doctor I’d end up driving that limo like my dad.”
“You get along with him?”
“He was easygoing. Got along with everyone, but that’s what made it hard. He was everyone’s friend but mine, was always the guy who knew what to say, except to me. He never yelled or anything, he’d just get this look like maybe he was sad or disappointed or something.”
He looked up at Nina and his gray eyes were squinting, his mouth sad. “I was the one who yelled. Slammed doors. Kicked walls. Every once in a while, especially when I was in high school, almost always after Mom died, I could get him to yell back.”
“ ‘Get him to’?”
“Fucked up, right? Because yeah, that’s what I was going for. I’d rather get him into a screaming match then get one of his sad-eyed looks before he cracked a beer in front of the game.
“That’s the problem with PJ, now. We met up at that diner before we took care of Kate’s chickens, and I sat there in the old booths, got worked up without meaning to. PJ’s different. Like a genius. Sailed through school double time, ended up on the East Coast at a music conservatory for cello. Plays in the Lakefield Symphony and he’s only twenty-two fucking years old.”
Nina looked at Sam, squinting out over the fields, and guessed. “You and PJ fought? Before we went to Kate’s?”
“Yeah. Sat in that old booth, and I was missing Des, but instead of just saying so, started in on her, how I’m pissed she left, and he rightfully defends her, so I start in on him, teasing him about his crush on Lacey forno fucking reason. He left, and no wonder.”
She stood with him while he sprinkled his leaf shreds over the ground. He’d been worked up, reached for her at Kate’s.
“With the chickens, were you just …?”
“No. I’m trying to … explain. How it is with me. How it is when I want to do something for people. How it is I admire you because it’s hard for me. I love my family. When my mom was around, I tried to be more patient with myself and with everyone else, for my mom. She was like me, but she didn’t really get angry. Sad, sometimes. Maybe she got angry at herself, while I got angry at the world.
Get
angry at the world. It made her so upset to see me have trouble with Dad so she’d tell me stories about him. About the two of them. How they fell in love, their marriage before they had kids. What she loved about him even after four kids. Those were my bedtime stories, and as far as I know, she only ever really told me.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“Yeah.” He found her gaze, and the slant of the sun highlighted the fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the creases bracketing his mouth, the freckles close and dense as the carrot seeds she liked to scatter over damp filter paper to sprout. He looked good out here, in the sun. Like that surfer boy she saw in him, right from the first.
“You want your own love story, then?”
He looked back into the corn. “I think I do. I mean, so far I keep fucking them up, but that’s what I’m aiming for.”
Oh, Sam.
“So, what do you think, Opie?” Nina kept her tone light, but this was it, a chance to anticipate something more than disaster and grief and failure, and she had to believe there was a reason this restless man, a man who looked so beautiful in the sun, was standing next to her and willing to tell her he wanted a love story.
“What do I think about what? I feel like I’ve pretty much told you all the thoughts I’ve ever had.”
“Are you in?” She turned to him and hooked her thumbs in her shorts.
He looked at her, right at her, for a long moment, and Nina was shocked to feel herself get warm, like maybe she was actually blushing.
He had to know she didn’t mean
them
, not really, but standing out here in the sun and wind, sharing what brought them there, it almost felt like that could be a newly tilled field. The one to grow something in. Something they planted.
She liked Sam Burnside. She liked his hands
“You get along with him?”
“He was easygoing. Got along with everyone, but that’s what made it hard. He was everyone’s friend but mine, was always the guy who knew what to say, except to me. He never yelled or anything, he’d just get this look like maybe he was sad or disappointed or something.”
He looked up at Nina and his gray eyes were squinting, his mouth sad. “I was the one who yelled. Slammed doors. Kicked walls. Every once in a while, especially when I was in high school, almost always after Mom died, I could get him to yell back.”
“ ‘Get him to’?”
“Fucked up, right? Because yeah, that’s what I was going for. I’d rather get him into a screaming match then get one of his sad-eyed looks before he cracked a beer in front of the game.
“That’s the problem with PJ, now. We met up at that diner before we took care of Kate’s chickens, and I sat there in the old booths, got worked up without meaning to. PJ’s different. Like a genius. Sailed through school double time, ended up on the East Coast at a music conservatory for cello. Plays in the Lakefield Symphony and he’s only twenty-two fucking years old.”
Nina looked at Sam, squinting out over the fields, and guessed. “You and PJ fought? Before we went to Kate’s?”
“Yeah. Sat in that old booth, and I was missing Des, but instead of just saying so, started in on her, how I’m pissed she left, and he rightfully defends her, so I start in on him, teasing him about his crush on Lacey forno fucking reason. He left, and no wonder.”
She stood with him while he sprinkled his leaf shreds over the ground. He’d been worked up, reached for her at Kate’s.
“With the chickens, were you just …?”
“No. I’m trying to … explain. How it is with me. How it is when I want to do something for people. How it is I admire you because it’s hard for me. I love my family. When my mom was around, I tried to be more patient with myself and with everyone else, for my mom. She was like me, but she didn’t really get angry. Sad, sometimes. Maybe she got angry at herself, while I got angry at the world.
Get
angry at the world. It made her so upset to see me have trouble with Dad so she’d tell me stories about him. About the two of them. How they fell in love, their marriage before they had kids. What she loved about him even after four kids. Those were my bedtime stories, and as far as I know, she only ever really told me.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“Yeah.” He found her gaze, and the slant of the sun highlighted the fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the creases bracketing his mouth, the freckles close and dense as the carrot seeds she liked to scatter over damp filter paper to sprout. He looked good out here, in the sun. Like that surfer boy she saw in him, right from the first.
“You want your own love story, then?”
He looked back into the corn. “I think I do. I mean, so far I keep fucking them up, but that’s what I’m aiming for.”
Oh, Sam.
“So, what do you think, Opie?” Nina kept her tone light, but this was it, a chance to anticipate something more than disaster and grief and failure, and she had to believe there was a reason this restless man, a man who looked so beautiful in the sun, was standing next to her and willing to tell her he wanted a love story.
“What do I think about what? I feel like I’ve pretty much told you all the thoughts I’ve ever had.”
“Are you in?” She turned to him and hooked her thumbs in her shorts.
He looked at her, right at her, for a long moment, and Nina was shocked to feel herself get warm, like maybe she was actually blushing.
He had to know she didn’t mean
them
, not really, but standing out here in the sun and wind, sharing what brought them there, it almost felt like that could be a newly tilled field. The one to grow something in. Something they planted.
She liked Sam Burnside. She liked his hands
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