Never Let You Go (12 page)

“Hi,” Sarah replied, turning from the stove. Beside her, Dave lifted thick slices of bacon from the black skillet and lay them to drain on layers of paper towels.

Linda looked amused. “You’ll get used to the six o’clock wakeups before long,” she said. She wheeled herself a little closer to
the table and pushed the platter of pancakes down toward them. “A treat for you girls—you’re going to have a busy morning.”

Anna didn’t respond. Instead, she gave Linda a cool stare, then stuck her fork through an entire stack of pancakes and dumped them onto her plate. She drowned them in half a bottle of maple syrup, then took an enormous bite and chewed noisily, staring straight ahead. Linda watched Anna, her mouth tight.

Megan cleared her throat. “What are we doing this morning?” she asked Linda politely.

“Mm?” Linda asked, looking over at Megan. “Oh, Thomas needs you girls to deliver a load of corn to a farmer on the other side of town. You should be back by afternoon.”

Megan slid two pancakes onto her plate. They were works of art, fluffy and golden, and studded with huge blueberries. Sarah reached over Megan’s shoulder and forked three slices of bacon beside the pancakes.

Thomas came in and washed his hands at the sink. They were crusted with dirt. “Linda, I’m going to make a change in the morning’s schedule,” he told her, wiping his hands on a red-striped dishtowel. “I’m going to send one of the boys with Megan to Coothy’s. Anna can stay back and help us paint the upstairs hallway.” He smiled at his niece. “I’ve barely gotten a chance to talk with you since you got here. This way we can visit.”

“Cool,” Anna replied. She emptied half a mug of coffee in one gulp. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m a really bad painter.”

“You can do the rolling.” Thomas sat down at the table with his own coffee, just as the screen door opened and the boys tramped
in, in various stages of alertness. Megan saw Anna immediately straighten at the sight of Jordan.

The boys distributed themselves around the table and immediately began shoveling in pancakes. Within minutes, the platter was empty and Sarah was rushing to pour more batter on the griddle. “Hey, are you guys excited about the campfire tonight?” she asked, leaning against the stove as she waited for the pancakes to crisp.

“What campfire?” Robert asked, rubbing his eyes. “Sounds like fun.”

“Thursday night tradition,” Sarah said. “Just for us younguns—Thomas and Linda don’t come. We all go up to this fantastic bonfire place back in the woods and play music, hang out, that sort of thing. Tonight at nine.”

“Great,” Jordan said. “Isaac has a guitar. I didn’t bring mine.”

“That’s okay,” Sarah said. “Dave’s bringing his mandolin, so you can try that out, if you want.”

Thomas started talking about the plans for the day. “I think I’ll send Jordan with you, Megan, so Robert can help Dave,” he said. “It shouldn’t be a long outing. You’ll just drive out, unload where he wants, and then come on back.”

No one stopped talking or eating, but Megan felt as if a silence had fallen over the room. She focused on her pancakes, which sat in a pool of syrup. Three hours alone with Jordan. She felt exceedingly aware of Anna on her left, as if her skin had suddenly sprouted antennae. Megan swallowed the lump of pancake in her throat and hesitantly raised her eyes. Jordan gave her an
easy smile. Anna was staring fixedly at her own sticky plate.

After the breakfast dishes were stacked in the sink, Anna trailed Megan out onto the porch, while Jordan went up to the tractor shed to retrieve the truck. Megan bent over, fiddling with her ankle socks and tying and retying her shoe. Anything to keep from seeing Anna’s face. Megan felt like she’d done something wrong, though she knew she hadn’t. At last she straightened up.

Anna’s face sagged and her mouth was turned down. “I can’t believe I’m not going.” She sank down slowly onto a wicker chair nearby.

“Come on, we’re delivering corn.” Megan knelt down beside the chair. “Please, lighten up.” There was a metallic taste in her mouth. Inside, she was dancing at the prospect of three hours alone with Jordan, but at the same time, hating herself for it.
It’s just a few hours.

Anna stared directly into Megan’s face, as if she could see into her mind. “And
you
get to go.”

Then the truck rumbled up to the porch, loaded with sacks of corn, and Jordan waved cheerfully. “Come on!” he called, and beeped the horn. Megan stood, brushing grit from her knees.

“See you this afternoon, okay?” she said.

Anna said nothing. Megan waved as they drove off, but her friend just sat as if propped in her chair. Megan watched her in the rearview mirror until the truck rounded a bend in the driveway and Anna was hidden from view.

