tied up his little boat, the Cud. His house hardly resembled the old stone farmhouse he grew up in, he’d added to and knocked out and renovated so many of the small, dim, low-ceilinged rooms. All that was left of the original was the parlor. His office.
I dialed his number again. Cleared my throat while his message played.
“Jess, this is Carrie, calling from the Other School. I don’t know if you knew, but I’m working here now. Um, Brian was wondering if you’ll be teaching fishing again next June. Would you call and leave a message, please, one wayor the other? Any time over the weekend. Okay, thanks.”
I almost hung up.
“And—I also wanted to say, I’m sorry, again, about the, um, ark animals, and how all that—went. My mother—oh, God. Well, you know. Anyway.” Yes, I’m great with people. “Ruth misses you, she says hi. Wants to come see you one of these days. She’s got an idea that she can drive around onyour back roads by herself—I can’t imagine who put that in her head. Well, okay. Be seeing you. Don’t forget about the course. ’Bye, Jess.”
I didn’t know if I was hinting around for an invitation or not, I truly didn’t. But he called the next day, Saturday, and invited Ruth and me to tea. Yes, tea. Thirty years later, he was still doing the unexpected.
7
Two of Everything
“M OM, THIS CAR is such a tool. You know what Connie Rosetta’s father gave her for her sixteenth birthday? A brand-new Cabrio. In the school colors .”
“What’s a Cabrio?”
“ God , Mom. It’s a VW convertible.”
“Oh.”
“This is the dorkiest car in the whole town. Who would buy this car?” A Chevy Cavalier, crud colored, with nothing but a radio, not even a tape deck. Automatic, of course, so you couldn’t downshift or rev it in neutral or anything. “Who bought it,” I asked her, “you or Dad?”
“I guess we bought it together.”
“ God .”
“Be careful on these curves, you’re almost speeding. Are you watching your speedometer?”
“Yes, I’m watching. Hey, look, Jess got a new sign.”
“Slow down.”
“I am . Isn’t it cool?” DEEPING FARMS, it said in white and gold on a green background, on a wooden plaque just inside the old stone gateposts. I steered the Chevy onto the gravel driveway, slowing to a crawl for Mom’s sake. “Why is it ‘Farms,’ though? Doesn’t he just have one farm?”
“He has another place out past Locust Dale, I think. Smaller. A tenant runs it.”
“I didn’t know that. Hey, whose car is that? It’s not Mr. Green’s.”
“Who’s Mr. Green?”
“Jess’s hired man. Think he got a new car? Jess, I mean.” Not new, I saw; used. A gray Ford Taurus almost as ugly as this one. God, I hoped it wasn’t Jess’s. But I also hoped there wasn’t anybody else here. I wanted it to be just us three.
Except for the house, Jess’s farm is really beautiful. Everything matches. All the barns have stone foundations, and they’re all painted bright white with red trim. Even the silos are white with red tops. The fences are neat and straight, not falling down or rotting or rickety like you see on a lot of farms, and Jess even keeps the messiest places, like the muddy yard where the cows mill around waiting to be milked, as clean as he can by putting fresh straw down and also sometimes rotating them to an alternate waiting place while the other one dries out. When I first saw the farm, I couldn’t get over how perfect it all looked, like a play farm, the kind little kids build with toys for their train set. There’s shit and everything, I mean, it’s definitely a real farm, but—like, even the cows are clean, they don’t clump around with filthy butts from sitting in muck all the time. It must take a lot of extra work to keep your farm looking nice. Think how much easier it would be to let things slide. And tempting, too, because you’d probably get the same amount of milk out of the animals. Jess must have a lot of pride.
“You can
I dialed his number again. Cleared my throat while his message played.
“Jess, this is Carrie, calling from the Other School. I don’t know if you knew, but I’m working here now. Um, Brian was wondering if you’ll be teaching fishing again next June. Would you call and leave a message, please, one wayor the other? Any time over the weekend. Okay, thanks.”
I almost hung up.
“And—I also wanted to say, I’m sorry, again, about the, um, ark animals, and how all that—went. My mother—oh, God. Well, you know. Anyway.” Yes, I’m great with people. “Ruth misses you, she says hi. Wants to come see you one of these days. She’s got an idea that she can drive around onyour back roads by herself—I can’t imagine who put that in her head. Well, okay. Be seeing you. Don’t forget about the course. ’Bye, Jess.”
I didn’t know if I was hinting around for an invitation or not, I truly didn’t. But he called the next day, Saturday, and invited Ruth and me to tea. Yes, tea. Thirty years later, he was still doing the unexpected.
7
Two of Everything
“M OM, THIS CAR is such a tool. You know what Connie Rosetta’s father gave her for her sixteenth birthday? A brand-new Cabrio. In the school colors .”
“What’s a Cabrio?”
“ God , Mom. It’s a VW convertible.”
“Oh.”
“This is the dorkiest car in the whole town. Who would buy this car?” A Chevy Cavalier, crud colored, with nothing but a radio, not even a tape deck. Automatic, of course, so you couldn’t downshift or rev it in neutral or anything. “Who bought it,” I asked her, “you or Dad?”
“I guess we bought it together.”
“ God .”
“Be careful on these curves, you’re almost speeding. Are you watching your speedometer?”
“Yes, I’m watching. Hey, look, Jess got a new sign.”
“Slow down.”
“I am . Isn’t it cool?” DEEPING FARMS, it said in white and gold on a green background, on a wooden plaque just inside the old stone gateposts. I steered the Chevy onto the gravel driveway, slowing to a crawl for Mom’s sake. “Why is it ‘Farms,’ though? Doesn’t he just have one farm?”
“He has another place out past Locust Dale, I think. Smaller. A tenant runs it.”
“I didn’t know that. Hey, whose car is that? It’s not Mr. Green’s.”
“Who’s Mr. Green?”
“Jess’s hired man. Think he got a new car? Jess, I mean.” Not new, I saw; used. A gray Ford Taurus almost as ugly as this one. God, I hoped it wasn’t Jess’s. But I also hoped there wasn’t anybody else here. I wanted it to be just us three.
Except for the house, Jess’s farm is really beautiful. Everything matches. All the barns have stone foundations, and they’re all painted bright white with red trim. Even the silos are white with red tops. The fences are neat and straight, not falling down or rotting or rickety like you see on a lot of farms, and Jess even keeps the messiest places, like the muddy yard where the cows mill around waiting to be milked, as clean as he can by putting fresh straw down and also sometimes rotating them to an alternate waiting place while the other one dries out. When I first saw the farm, I couldn’t get over how perfect it all looked, like a play farm, the kind little kids build with toys for their train set. There’s shit and everything, I mean, it’s definitely a real farm, but—like, even the cows are clean, they don’t clump around with filthy butts from sitting in muck all the time. It must take a lot of extra work to keep your farm looking nice. Think how much easier it would be to let things slide. And tempting, too, because you’d probably get the same amount of milk out of the animals. Jess must have a lot of pride.
“You can
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