I take off toward the vast workshop, slowing my walk as much as I can. This crowd is going to be harder than I expected, and if Ruby’s dad is anything like her mum, then I need a different approach. Not that I know what that is.
The shop is quiet when I reach it, and the four John Deere machines stare at me through open shutter doors. Peering around, I don’t see any movement in the back, and only a box of tools sitting next to the combine harvester gives any indication that someone was recently here.
“Mr. Lanson? . . . Mr. Lanson? . . . Hello?”
I step farther in and almost trip over as Ruby’s dad whizzes out on a pullie-board from underneath. “Who’s askin’?”
“Mr. Lanson?”
The only indication he has any idea who I am is the tic below his left eye, and just like his wife, he gives me a thorough once-over. Even though he’s lying down, it’s just as effective. “Pass me the crescent wrench.”
Crouching down, I search in the well-stocked toolbox until I find what I’m looking for and hand it over.
He slides back underneath without a word.
“Quarter ratchet,” he barks. This time, only his hand appears. Again, I find what he’s looking for and pass it over. It’s followedby “cloth” then, “Boy, go get me the silver twelve-inch sprocket over on the shelf.”
I debate telling him lunch is ready, and I was sent to get him, because I don’t know whose wrath I care to face the least. I also don’t want to ask “which shelf” because there are many lining the walls, but luckily, it’s only the third one I'm searching for.
“Here you go, sir.” I pass it carefully over. This time, I get a grunt before he disappears back underneath. “Anything else I can help with? What’s the issue under there?”
There’s silence. “Know anything about these?”
I’m glad he can’t see me grimace. I know cars, but combine harvesters are a stretch, and I pull on every single memory I have of working with Lando on machinery.
“Yes, sir. My brother has one, and I help him fix it when he needs a hand.”
Once.I helped him fix itonce.Even then, I wasn’t helping because he wasn’t really fixing it. He was in the Burlington farmyard, and I happened to walk past when he was talking to Johnny, the yard manager.
But my white lie earns me a grunt, which sounds more approving than the last. There are a couple of loud clunks followed by huffing.
“The feeder head needs unclogging because the sprocket’s worn down.”
I nod. “We have problems with the slugs.” I have literally no idea what I’m talking about.
“Goddamn slugs is right,” he grumbles as something clatters to the floor before he reappears. “Get in and turn the engine on.”
I glance up into the cabin. “Sure, no problem,” I reply, sending out a quick prayer it’s a self-explanatory switch on.
Ruby’s dad is much bigger than he seemed under the engine, tall and broad, and kind of intimidating, especially when he barks, “What are you waiting for?”
I hit the power button, and the motor roars to life. He leans over the harvester, far too close, and I break out in a sweat at the idea of him having an accident. I can’t have Ruby’s father get made into a hay bale on my watch.
Fuck fuck fuck.
My finger hovers over the stop button close enough that I’m pressing it before he tells me to.
I receive a frown in response, but when he doesn’t tell me to switch it back on, I climb down from the cabin, ready to stand in awkward silence. I still haven’t told him we’re needed for lunch, and I’ve been here twenty minutes.
“So you’re the husband?”
“That’s me, sir.” I nod, slowly, before I realize what he’s asked, and try to hide my shock. It’s rare that I’m caught off guard.
He rolls his lips until they disappear under his thick beard. “You came to seek forgiveness instead of permission? That it?”
I decide to roll with this conversation. “Something like that.”
“Took you what . . .” He stretches out his arm, looking at his watch. “Two months . . . three?”
