card table just then and put her hand on mine. “I’m so sorry, dear.”
After she left, the Gonzaleses’ little girl came over and offered me a slice of apple. I knew she spoke English better than her parents — she would sometimes translate for the customers or for her mom and dad — and I wondered if she’d heard the exchange and felt sorry for me. I hoped not.
“Thanks,” I said, and I smiled at Mrs. Gonzales, who was watching.
“Isabel, ven acá.”
Mrs. Gonzales gestured the girl back over to their stand and handed her a whole apple, a Gala, to bring to me as well. I said
“Gracias”
this time and ate that, too — especially grateful for it, since I hadn’t had breakfast.
Isabel hung out with me for a while after that. We talked about her school — she was in first grade; her teacher’s name was Mrs. Hanak; her best friend was a girl named Ainsley; her favorite subject was lunch. And then for the next hour, between sales, we played rock, paper, scissors. When she won she punched me lightly on the arm. When I won I tickled her until she couldn’t stop giggling and yelling, “
¡Basta ya! ¡Basta ya!
Stop! Stop!”
Business tapered off around noon, and by one o’clock nearly all the stalls were closed and almost everyone was gone. The Gonzaleses were some of the last people to leave, and I wondered if they might have been waiting until Aunt Sue came back for me. But eventually they couldn’t wait any longer. Isabel hugged me, and I thanked Mr. and Mrs. Gonzales for the apples, while they thanked me for entertaining Isabel. As they pulled away in their truck, Mrs. Gonzales leaned out the window and said,
“Vaya con Dios.”
Aunt Sue didn’t show up until after three, but I didn’t mind, except for being away from Gnarly and the goats for so long. I’d brought my school copy of
Their Eyes Were Watching God
and re-read it while I waited alone in the Sue Allen Farm Goat Cheese stall. A few people wandered through the park next to the farmers’ market, which was near downtown. There weren’t any more customers, though, and even if there had been, I didn’t have anything left to sell. I had made two hundred and fifty dollars — and was sure I could have done even better if I’d had more cheese, and if Aunt Sue was ever willing to put out samples to attract new customers.
I was surprised by how much I’d enjoyed being at the farmers’ market. I liked the Gonzaleses and I liked the customers — even the cranky ones, but especially the woman who’d been to Camden. I liked having something useful to do, even if it was for Aunt Sue.
Aunt Sue came up to my bedroom the evening Reba went into labor. It was a Friday. Book had an away game all the way up in Elizabeth City, too far for Aunt Sue to drive to watch the game, even though she had the night off from work.
She hesitated at my door and looked around, mostly at the floor, where I had my piles of books.
“Go into town and buy a tub of K-Y Jelly,” she told me. Then she said, “You do have a driver’s license, don’t you?” She’d never seen me drive, never asked me if I wanted to drive — which, once she bought the Tundra, I wouldn’t have wanted to, anyway.
I nodded. “From Maine.”
“Well, good enough. Here’s the keys. Reba’s gonna deliver tonight, and I need that K-Y. She’s got multiples. They get tangled sometimes, and you got to go in and untangle them, turn them around, things like that.”
I didn’t say anything.
Aunt Sue said, “You know where the Walmart is out on County Circle Road? The one where I work. They have it there. Get the kind with the pump. That’s the size I need. Now, get going.”
I thought about saying no, and telling her I wouldn’t be caught dead in her damn P of the P, but instead I got up, took the keys, and pulled on my hoodie. “The only reason I’m going is for Reba,” I said, but Aunt Sue had already turned away. She beat me downstairs, and by the time I reached the truck, I saw
After she left, the Gonzaleses’ little girl came over and offered me a slice of apple. I knew she spoke English better than her parents — she would sometimes translate for the customers or for her mom and dad — and I wondered if she’d heard the exchange and felt sorry for me. I hoped not.
“Thanks,” I said, and I smiled at Mrs. Gonzales, who was watching.
“Isabel, ven acá.”
Mrs. Gonzales gestured the girl back over to their stand and handed her a whole apple, a Gala, to bring to me as well. I said
“Gracias”
this time and ate that, too — especially grateful for it, since I hadn’t had breakfast.
Isabel hung out with me for a while after that. We talked about her school — she was in first grade; her teacher’s name was Mrs. Hanak; her best friend was a girl named Ainsley; her favorite subject was lunch. And then for the next hour, between sales, we played rock, paper, scissors. When she won she punched me lightly on the arm. When I won I tickled her until she couldn’t stop giggling and yelling, “
¡Basta ya! ¡Basta ya!
Stop! Stop!”
Business tapered off around noon, and by one o’clock nearly all the stalls were closed and almost everyone was gone. The Gonzaleses were some of the last people to leave, and I wondered if they might have been waiting until Aunt Sue came back for me. But eventually they couldn’t wait any longer. Isabel hugged me, and I thanked Mr. and Mrs. Gonzales for the apples, while they thanked me for entertaining Isabel. As they pulled away in their truck, Mrs. Gonzales leaned out the window and said,
“Vaya con Dios.”
Aunt Sue didn’t show up until after three, but I didn’t mind, except for being away from Gnarly and the goats for so long. I’d brought my school copy of
Their Eyes Were Watching God
and re-read it while I waited alone in the Sue Allen Farm Goat Cheese stall. A few people wandered through the park next to the farmers’ market, which was near downtown. There weren’t any more customers, though, and even if there had been, I didn’t have anything left to sell. I had made two hundred and fifty dollars — and was sure I could have done even better if I’d had more cheese, and if Aunt Sue was ever willing to put out samples to attract new customers.
I was surprised by how much I’d enjoyed being at the farmers’ market. I liked the Gonzaleses and I liked the customers — even the cranky ones, but especially the woman who’d been to Camden. I liked having something useful to do, even if it was for Aunt Sue.
Aunt Sue came up to my bedroom the evening Reba went into labor. It was a Friday. Book had an away game all the way up in Elizabeth City, too far for Aunt Sue to drive to watch the game, even though she had the night off from work.
She hesitated at my door and looked around, mostly at the floor, where I had my piles of books.
“Go into town and buy a tub of K-Y Jelly,” she told me. Then she said, “You do have a driver’s license, don’t you?” She’d never seen me drive, never asked me if I wanted to drive — which, once she bought the Tundra, I wouldn’t have wanted to, anyway.
I nodded. “From Maine.”
“Well, good enough. Here’s the keys. Reba’s gonna deliver tonight, and I need that K-Y. She’s got multiples. They get tangled sometimes, and you got to go in and untangle them, turn them around, things like that.”
I didn’t say anything.
Aunt Sue said, “You know where the Walmart is out on County Circle Road? The one where I work. They have it there. Get the kind with the pump. That’s the size I need. Now, get going.”
I thought about saying no, and telling her I wouldn’t be caught dead in her damn P of the P, but instead I got up, took the keys, and pulled on my hoodie. “The only reason I’m going is for Reba,” I said, but Aunt Sue had already turned away. She beat me downstairs, and by the time I reached the truck, I saw
Similar Books
