Page 21 of The Auction
“Okay, burgers work.”
I couldn’t stop the smile that hit me. Or the laugh that followed.
That’s how we ended up laughing hysterically over the kitchen table, the wreckage of my mayhem still all over thetable in spilt milk, empty glasses and the remnants of a half-gallon of melted ice cream.
While I took no pleasure in the fact that my stomach was not right for days after that, there was satisfaction in knowing neither was his.
And now he understood I was not opposed to a mutually assured destruction operation.
SIX
JULIETTE
Pausingmy plans to get my husband to divorce me: Planting Edition
There weretwo schools of thought when it came to planting season.
Early planting in April, a few weeks before what would most likely be the last frost of spring, which could happen as late as the end of May or early June.
Or late planting in July, but you had to harvest before the first hard freeze, which could happen at any time, really, in September or early October.
“Herb said to wait.” Creed and I stood at the edge of the unplowed rows.
“Herb never once thought about improving the quality of the yield.” I said.
The sun was high in the sky but it wasn’t hot in late April. The temperature barely hitting sixty degrees.
Still, I could feel it. The smell of the dirt, the buzz ofinsects flying around us. Spring was here and the land was coming alive.
The soil was a perfect forty-five degrees.
The ground was ready.
It’s what I’d said to Creed this morning when he finally came out from under the tractor hood. It had been giving him fits, stalling out randomly, and he was trying to diagnose the problem.
I’d told him to follow me to the fields, wondering if he could smell it, too, the coming of spring, the wakening. But he just looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
Until I’d said the words.“It’s time to plant.”
He was in jeans, boots and a t-shirt that hugged his chest and biceps. I wore my planting clothes. Which happened to be the same as my harvesting clothes, which were a pair of overalls over a long sleeved shirt and mucking boots.
With a wide hat on my head to cover my face.
Given his native brown complexion, Creed probably didn’t get as worried about sunburn as I did. But I always tried to limit sun exposure so as not to turn into some of the withered old grandmothers I’d grown up with around town.
Although, I had to remind myself, if I had my way, I wouldn’t be a farmer for much longer. But, there was still this season to get through.
“Explain how planting now helps the quality,” he said.
I opened my mouth to do just that, when he cut me off with a raised hand.
“Before you do that, please explain why I should believe a word out of your mouth.”
“Oh. You shouldn’t,” I admitted.
There was no point in lying.
As part of my mutually destructive war campaign, myfirst thought had been the crops. I knew exactly how much pesticide would destroy the harvest.
