AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My feet hit the floor running, and I shower quickly before throwing on an old pair of ripped jeans and a comfortable T-shirt, then I pile my hair on top of my head in a messy topknot. I also remove all of my piercings because I’m not going to lose an earlobe or a lip from getting something stuck in one of my hoops or some shit. I grab my moisturizer and apply it quickly to my face. One thing my grandparents have always drilled into my head is using SPF. When you work in the sun all of the time, it’s a must.
I grab my phone and slip on my tennis shoes at the door, glancing around at my messy living room. I’ll definitely have to clean up this evening. Even though I live alone, I don’t want to be a slob. I lock up behind me and decide to walk up to the pumpkin patch.
My cabin is super close; I didn’t want to be too far from my grandparents. They’re getting older and they may need me for something as time goes on. This way, I can literally run up the hill if need be. Although this morning, running is out of the question. I attempt it for a moment but decide not to wear myself out. By the time I reach the patch, Papaw is already out with the water hose. His back is to me, but I’d recognize his humongous hat anywhere.
“What’d I tell you about starting without me?” I plant my hands on my hips, putting on a stern face as he turns to face me.
He grins his signature sneaky grin, his eyes twinkling in the sunlight. “What did I tell you about the early bird?”
“He gets the biggest worm.” I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling too. “Alright, let’s get busy.”
We fall into our work. The years we’ve spent doing this together make everything second nature, and by the time Mamaw calls down that it’s time for lunch, we’ve finished all of our weeding for the day. We stand back and admire our handiwork, Papaw leaning his arm on my shoulder.
“It’s beautiful.” He nods toward the patch. “You picked out your pumpkin yet?”
“Papaw, they’re barely budding.”
“I know you. Every damn year, you pick your plant first thing, and it’s always the biggest.”
“Almost every year,” I grumble.
“Oh, Rachel. You can’t let Pumpkin King go, can you?” He laughs, moving his arm to wrap around my neck and pull me in for a hug.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, yeah. Which plant then, girl?”
He moves his arm so I can bend down and eye them all. I narrow my gaze at the one that caught my eye earlier. I point at the plant, careful not to touch him yet. “This one.”
“Really? He’s kinda puny.”
“Really. There’s something about him.”
“I trust your judgment.”
“Are you two gonna get up here and eat before this food gets cold?” Mamaw’s second call for lunch is a little less friendly than the first. “I worked too hard on this lunch for y’all to ruin it.”
“We better get. If she has to yell for us again, we’ll both be buried with the pumpkins.”
We scurry across the grass to the house, where Mamaw is leaning on the porch railing, her dish towel over her shoulder.
“That’s what I thought.” She smiles at us widely, her entire tone different from a few seconds ago. She pulls me in for a hug, the familiar scent of oil and onions enveloping me, and I inhale the comforting aroma. She uses onions in everything and even eats them raw sometimes, like an apple. We file into the house and through the entryway to the kitchen, where she has the table set and groaning with her delicious cooking.
“It smells like heaven in here.” I inhale deeply, eyeing the soup beans and cornbread. They’re my favorite.
“Uh-uh.” She swats Papaw’s hand with her dish towel, the snap echoing around the room. “You all go into the bathroom and wash your hands. You know better than that.”
We obey, heading back to the hall bath like scolded children.
“You should have known not to wash your hands in her kitchen sink, Papaw. Honestly.”
“I wasn’t thinking.” He sighs as we scrub our hands vigorously. “I was focused on the food.”
“I mean, I don’t blame you there.” We dry our hands and head back to the kitchen, and the sight that awaits me has me stopping in my tracks.
Papaw barrels into me, evidently not watching where he was going, and while he’s pushing seventy, he’s as stout as an ox and knocks me off balance. I catch myself on the edge of the table, putting me at eye level with Jack Anderson, who’s being dished up a plate of food by Mamaw as she chatters away.
“Hello, Rachel.” His tone is friendly, but his eyes are sparkling mischievously. God, he’s thinking about me calling him last night. I can practically read his mind.
