Read Online Weekends in Carolina by Jennifer Lohmann - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Lohmann
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he’d seen her drive the truck—instead of her small sedan—off the property. When Max hopped up into the seat and caught him eyeing the stick shift with suspicion, he knew his answer hadn’t fooled her.
“Your car is a standard, so I know you can drive one.”
“My car also doesn’t have rust.” Or a thick layer of dirt and torn seats, but he didn’t say any of that. This was a working farm truck and it wasn’t meant to be beautiful.
“Well, make sure you have your cell phone,” she said as the engine cranked, “in case we need to be rescued.” She seemed to be using all of her arm strength to shift the truck into Reverse, though the mischief in her voice made him wonder if this, including her asking if he wanted to drive, was all an act. Another side to his farmer?
“You’re not helping. One of your dreams for the farm should be a new truck.” He was guessing this hunk of metal was from the eighties.
“Bertha is from one of Ford’s greatest ever truck years.” Her struggle with the gearshift had clearly been an act. She had easily shifted into first gear, too busy defending her truck to fake difficulty this time. “She’s a collector’s item.”
“Does that include the price archeologists would pay to carbon date the dirt they scrape from the floor?” He said the words lightly, so she would know he was teasing. And she laughed.
Everyone’s mood was lighter today, it seemed. The clouds from the day before had evaporated, though the water it had left behind still gave everything a sparkle in the bright winter sun. The birds seemed to chirp a little louder this morning, as if they knew that this load of junk would mean the farmhouse was almost completely cleared out.
Important-looking papers had been sorted and shoved into boxes that went up into the attic, along with the family pictures Kelly hadn’t wanted. Anything that Kelly had felt a sentimental twinge for also went in a box and into the attic. They’d already made several trips to the Goodwill with anything that still had a use, and this should be the only trip they had to make to the dump.
Trey rolled down the window enough to let a little breeze in then settled into the torn seats and the dust for the novelty of being driven into town.
Max was apparently an experienced dump-goer, because she knew where to pull in to unload their hazardous materials, where to unload the boxes of broken electronics and where to dump the trash bags. Trey was just along for the ride because it was his father’s crap—and because spending his time with Max yesterday had been surprisingly relaxing. He wanted to see what she could do with a trip to the dump.
Lightened of its load, the truck seemed to drive better and Trey was settling in for the drive back when Max pulled into the small parking lot of a corner grocery store. “Do you mind?” she asked, though not until turning off the engine and engaging the parking brake.
The trip to the dump meant he was one chore closer to being back in D.C., so Trey said, “Of course not.” Given how old the store looked, complete with handwritten signs in the windows advertising the week’s specials, he must have passed this store a thousand times in his life as he drove up and down Roxboro Road. “What are we getting?”
“King’s has good local bread and milk, plus dried peaches for my oatmeal in the mornings,” Max said as she exited the truck and walked into the store, with Trey right behind her.
“Hey, sug,” the clerk called as Max grabbed a shopping basket. “How’s the farm?”
“Slow right now, but it’ll pick up soon.”
Trey trailed after Max through the aisles of the small store, content to play tourist and look around. The store had some items he expected, like bags of frozen chitterlings and other things that he didn’t know existed, like molasses in what had to be a ten-gallon bucket, and some things he’d never expected to see at a small grocery store in Durham, like bags of
“Your car is a standard, so I know you can drive one.”
“My car also doesn’t have rust.” Or a thick layer of dirt and torn seats, but he didn’t say any of that. This was a working farm truck and it wasn’t meant to be beautiful.
“Well, make sure you have your cell phone,” she said as the engine cranked, “in case we need to be rescued.” She seemed to be using all of her arm strength to shift the truck into Reverse, though the mischief in her voice made him wonder if this, including her asking if he wanted to drive, was all an act. Another side to his farmer?
“You’re not helping. One of your dreams for the farm should be a new truck.” He was guessing this hunk of metal was from the eighties.
“Bertha is from one of Ford’s greatest ever truck years.” Her struggle with the gearshift had clearly been an act. She had easily shifted into first gear, too busy defending her truck to fake difficulty this time. “She’s a collector’s item.”
“Does that include the price archeologists would pay to carbon date the dirt they scrape from the floor?” He said the words lightly, so she would know he was teasing. And she laughed.
Everyone’s mood was lighter today, it seemed. The clouds from the day before had evaporated, though the water it had left behind still gave everything a sparkle in the bright winter sun. The birds seemed to chirp a little louder this morning, as if they knew that this load of junk would mean the farmhouse was almost completely cleared out.
Important-looking papers had been sorted and shoved into boxes that went up into the attic, along with the family pictures Kelly hadn’t wanted. Anything that Kelly had felt a sentimental twinge for also went in a box and into the attic. They’d already made several trips to the Goodwill with anything that still had a use, and this should be the only trip they had to make to the dump.
Trey rolled down the window enough to let a little breeze in then settled into the torn seats and the dust for the novelty of being driven into town.
Max was apparently an experienced dump-goer, because she knew where to pull in to unload their hazardous materials, where to unload the boxes of broken electronics and where to dump the trash bags. Trey was just along for the ride because it was his father’s crap—and because spending his time with Max yesterday had been surprisingly relaxing. He wanted to see what she could do with a trip to the dump.
Lightened of its load, the truck seemed to drive better and Trey was settling in for the drive back when Max pulled into the small parking lot of a corner grocery store. “Do you mind?” she asked, though not until turning off the engine and engaging the parking brake.
The trip to the dump meant he was one chore closer to being back in D.C., so Trey said, “Of course not.” Given how old the store looked, complete with handwritten signs in the windows advertising the week’s specials, he must have passed this store a thousand times in his life as he drove up and down Roxboro Road. “What are we getting?”
“King’s has good local bread and milk, plus dried peaches for my oatmeal in the mornings,” Max said as she exited the truck and walked into the store, with Trey right behind her.
“Hey, sug,” the clerk called as Max grabbed a shopping basket. “How’s the farm?”
“Slow right now, but it’ll pick up soon.”
Trey trailed after Max through the aisles of the small store, content to play tourist and look around. The store had some items he expected, like bags of frozen chitterlings and other things that he didn’t know existed, like molasses in what had to be a ten-gallon bucket, and some things he’d never expected to see at a small grocery store in Durham, like bags of
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