Megan and Jordan were quiet as they pulled out onto the road toward the little town. The cab of the truck felt very small
and enclosed. Megan was keenly aware of the foot of ripped gray seat in between the two of them.
Why doesn’t someone say something?
She put her hands in her lap, then crossed her arms over her chest.
Is this going to be an awkward disaster?
The weight of Anna pressed down on Megan heavily. It should be her in this truck. At the same time, just the sight of Jordan’s tanned, broad hands on the steering wheel made her ears grow hot. Then she heard her own voice, as if from someone else.

“Do you know how to get where we’re going?” she asked.

He spoke at the same time. “Isn’t it great to get off the farm for a while?”

They laughed, and just like that, she felt the awkwardness vanish. Megan slid down in her seat and kicked off her sneakers, propping her feet on the dashboard. “Yes, to your question,” she said.

“And yes to yours.” Jordan stopped at a stop sign, then turned right past a modernist house that looked like a pile of blue and pink building blocks. “Thomas gave me directions before we left.” He lifted himself off the seat slightly and dug in his back pocket, handing Megan a folded piece of paper. “Want to navigate?”

“Sure.” Megan tried to decipher Thomas’s scratchy writing. “Let’s see. Left on Maple Knoll. Have you done that yet?”

“Yeah, we just did. We’re on Main now. Town’s straight ahead.”

Megan snorted a little at the thought of town. It seemed like a long time ago that she’d stumbled off the bus.

Jordan looked over. “What?”

“Nothing.” Megan shook her head. “It’s just that it seems like I’ve been at the farm forever, you know? But it’s only been four
days. I remember that’s how camp used to be when I was little. I only would go for a week, but somehow, that one week seemed as long as the whole school year.”

They reached the outskirts of the tiny town. Then they passed J & B Pawn, the liquor store, and the pharmacy. The same guys were still sitting on their barrels near the garage. Megan wondered if they ever moved or were just rooted there, like trees.

Then town disappeared behind them, and farmland spread out on either side. Megan cranked her window down and leaned her head against the back of the seat, appreciating the hot breeze on her face. She felt so relaxed. It was a relief not to have to monitor Anna and worry about her.

No, that was disloyal. Anna was her best friend.
Push that thought away.

“So, what did your parents think about you working on a farm all summer?” Jordan asked. He was driving with one hand at the bottom of the wheel, the other elbow cocked out the window. The sun shone through his thick hair. At the corners of his eyes, Megan could see faint white squint lines in his tanned face.

“My dad didn’t really care what I did. I think my mom was glad I was getting out of Cleveland for a while. This last school year was kind of . . . difficult.” Megan swallowed, thinking of herself sitting alone in the cafeteria. “They’re not really the farm types, though. They’re lawyers.”

He nodded. “They probably wouldn’t be too into the sheep, then, right?”

Megan laughed, thinking of her blond mother throwing hay
bales around. “Not too much. My mom’s more of a cat person. How about your parents? What did they think about the farm job?”

Jordan shrugged. “They’re big, big hippies, so to them, it was, like, why
wouldn’t
I work on a farm? The only thing better in their mind would have been if I’d volunteered at a Buddhist retreat or something.” He shook his head. “You should have heard them when I got that road crew job last summer.
Pollutes the environment, toxic chemicals, encourages dependency on cars
,” he mimicked. “You’d think I started working for the Republican Party.”

“Hey, how do you know
I’m
not a Republican?” Megan teased. “You might’ve just insulted me.”

Jordan grinned. “No, you can’t be a Republican. You’re way too cute.”

Megan laughed just as they both realized they’d crossed some invisible line. They fell silent.

“I don’t think it’s too much farther—” Jordan started to say just as something under the hood gave a pop and the truck shuddered. They looked at each other.

“Is it supposed to smell like burning rubber?” Megan asked.

“I’m sure it’s nothing big,” Jordan assured her. He pulled over to the side of the road, bumping on the uneven gravel, then climbed out of the cab and opened the hood. Megan got out too. She tried to peer at the engine, but she was distracted by standing so close to Jordan. She could see the smooth, tanned skin at the back of his neck, broken only by the gleam of a thin silver chain he wore under his shirt.

“It could be the fan belt.” Jordan pointed at what looked like a
mass of unrelated rubber pieces and greasy metal cylinders. “See how it’s getting frayed there?”

