[This is part 5 of a short fiction piece I told Hunter I should write. I'm about 75% done, there's one chapter left.]
Glenn Duey drove down highway 12 in his wheezing, sputtering Toyota, glad at the prospect at seeing Stacy Wright again but apprehensively puzzled at the directions she had mailed.
Start time will be later this time, 9:00 am, she had wrote in neat handwriting after stating clear directions to the farm. The work is easier, nice work clothes are possible.
She means not to look like a bum, Glenn said to himself. But why? Why the later start time? Labor never started after 7:00 am, why work through the hot afternoon longer?
Not liking the ambiguity Glenn had nevertheless got a haircut, cleaned and oiled his boots, trimmed his nails, found decent khakis and actually pressed a white shirt, telling himself as he chose his worn brown leather jacket that if he didn’t know why, well, making yourself presentable for a pretty woman couldn’t be a bad idea.
Right where the map said it should be was the sign, Stone Creek Farm, the craftsmanship good with bleached white oak and green oxidized copper. Glenn was surprised as he turned a corner on the dirt road seven hundred yards from the highway as two substantial barns came into view, to the right a very nice Victorian house blazing in white glory in the morning sunshine. A water tower with working windmill creaked and whirred behind the house, a four-story grain silo next to the barns nicely adding another height element to the cluster of buildings.
Turning into the wide circular driveway lined with huge old pepper trees Glenn was further startled to see a cluster of newer vehicles already parked, a few folks standing around drinking coffee with the squeals and shouts of children faintly in the background. This ain’t no potato field, Glenn said to himself, feeling a little better as he spotted Stacy’s old Ford truck as he found a place to park.
“Over here, Glenn!” She called out gaily as he eased out of his battered Toyota. She stopped talking to two middle-aged women and strode firmly toward him, casually resplendent in tight jeans, cowboy boots and green sweater, a gold necklace and wavy long hair glinting in the sun.
She smiled as she came up to him, mischievously arching an eyebrow and ignoring the hesitation in his face and walk.
“Well well, don’t you clean up nice,” she said easily, dusting off one his shoulders in an exaggerated slight motion. She looked at his face with a happy expectation. “Thanks. The pumpkin harvest at Stone Creek Farm is always one of my top twenty days of the year, I wouldn’t ask just any schmuck to be here with me today,” she said with gentle affirmation.
“Oh,” Glenn said after a pause, a warm feeling of happiness mitigating his puzzlement. “But what are all these people doing here?”
Stacy smiled. “The Giffords—they own this farm—have donated two field’s worth of pumpkins to the food bank for ten years now. We sell them at a big fundraiser next month for Hallloween, the local Boys and Girls Scouts troops found out about it and use the day for public service badges for the kids.” She gestured to the cars and chatting adults. “It’s sort of turned into a fun kid’s event as much as a harvest day.”
Suddenly a child of four or five years scampered from between the cars and ran right at Stacy, face ablaze with a smile and arms held open expectantly. “Stacy Stacy Stacy!” she called out happily.
“Elizabeth Elizabeth Elizabeth!” Stacy replied with same exaggerated joy, easily kneeling down to embrace the running girl and rubbing noses three times, the child obviously not a stranger.
She giggled and squirmed, unbearably cute with braided blonde hair, huge blue eyes and faded overalls over a light green cotton shirt. She noticed the hesitant form of Glenn standing close by.
“Who are you?” she asked with a child’s blunt directness, looking right at him.
Glenn, who had not spoken to a child in many years, felt completely pinned under the unwavering look of the widely spaced blue eyes. His lips parted and he looked at Stacy hesitatingly, who looked on gently.
“I…I’m…Glenn, Glenn Duey,” he finally said, clearing his throat.
Elizabeth appeared completely unmoved by the hesitation. “What do you do here?” she asked.
Glenn allowed himself a small wry sigh, while Stacy arched an eyebrow and smiled.
“I, uh…I…I work with Ms. Wright here, I help her out sometimes,” Glenn managed to say.
Elizabeth gravely looked at him with a completely unwavering stare, then looked at Stacy.
“You’re nice to her, right?” she said, looking directly at Glenn again while Stacy put a hand to her lips in repressed laughter and looked on with sparkling eyes.
Glenn bit his lip, slowly nodding his head. “Yes, yes I am…of course, of course I am. “ Glenn suddenly smiled a little in admiration and dropped to a knee so quickly and fluidly Stacy was startled, but Elizabeth wasn’t.
“What’s your name?” he asked with gentle eagerness.
“Elizabeth,” she replied, proud to know and answer.
“Okay, Elizabeth, like I said, I work with Ms. Wright here, you need anything, why, just let her know and we’ll hook you up.”
“All right,” Elizabeth replied happily, who suddenly remembered her mission and instantly pulled on Stacy’s hand, trying to drag her away.
“There’s kittens in the big barn, Stacy!”
“Ooooo, let’s go and see!” Stacy replied and stood happily, allowing the child to lead her away. “The pumpkin fields are down there to the left, Glenn, just head on down for the start,” she called out.
“Okay,” Glenn said, watching her go.
Glenn never forgot that morning for the rest of his life, a slow feeling of small wonder that change was finally here, that there really might be a way out of the nightmare that had gripped him for five years. He followed a couple 150 yards ahead of him down a narrow dirt path past an impressive six acre walnut orchard, the pale green leaves just beginning to turn, made a slight left and there were two pumpkin fields of two acres each, split by an irrigation ditch.
