Episode ll: Grounding

But first, a word from your author:

To read and enjoy the book in its original format, I've included a file you can download of the .pdf. Just scroll down until you find it. Sorry for this, but online web formatting does not currently offer a solution and as a writer who pays very close attention to appearance, this seems to be the best solution. Hope you don't mind and sorry for any inconvenience.

Edith: That war—or I guess I should say those wars—weren’t his only battlefield. The orchard was one, too. Maybe a harder one even, I don’t know. Okay, probably not. But still. I can remember there always seemed to be this almost constant battle going on between the two of them, John David and Daddy. This was after the accident, of course. If not actual arguing, there’d just be these long periods of neither of them talking, which was not normal either, but especially for Daddy as he had only recently given up preaching. But I’m getting ahead of myself. And honestly what do I know? I was the youngest and just a kid. Maybe they’d always been arguing. Maybe all either of them had ever known of the other was being at war. 

— ––– ---

From the driver’s seat, Jordan’s voice rose, hostile and irate, while their mother, who seemed angry, too, for reasons no one quite understood, waved good-bye out the window at the house where John David and Edith were standing on the front porch watching. Music blasted over the radio and Jordan had one hand raised in the air in lecture and with the other gripped the steering wheel as he steered the car sharply up the drive. 

How can anyone hear anything with all that going on? Frank said from where he stood watching from behind the screen door.

Business as usual, said John David. Jordan acting like an ass.

Language, Frank said.

Well, he is.

I thought you were going with him.

He wasn’t ready, offered Edith, and Jordan’s mad cause he’s gonna be late.

Late for what? 

I don’t know. Probably a date.

A date? 

Yeah, you know. With a girl.

Then why is your mothering going?

Maybe she’s got one, too, said John David. 

She’s coming back to get him, Edith answered. 

Well, I expect you’ll be ready by then, won’t you? Frank told him.

Love how all this looks like my fault now.

Sounds like it might, their father replied.

The three of them turned then and watched up the drive as the car turned onto the road, tires kicking up stone and gravel, and directly behind them, just a second or two later, came the sound of breaks squealing as the logging truck, which no one had seen barreling down the hill swept into the curve, the driver doing all he could to avoid a collision, of which happened anyway. 

In a rhombus of chaff and sunlight perched a gray-haired, old man on a stool. His eyes were closed and his head bowed reverently. Like some parody of a backwoods preacher in his dusty coveralls and open palms resting on a sprawling conveyor contraption, as if communing with the very soul of the beast. 

Daddy? Edith said. She was standing at the barn door. Herself in a swirl of sunbeam and dust motes. Daddy? He looked at her. Please listen to me. I am listening, he said. Edith pointed. Then look at her.

Outside the barn door in the gravel stood a girl with her two migrant parents. She was clutching a Hello Kitty lunch box in one hand and in the other, crushed to her chest, a stuffed panda bear and was watching the two of them argue while her mother and father stole worried glances from one another. She belongs in school, Edith said, not the back seat of a car. 

You think I don’t know that? Frank replied. He took a red, grease-stained rag from the pocket of his overalls and wiped his hands.

Then how is it that’s where I found her?

A yellow barn cat sidled up next to Edith and rubbed it’s head against her leg and she shooed it away with her boot and looked at her father. Little girls belong in school, she said. Period. End of discussion. You know that. So does Miguel.

Leave him out of it. Miguel has his hands full.

Of course he does. We all do. It’s the middle of harvest. But, Jesus, what if she’d gotten hurt or wandered off?

Yes.

Yes what?

Yes I’ll handle it. 

No, she said, drawing it out, you had your chance and so now I will. But in return you’re going to do something for me. The phone buzzed in Edith’s hand and she looked at it and silenced the ringer and looked at him. There’s a card on the counter for John David. I need you to sign it and put it in the mail. Like today. This morning.

A card for what?

For Benji’s birthday party. 

Why am I signing that?

Will you please just do it? I want him to know he’s welcome.

Why wouldn’t he be welcome?

Daddy, I really don’t have time for this. 

Have you tried calling?

Edith rested both hands on her hips. Do you listen to anything I say? His number doesn’t work. It hasn’t worked for a while now because he changed it or something, discontinued the service, I don’t know. Please just sign it and put it in the mailbox. Okay? Before the mailman comes. 

Did you try the number in my phone?

Oh my god of course I tried it. I’m the one who put it there. 

The phone buzzed again in her hand and again she silenced it. What time are you leaving for the bank?

Not a moment too soon.

Can you at least try to think positive?

That was.

I just need to know how much time I have to fix this problem with the girl. 

How are you going to do that?

I don’t know yet. 

