Wild Man Creek
Page 40

“Right…” he said.
“Ultimately, this farm will have to expand. But that’s something to worry about when we’ve perfected the product.”
“Expand to where?”
She tilted her head. “First we’ll clear the back meadow, then the land to the east, then we might terrace down the hill to the west. One thing at a time. Come on—let’s cut open some Sugar Baby watermelons and see where we stand.”
“Sure,” he said, going outside the fence to pluck one. “Largest or smallest?”
“Hmm. Grab one right in the middle. We’re going to collect a couple from each plant type for tasting—then we’ll put together a large box for Preacher to work on. Maybe for the Fourth of July picnic in town. Damn, I wish I was a baker like Kelly—the rhubarb is coming up and my great-grandmother’s rhubarb pie was to die for.”
Denny chuckled. “Well, I think I’m glad you’re the farmer. It never once crossed my mind to do something like this and now I keep hoping those other jobs I applied for don’t come through anytime soon. At least not while we still have harvesting to do.”
“We’ll be harvesting straight into October, young man. And in September it’s time to plan the winter garden. We’re going to see what we can produce in greenhouses. These small, portable eight-by-twelves are functional and cheap, and if they serve our purposes, I can invest in large custom shelters like you would see in an established commercial farm. But, one thing at a time.”
One of the first things Jack had added to his bar when the building was complete was a large brick barbecue. It allowed Preacher to turn steaks and hamburgers outside and host summer gatherings in the big yard behind the bar. He and Preacher had initiated the annual Fourth of July barbecue just a couple of years ago. They had added some picnic tables and had plenty of space, especially with the bar, porch and churchyard next door. They filled a couple of big plastic trash cans with ice and added canned sodas, beer and bottled water. There were several vintners in the area and some would bring wine, uncork the red and let it breathe on picnic tables; uncork the white and chill it in the ice. If they moved a few tables from inside the bar and set up a buffet outside, people filled them with pot-luck items. As for Jack and Preacher, their job was to turn burgers and dogs on the grill. All day long.
Even though they had the picnic tables, people tended to bring their lawn chairs and blankets—there would never be enough seating. And it didn’t take any time at all for events like this and like Buck Anderson’s end-of-summer picnic to become traditions. “I could use your help around the grill, if you’re not too busy,” Jack told Denny. “Especially since Rick isn’t going to be here this year.”
“I bet you really get to missing him,” Denny said.
“I sometimes miss his company, but he’s in a good place in his life. It’s a lot easier on me than getting a phone call from Iraq that he’s in a hospital in Germany and might not make it. Right now he’s healthy and happy, even with Lydie declining. I can live with that easy.”
So Denny was posted at the grill with Preacher and Jack, sometimes running back and forth to the kitchen for more buns and meat to grill. And Jack was grateful to have him there, helping out. Jack figured he’d been damn lucky with the people in his life. He had good, solid extended family in his dad and sisters, he had his Marine brothers, he had Mel and the little ones, he’d discovered Rick when the boy was only thirteen and now—Denny.
Jack kept an eye on the gathering crowd—even Aiden and Erin Riordan had decided to make the drive up from Chico for a mini reunion. It made him grin to see Colin and Jillian arrive holding hands—that guy must be down for the count. All the usual suspects were present—Paul Haggarty and his family; the town minister and his family; his sister Brie and her husband and daughter; Cameron and Abby Michaels with their twins….
And then the couple he’d been watching for. Darla and Phil Prentiss came walking from down the street; Phil was carrying their little son, Jake. Jack’s glance shot to his wife and watched as Mel slowly rose from a picnic table and moved toward them. Her back had been to the road and it was as if some kind of maternal radar had tipped her. She was smiling as her arms reached out for Darla and after the women hugged, Mel automatically reached for that baby.
Mel was smiling, laughing, cuddling the baby. He let out his breath in a long, even sigh. This was the way she acted with every baby. She loved babies.
Almost a year ago Mel had it in her head she needed another baby. It was quite a trial for them, a real strain on their marriage. First she wanted one of their own with a surrogate, then she met a young couple looking for adoptive parents for their baby and Mel was all over that. It took her a while to get things into perspective—they had a good marriage and a couple of kids. And her good friends, Darla and Phil, had been trying to adopt and here was this very special young couple, Marley and Jake, needing parents for the baby that was coming while they were unmarried, too broke and too young.
Mel had seen the new baby before today, but Jack had to admit he held his breath each time Mel came in contact with the baby she more or less passed over to Darla and Phil. He hoped they’d survived that passage and Mel was now content with life as it was for them. He thought so, but he’d learned not to take things like women’s emotions or whims for granted.
He reached into one of the big buckets, fished out a beer, held it up and gestured toward Phil. Phil spotted him, smiled, gave his wife a kiss on the cheek and headed toward Jack. Phil took the beer with one hand, reached out to shake Jack’s with the other. “Gotta love a mind reader,” Phil said.