Six long flat-bed trailers had appeared out of the community somewhere—one was plainly a U-haul—that a tractor and impressively restored ’58 Chevy pickup slowly pulled around the fields. Glenn was used to regimented, systemic work for maximum results, but the trailers weaved here and there haphazardly, children and adults laughing and chatting as pumpkins were picked up and passed to the trailers, stopping often seemingly just because they could.
Many of the children wore their Scouts sashes stitched with various badges, the girls in enchanting light brown berets. They scampered and chattered in the fields, two teams of girls proudly implementing slings they hade fashioned out of bungee cords, the boys taking stacking of pumpkins in the trailers very seriously. Someone had set up a table for hot chocolate and juice, along with cinnamon rolls and bananas. No, I’m not in a potato field this time, Glenn said to himself, folding his jacket and putting it on a hay bale.
With a small shock Glenn realized as he said hello to a bustling, buxom woman hurrying past that it was interesting to see so many new faces, for years between the mill, clinic and Safeway where he shopped at six am he had grown used to seeing perhaps 25 human faces, no more. Yet suddenly here were 30 or 40, all of them seemingly nice, there wasn’t any harm in strangers here.
Unbeknownst to Glenn, Stacy had strategically spread the word to two friends that her friend Glenn was an Afghanistan vet who was nice enough, just quiet, not the chatty type. By the time he arrived word had quickly spread and he was quietly surprised by the slight deference paid to him in tiny social clues, people were nice to him but content to leave him alone—like many vets, Glenn often found strangers to be pushy, rude and clueless—and for a long time he silently picked up big pumpkins and passed them to the trailers, taking everything in.
Stacy appeared around 15 minutes after he did, sometimes hauling a pumpkin but usually just chatting with adults or playing with children. Glenn estimated three men could haul these two fields in one day, but the children swarmed over the fields with an energy that surprised him, here at eleven o’clock four trailers had already been filled. We’ll be done by noon, he said to himself, there’s no way they could keep it up but we are going to finish, I guess there’s nap time after lunch.
Glenn also noted carefully the deference paid toward Stacy, too, the children of all ages—a few appeared to be close to 15---were enchanted with her, while the adults listened and laughed with her as a total equal, careful to follow her few requests. Glenn admired her as a pretty woman, but this was something quite different, many of the adults were successful professional energetic types a decade older than she. He watched carefully, a little embarrassed to have objectified her.
As trailer number 3 had been filled with yet another impressive haul of pumpkins she had grandly spread forth her arms and said “Behold the awesome power of a double major and a masters!” the adults chuckling at her ruefully happy look. Is that what it takes to be a food bank director? he asked himself, vastly impressed. The university was a scary, remote place his therapist kept gently reminding him of, but Stacy had really already done it, Jesus, that and a Masters, yet she had to be around his age of 29.
Why is she still single? He asked himself. Why would she be interested in him, an isolated, introverted mill worker? She appeared to be, but why? Glenn’s confidence is his simple upcoming question began to fade. Get it together, he told himself grimly, you made it through the war, you can ask her out to the movies. Do it soon, this is winding up.
Stacy was internally amused in a small way to notice the presence of Glenn and his leather jacket that kept wandering into her field of view as the last trailer was filled and the mothers gathered their families together. You made it through two war tours, hotshot, you can do it, she said to herself.
Be nice, she said to herself, he’s been nothing but nice to you. She dusted her hands in an exaggerated way and abruptly turned and walked a pace to face Glenn, who had just sort of been standing around.
She smiled at him. “That’s it for the day, hotshot, thank you, you were very helpful again.”
Glenn smiled and felt more confident with the use of his nickname. “No problem,” he said evenly.
“’n that’s it for your public service commitment, too, hotshot, there’s nothing for tomorrow, I’ll fill out the forms for the Judge that you’re done,” Stacy said, the same gentle smile on her face.
“Oh,” Glenn said, a little surprised, the urgency of his task suddenly becoming much higher. He bit his lip and shuffled his boots a little. “I guess I’ll see you around in life, then,” he said quietly.
“I guess….”Stacy replied with an exaggerated but still gentle smile, looking at him with an amused expectation.
Glenn swallowed. “Would…would you….”
“Yes….?” Stacy quietly asked, arching an eyebrow in a plain tease.
Glenn exhaled and ruefully smiled at her, slightly nodding. “Would you like to go to the movies with me tonight?” he asked in a normal voice. His hands slightly opened. “I’ll take you out for an ice cream later and hold your hand,” he said with an easier confidence.
Doesn’t sound like fucking to me, Stacy wryly said to herself. Did he see the issue and just head it off? She wondered.
“Is something wrong? Glenn plainly asked.
“No, no, not at all,” Stacy said brightly. She smiled warmly and put a hand on his arm. “I’d love to, hotshot, thank you for asking.”
Glenn felt a happy surge of relief and smiled back. You can a handle a movie with a pretty woman, he told himself, a movie is easy.
He got his phone from an inner pocket. “I’ll need your digits and address,” he said.
Stacy also got out her phone, exchanging numbers with him with flying thumbs on the keypad. “Around seven o’clock okay?” He asked.
“Sure,” she replied. She smiled at him and lightly punched a bicep. “See you then, hotshot,” she said, then turning away as someone called out her name.