Edith waved for the family to come forward and she spoke to the couple briefly and then knelt and spoke to the little girl and finally she showed them all to a small table where they could sit and she turned back to face her father. She’s going to have to stay here with you while I figure something out. 

But I have work to do.

So does everyone else. Or how’s this for a solution. You can just send them away and tell them to come back when they have their family situation worked out which is what Miguel should’ve done in the first place.

Someone else will just hire them.

Yeah, that’s right. That’s why she’s staying with you. Who else is going to give a care in the world that she spends all day sitting in the car? No one. I’ll call you when I know something more. Keep your phone handy and the ringer turned on. If you don’t hear from me by the time you need to leave for town, don’t just leave her here. Take her to Miguel. One of her parents will have to stay with her then. Okay?

He didn’t answer. 

Daddy? 

Okay. 

Now back to the bank meeting— 

You know, he interrupted, I’ve been selling banks on the needs of this farm long before you came along. 

I know that. But still. Just make sure you mention the mild winter and the late spring frost.

I will.

And the new irrigation.

Of course. 

I wouldn’t say anything about Zoe though. 

Why on earth would I mention the pig? 

I’m not saying you would but you might. The last thing we need is them thinking we’ve lost our minds.

What we? The way I remember it is you asked could you bring a pig home, I said no and you went and did it anyway.

One day you’ll thank me. Her phone went off again. Christ, she said, I’ve got to go. Just in case you were thinking this day couldn’t get any worse Benji says he’s not feeling well. So I may need you to pick him up at school if they call.

And do what with him?

What do you mean, do what with him? Bring him home.

What if he’s sick?

Daddy, that’s the only reason they would call.

Shouldn’t he go to the doctor then?

Edith studied him. How did you ever manage on your own? 

Manage what?

Everything, she replied.

Edith: Days passed, then weeks. Jordan came home from the hospital after a month and a few weeks later left for college. Two weeks after that Daddy took us to live the rest of that summer with an aunt on the coast. Said it was to give him time to grieve, to move on. Or something like that. When he came back later to get us he’d left the church and had bought this farm, and then cleared fifteen of its flattest acres and seeded the orchard you see there today. I was thrilled to be home but John David, well, he hated it. Trusted none of it, nor Daddy. I imagine he cringed at the thought of those tiny roots of salvation or whatever you want to call it snaking beneath the soil. How he kept from sneaking out there at night and wrenching each one from the ground I don’t know. But, not me. No. I bought into it right away. I loved it then and still do today. In a way this apple farm became my mother. 

Edith pulled down the drive to the house and rattled to a stop next to a late-model blue sedan and tried unsuccessfully to place the owner and finally got out and walked over and cupped her hands to the glass. The inside was spotless, glistening clean, the floor mats still covered in factory plastic. On the passenger seat laid a window sales tag from Kent AutoMart. She snapped upright and stepped around to the rear of the car and when she saw the licensed dealer tags she stammered, Oh hell no. And stomped off toward the house. 

She dropped her things on the kitchen counter where she saw the birthday invitation she had asked her father that morning to mail and she snatched it up with a snarl and stormed out of the house. She’d not gotten far when she spotted two men walking down the path from the barn. The older man, Wyatt Kent, was shorter and much heavier than his dumb-fucking son, Harrison, who for some stupid reason she couldn’t comprehend went by the name Gravy Donger. Harrison/Gravy Donger was wearing a faded red hoody sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off and beneath an image of a handgun read the phrase: Guns don’t kill people, It’s mostly the bullets.

Edith stopped as they neared and Wyatt smiled and nodded as if about to pass without speaking a word when Harrison suddenly cursed. He lifted a boot, the bottom caked in fresh pig shit. The two of them stopped. Harrison looked at Edith. What the hell? 

That’s Zoe, she said. 

What’s Zoe?

What you just stepped in.

What are talking about? 

Never mind. She looked at Wyatt. Can I help you? 

No ma’am. We’re just visiting with the preacher, he answered. 

Ex-preacher, you mean.

If you prefer.

It’s not what I prefer. It’s what he is. An ex-preacher.

Yes, very well. You know how it is with some habits.

So I’ve heard. Anyway. Go on. You were visiting with my father.

That’s right.

Can I ask about what?

The older Kent looked at his son, who was scraping the pig shit off in the grass. Oh, just a friendly chat about this that and the other.

A friendly chat?

That’s right.

About this that and the other.

Yes ma’am. Pretty much.

Harrison said to his father he’d be in the car and then went off down the hill. 

Don’t get any of that on the upholstery, Wyatt called after him. 

Edith noticed the small handgun holstered on Harrison’s hip and she looked at Wyatt and said, I’d appreciate it if he’d leave that gun in the car the next time you two get the urge to drop by for a chat. 