“Oh, sure,” Megan agreed, pretending she could see it. “Do you think we should call Thomas?”

Jordan slammed the hood. “I think we’ll be okay for this trip.” He grinned at her confidently, and she couldn’t help smiling back.

“I’m just going to trust you on this one.”

“Good choice, because I know nothing about cars.” He winked.

Back in the truck, Megan dug into a bag of food Sarah had handed her as they left. “I’m already starving.” She pawed past a few apples and a bag of carrot sticks before pulling out a plastic container of pasta salad. She held it up. “You want some of this?” It looked amazing—fresh pasta with gleaming chunks of tomato, olives, and peppers, all seasoned with bright green basil from the farm garden.

Jordan nodded. “Yeah.” He tilted his head toward Megan. “Right in there.” He opened his mouth like a baby bird, and Megan held a fork up so he could eat off a few pieces. “Damn, that’s good.”

Megan tucked her legs up under her and ate a mouthful herself as Jordan swung the truck around a series of dog-leg turns, down into a valley. The farms were gone now and the trees crowded close to the road, their drooping branches hanging low. Megan held up another forkful of pasta. “So, do you
like
the farm work so far?” she asked.

Jordan nodded and accepted the bite. “Don’t stab my face with that fork, okay?” he joked. “Yeah, I love it, actually. I want to major in sustainable agriculture in college, so this is the perfect summer job.”

“Are you going to be a senior next year?”

He shook his head. “I just graduated. I’m going to OSU in the fall. I cannot
wait
to get out of Lodi. You have no idea.” High rock walls rose up on either side of the road, dripping with moisture and streaked with moss.

Megan stuck the salad container back in the bag at her feet. “Hey, is this where we need to be?” She pointed to a brown and white
ENTERING JOHN BEAN STATE PARK
sign.

“No, shoot.” Jordan did a U-turn in the middle of the narrow road. “We must have missed a turn.” The truck climbed out of the valley, past the rock walls. They were really in more of a gorge, Megan realized, and there was no way a farm was going to be down here. She looked at the directions and realized that she’d misread “turn left after 8 miles” as “turn left after 3 miles.”

They were nearing the top of the valley road when the engine made a popping sound again and the burning rubber smell grew stronger. Megan waited for the engine to sputter or die, but nothing happened except that Jordan started whistling a little tune.

She looked over at him. He was tapping his fingers on the wheel in time to his whistling.

“I smell burning rubber again,” she pointed out.

He nodded. “Yeah, but see, if you pretend you can’t smell it, it’ll just go away.” He gave Megan a big, toothy grin and she giggled.

“Okay, wow. What an amazing plan.” She closed her eyes for a minute and pretended to concentrate. Then she opened them. “Wow, that really worked!” The rubber smell was stronger than ever. “I can’t smell even a bit of rubber.”

Jordan grinned. “See?”

“I knew you were brilliant,” Megan teased. She pointed as they approached a stop sign. “This is probably the turn.” There were more farms again. “There it is.” A rough white sign splattered with mud was stuck in the ground on a patch of unmowed grass.
BARKER FARM: HISTORIC FARMLAND FOR SALE
it read.

Jordan turned onto the narrow, muddy driveway and swerved around a series of potholes. Around a bend, the farmhouse loomed before them, tall, gaunt, and cheerless. The shutters were falling off the white house, and some of the louvers lay on the grass. Jordan glanced over at Megan and made a noise like a ghost. Megan giggled a little nervously.

They parked by a large, rambling barn. The place was still, except for a distant barking dog. “Hello?” Megan called out.

“Got my corn?” A harsh voice came from behind them, and they both whirled around. A man looking straight out of the painting
American Gothic
, right down to the deep lines carved into his face, stood in the entrance to the barn, holding a shovel.

“Yep, we’ve got it.” Megan tried to sound friendly and cheerful. “Are you Mr.”—she squinted at her paper—“Cootie?”

The lines in his face deepened. “Coothy.”

“Sorry about that. It’s nice to meet you.”

“The corn’s in the truck. We’re happy to help you unload it,” Jordan said.

“Come here,” Coothy ordered, turning away. Megan and Jordan glanced at each other and followed him through the wet, knee-high weeds to the back of the barn. “Up there.” He pointed to a small shed at the top of a long slope. It looked very far away. “Corn goes up in there.” Then the man turned and went back into the barn. After a minute, they heard the scrape of a shovel.