t know why my weekends downtown constantly lined up with Brady’s or why our tents were always next to one another, but that seemed to be the way of things. He was working the Judd’s Orchard booth with his sister Joan. I could hear his big mouth before I even got halfway down the block.
Maybe if I ignored him, we could get through the next five hours without bloodshed or a black eye.
“Will came early and set everything up,” Larry said when I joined her.
I rolled my eyes. This wasn’t new, but it sure as hell was getting old.