I’ll be sure and mention that. Now if you’ll excuse me.

Wyatt pointed his self back down the hill and then paused and turned and he looked back at Edith and said, Your father’s right about one thing. God rest her soul. You are her spitting image.

Edith watched him and it occurred to her that he was waiting for her to ask who but she knew who and wasn’t about to give that fat grinning bastard one more second of her time or his satisfaction.

She found her father in the same place she’d left him earlier that morning. In the barn, leaning over the conveyor. Only his back was to the door and he was sitting hunched over with one arm hidden in his lap and the other laid across the sorter, like some drunk propped up at a bar.

Daddy? Edith said and walked up and put her hand on his back. What’s wrong? 

Nothing’s wrong, Frank answered. 

You don’t look so well.

I don’t know why not. I’m having the time of my life.

That’s not funny. She scootched around him where he sat on the stool and studied the piece of machinery. This still not working? 

It did for a while then it didn’t.

Should we call someone?

Like who? This thing’s a hundred years old. Anyone who could’ve worked on it died a decade ago.

She took a step back and looked at him. I just ran into Wyatt Kent and his idiot son. 

Hm.

What were they doing here? 

They just stopped by for a visit. 

Strange. That’s what he said.

He offered to lend me a hand with that washed out area.

Wyatt Kent offered to lend you a hand?

That’s right.

With farm work?

Frank nodded.

Whey are you lying to me?

What makes you think I’m lying?

Well, to start with, Wyatt Kent didn’t really look dressed for farm work, and for seconds, he looked dressed for his kind of work, which near as I can tell is swindling people out of their money. 

Frank didn’t respond and she stood there watching him tinker and finally she asked, Did your little chat about this that and the other have anything to do with your bank meeting this morning?

Nope.

Really?

Far as I know.

Edith studied him. And how did that go? Just wondering as you didn’t answer any of my calls.

I was working.

Right. She watched him and waited. The bank?

What about it?

How’d it go? 

Hard to say.

They didn’t tell you one way or another?

They said they’d take look at it.

They’d look at it?

That’s what they said. 

Take a look at what exactly?

Everything, I imagine.

Did they at least seem hopeful?

Banks always seem hopeful, Frank replied. It’s not the hope of lending money to people they have a problem with. 

Yes, I know. It’s the follow through. She paused and studied him. I wonder what you are not telling me. 

He looked at her and set the wrench on the conveyor top. Listen, he said. Times have changed. It’s not that easy anymore.

Edith could feel tears welling up in her eyes. What’s not easy? she asked. Getting help from a bank to run a business? Do they not understand people still have to eat? 

You think banks care about that?

If they don’t they should.

At one time maybe they did, but not anymore. It’s only about the money and the return they want to get. 

Yeah, okay, whatever. I know that. I understand they have to make something. That’s why it’s called a loan, not a gift.

With the rates these days it’s more like robbery. 

So it is what it is. At least they’re not saying no, right?

Frank didn’t answer. 

She dropped her chin and looked at him. They said no? Is that why Wyatt Kent was out here? He smells blood already? Even so, I can’t believe you’d be cooking up some crappy deal with him. To what end? So he can turn this place into a goddamn car lot? No. That’s not happening. Edith was shaking her head and so angry she could feel the waterworks about to arrive. I know you better than this. You are not going to just let some assholes in suits tell you what you can and cannot do. 

It's no different than being a minister.

What is?

Most of my life I’ve had to listen to what assholes in suits had to say. Look around here, Edie. There’s not much going in our favor. One look at our numbers and they’re going to have all of the info they need. Add to that the fact that we’re probably going to get fifteen to twenty percent less yield this year, if we’re lucky. And don’t even get me started on land values. Do you have any idea how all that looks on a loan application?

Please don’t talk down to me. You know I can’t stand that. And yes—

I’m sorry.

Edith watched him. She wiped at her eyes. And so that’s that? It’s over?

Frank looked at her and he started to speak but she stopped him. No. On second thought don’t answer that. Not yet. I’ve got things to do like make dinner and after dinner I’ll have to clean up and give Benji a bath and then put him to bed, by which time I fully imagine you will have made your own self scarce, sparing you any further discomfort of having me ask you again what happened with the bank and now this, whatever this thing is with Wyatt Kent. But for now I can’t, I won’t have this conversation. We are going to get to the bottom of this though I can promise you’re going to need to tell me exactly everything. Now where’s Benji?  

He's here somewhere, Frank answered. 

I figured as much. Should I check the back seat of the car? 

In the upper lot. He’s with Miguel.

Edith turned and started toward the barn door when she remembered the card in her hand. She lifted it overhead and called out over her shoulder, And also thanks for nothing.