“I’m a bartender,” Jack answered. “I figure you either need to drink or talk. So, how’s parenthood treating you these days?”
“Well, let’s see. Jake wakes up about five times a night and neither one of us has it in us to let him cry himself to sleep. I guess that means it’s going pretty well. For him, anyway.” He took a slug of beer. “Let me ask you something, you being an experienced father. Is this going to pass before he goes off to college?”
“Couldn’t tell you. Now that both my kids are out of cribs and in their big beds, they don’t cry so much, but they wander into our room and sneak in with us. Sometimes Emma has a nighttime accident…almost always on my side.”
Phil laughed loudly at that.
“Something I’ve been wondering, Phil. That young couple, Jake’s biological parents, do you know if they’re doing all right?”
“We haven’t heard from them in a few months. They’re in Oregon working and going to school as far as I know, unless they’re back in California for the summer. I’ll tell you this—it was real hard for them to go after the baby was born, until I said something like, ‘I reckon there’s no law that says the boy has to be eighteen before he knows about his biological parents. It should be whenever he asks, provided he’s old enough to understand the answer.’ That seemed to ease things up for ’em.”
Jack pondered this for a moment. “That was a generous thing to say,” he said. “And naming the kid after his biological father—that had to have made the boy proud.”
“We liked the name. And it was Darla who said it might help the young father trust us a little more. Trust that we’d keep our word and be sure they’re informed about their child.”
“I’m glad this worked out, Phil. I hate to think I’m going through the rigors of fatherhood alone.” He grinned. “Misery loves company.”
“Well, get this—we still have our application for adoption out there. I don’t know if it’ll bring anything—these things tend to happen if they’re supposed to. But if we get another one or two, we won’t complain.”
“Good for you, man. I hope you get a bunch of ’em.”
“Thanks.” Then he shook his head sentimentally. “That Darla—she’s so fantastic with little Jake. Any kid who gets her for a mom has it made. Darla always says the best thing you can give a child you love is happy memories and a foundation they can be proud of.”
Something like a bugle started to sound inside Jack’s brain. He barely heard as Phil continued to brag about his wife.
“We were young when we got married—God must’ve given her to me because I guarantee you I wasn’t smart enough to know what I was doing.”
“Right,” Jack said absently. “I mean, you’re still not all that smart,” he added with a smile. Then he dug into that big can and pulled out his own beer. Suddenly he remembered her. He remembered Susan. Like it was yesterday.
Colin Riordan was standing around with his brothers Aiden and Luke in a little group that included Brett on his father’s hip, talking about the fact that Maureen and George had taken the motor coach north to Vancouver, looking for some cooler temperatures in July.
“So—Erin wants you all to come out to the cabin for dinner tomorrow if you can get away—we’ll grill some salmon. We’re staying until next Sunday. Marcie and Ian might come up for a long weekend—it’s still up in the air for them. And Erin wants to see this big house of Jillian’s.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Colin said. “Her gardens are flush right now. Some of the early stuff is in and I swear, it ripens as you watch. Maybe you can talk her out of some vegetables.”
“You still have your cabin?” Aiden asked.
“Sure,” he said. “I’m mostly at Jillian’s, though. Two reasons—she has a dy***ite sunroom on the second floor—a great place to paint. And she’s busy with the farm all day long, especially now that they’re watching every plant to see if it’s ready. Well,” he added, “three reasons—that’s where Jill is.” Then he smiled. “Oh, by the way, Luke, I already mentioned this to Aiden but haven’t told you yet—in a couple of months I’m taking off for Africa.”
Luke actually spewed a mouthful of beer and started choking. “Africa?” he finally got out when he recovered.
“Yep. I’m all booked on a couple of safaris in the Serengeti—mainly to photograph big game for models. But I’m also going to check out some of their air cargo and touring companies.” He shrugged. “I might get in some flying time over there.”
“Jesus, how long are you staying?”
“About six months.”
“And then?”
“Depends. If I have a flying job I like, it could be longer. Or I could go somewhere else. I’m going to have to get something on the résumé that looks a little better than rehab if I ever want to work in this country. I’m thinking they don’t look too closely when hiring bush pilots.”
“Man, aren’t you just full of surprises,” Luke said.
“And that gallery owner I told you about? The one I left my paintings with? I gave him your address. I don’t expect a check, but hey. You never know. When I figure out where I’m going to be, I’ll get you an address.”
“You’re not coming back?” Luke asked, astonished.
“I’m sure I’ll visit. But I’m not planning to live around here. You knew that.”
“Yeah, but does Jillian know that?”
“Sure. She understands. I need to fly. I need to do things like go to Africa. I’m not ready to retire.”
“You sure she understands?” Luke asked. “You two look pretty tight.”
“I’m crazy about her, but… Look, I didn’t say anything about Africa because even though I had the ticket I was still limping and I know you, Luke. You were going to give me a lot of shit about it, about not being ready. I’m ready. And I really need a little action.”