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“Thank you,” I breathed, trying hard not to break the spell.
He finally seemed to realize what he was doing and stepped back to reach for the shovel again. After clearing his throat, he asked, “So the man gave your aunt the farm?”
I took a deep breath to keep from tripping after him and plastering myself against his body with a whimpered plea.
“Um, yeah. So… right. The aunt farm. I mean the aunt… the farm for my aunt. My aunt’s farm. Cripes.”
Sam’s laugh crinkled the edges of his eyes, and I thought for a mini-second it was worth accidentally making a fool of myself.
“I could eat you in one bite,” he muttered, almost under his breath.
Yes, please.
I shook my head to clear it and continued on. “She refused, obviously, but then he offered for her to stay there for the summer to look after the place while he and his partner traveled to Hawaii to visit friends. She was a total free spirit who usually followed her nose, but that summer her nose told her to stay put here in Aster Valley. I think that was the same year my uncle Dave was born, so maybe Berry stuck around to help my grandmother through that. I’m not sure. But she took advantage of the planting season and grew all kinds of things. She hadn’t had a plot to garden in the years she’d been traveling and learning, and she’d forgotten how much she loved it.”
“That’s where you got your green thumb.”
“Exactly,” I said, looking around at the freshly planted plots, the ones tilled and ready, and the ones that would remain fallow this year to prepare for the following year. “She taught me everything I know about that part of my business. She grew mostly medicinal plants and organic veggies. She gave most of the food away to families who needed it, or she sold it at the farmer’s market when she needed extra money for something or other. When Sid and Warren came back from Hawaii, they told her they wanted her to stay on as the farm’s full-time caretaker so they could retire to Hawaii to be with their friends. None of us knew at the time that Sid had already put the farm into her name.”
“That’s amazing. I’m surprised she stayed if she was used to traveling around. Did she ever marry?”
Sam continued his work, slamming the sharp blade of the shovel down into the ground and working clumps of dirt and rock to the surface.
“No. But she was always surrounded by friends. She traveled to Hawaii every few years to see Sid and Warren, and they would come see her, but eventually they both passed on. The farm had been Sid’s parents’ place. Berry tried giving it back to the family, but they refused to accept it. So she told everyone in town she inherited it when they died, but the truth makes for a better story,” I said with a laugh.
As Sam worked in the late-afternoon sun, I told him more about my aunt, about the work she did through her shop that was half natural healing and half accidental psychotherapy. I told him about how she kept an old corduroy beanbag in the back of the shop that I could curl up on to page through picture books. Every afternoon during kindergarten, I would come straight here from school and spend the afternoon dozing in a sun patch like a contented cat—or an exhausted five-year-old. I remembered loving my life during those early years, but then it had all come crashing down.
I didn’t tell Sam that part. I was sure he already knew the basics, about my supposed jaunt out onto the deserted ski slope that fateful night with my grandfather’s old sled. About the ensuing disaster that befell not only Olympic hopeful Langdon Goode but also the very town itself.
Including my own parents.
“I missed her when we moved away,” I admitted. “I think part of her wanted to come with us, but she would have hated it in Durango.”
“What was it like there?” he asked as he finally levered out the giant block of concrete that held the gate post. My eyes were glued to his bulging arm and back muscles like I was in a trance. It took me a minute to realize he’d asked me a question.
“Not great,” I admitted, moving over to where the water bottle lay forgotten on the tailgate of the SUV. I picked it up and handed it to him, watching every movement of his throat as he took large gulps of it.
“Thanks, sweet,” he mumbled, handing it back. It took me a moment to realize he’d been using my last name. At least I thought that’s what it was. If he’d called me sweetheart again, like he’d done the first night in Mikey’s kitchen… well, I would probably have to beg him to try out some of those dirty things he’d mentioned.
