A New Hope

  “I can try,” Grace said. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Could you maybe loan her a baseball bat or something?”

  “She’s a survivor, Grace. She knows it’s a bad neighborhood. She’s raised a sick kid on a nurse’s salary without any family support. She’s had to be a survivor and she can take care of herself. Don’t offend her. Let’s just see if we can throw some better options her way. But you have to go slowly.”

  “Right. Slow. Not my favorite speed.”

  “I know, honey.”

  * * *

  Charlie waited on the stairs near the beach, backpack beside him. Frank finally came into sight. He hadn’t seen Frank in three days. When he got close, Charlie stood. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and Frank mimicked the gesture with a grin. Frank wore his glasses instead of his contacts on the beach because of the wind and sand. Except that when Frank did it, he didn’t look like a little nerd. He looked more like Clark Kent.

  “Where’ve you been, man?” Charlie asked.

  “Mostly hanging out with Ashley, bud. Gals before pals, pardner. What’s up?”

  “I’ve been waiting to tell you. I’m going to Thunder Point High this year. At least while my mom works for Winnie, which I hope will be a long time, but it’s not supposed to be.”

  “Fantastic. I think. Did your mom make that happen?”

  “Nah. My mom would never ask for anything. Winnie suggested it, since I come over with her every day. And Troy said it wouldn’t be a problem because of her job. I’ve been dying to tell you. I didn’t want to freak out my mom but I’m really glad to get out of that other school.”

  “Charlie, you’ve got my number. If you want to hang out just call me. Or text me. Don’t sit around waiting.”

  “I figured you were busy,” he said shyly.

  “I was. But not too busy for a call or a text. Let’s establish something, Charlie. You have any questions or run into any trouble at school, get in touch with me right away.”

  “What good will that do? You’ll be at college!”

  “I still know people,” he said confidently. “I still have a brother at Thunder Point. He’s a good guy. When it comes to problems at school, especially if you’re picked on, you gotta let someone know.”

  “I know people, too,” Charlie said.

  “Good. Troy and Spencer are both good to know. And there are tricks, like making yourself indispensable as a tutor. But whatever you do, don’t try to outrun it or fix it alone. I speak from experience.”

  Charlie gulped. “Was it bad?”

  “When I was about your age and the smallest kid in the class, it wasn’t great. I had to depend on my big brother, the football star. I always resented him, except when I was getting backed into a corner. But then the strangest thing happened...I grew. I used to paddleboard a lot in the summer and I grew shoulders. I woke up one morning and I didn’t have to look around to see where my brother was to keep from getting knocked around.” He grinned. “I’ll loan you my younger brother, Lee, yet another athlete. Before I head back east, I’ll make sure he knows to introduce himself.”

  “As my bodyguard?”

  “If you need one, let me know,” Frank said. “I have a few markers to call in.”

  Nineteen

  It was only seven in the evening when Matt tapped lightly on Ginger’s back door. She filled his arms at once.

  “This is what I like,” he said. “I love to feel you against me.” He looked over her shoulder and saw a take-out bag on her little table. “Oh, honey, you cooked,” he joked.

  “You made very good time,” she said with a laugh. “We could have gone out but I get so little of you these days. I didn’t want to share you.” She gave his shirt a sniff. “You’re clean,” she said.

  “I had time for a quick shower before I left the farm. But if you feel like a shower, I can get cleaner.”

  “You like that shower business, don’t you? Would you like to eat?”

  He nodded. “In the bedroom.” She grabbed the sack. He grabbed her wrist. “We won’t need that.”

  “I thought you were hungry,” she said.

  “Oh, I am.” He led her to the bed and got her out of her clothes quickly. He discarded his own and pulled her down on the bed. He began kissing and before long he was making a feast of her entire body, from her lips to her knees. There wasn’t a spot he missed—the inside of her elbows, her earlobes, her thighs, her belly and breasts. He finally opened her legs, burying himself in her until she was begging for him to stop. But by that time, he’d become famished for more and he fumbled for the condom so he could get inside her. Once there, he remained still and luxuriated in the feel of her. His eyes were closed and there was a smile on his lips.

  “Matt?” she whispered. “Are you going to fall asleep on me like this?”

  “I might,” he said. “I could stay here forever. This is like home for me.”

  She moved her hips a little. “Forever would be too long. It would make walking difficult. Take care of business.”

  He opened his eyes. “You do have a bossy side.”

  “And a needy side,” she said.

  “My aim is to please you, my lovely girl.”

  As he began to move in a way that had become familiar to them, he thought about the great comfort it was to have this kind of love—dependable, trusting, fulfilling, holding such promise for a lifetime of the same. He tasted her on his tongue, filled his head with that special scent of her, a combination of flowers and a musk that intoxicated him and belonged only to this woman, this soft, consuming, perfect woman. He moved rhythmically, deeply, searching for that crazy erotic place deep inside her that awaited him. When he felt that she was getting close, reaching, pushing back, gasping a little in anticipation, he smiled to himself. He knew her body as well as she did, as well as she knew his. And she came, the spasms so hot and tight his vision briefly clouded. And then, giving in to the ache of need, he let go and throbbed with the greatest pleasure he’d ever known.

  When he could unclench his jaw, he covered her mouth in a deep and passionate kiss, licking her lips, sucking on her earlobe, kissing her neck and then her breast.

  He was made for this, secure in the love of one woman, a woman who knew him and would let him know her completely. He had a strong libido so there had been women, but they’d been so briefly satisfying. What he had with Ginger was different. He was not just in love with her, he was eager to commit his life to her. It felt like the perfect union, like it was meant to be. He’d never had anything like this even when he’d been married.

  Love, he was learning, was deeper and more complex than chemistry, than friendship. It was about the melding of souls. Of trusting someone with your dreams and learning you were safe to do so.

  They would talk about this again someday—he and Ginger. This was stuff Ginger already knew and had been trying to explain to him. Ginger had learned this in the same tough, painful way he had. She had learned that she knew everything about Mick, knew and understood his dreams, his strengths and weaknesses. But Mick had known nothing about her.

  “I did something,” he whispered to her. “I got out of that apartment.”

  “In one day?” she asked, wide-eyed.

  “A little more than that but not much. I made a lot of phone calls, went over there and stuffed my clothes in two big duffels, had everything that wasn’t nailed down put in a storage locker. I thought that was logical, in case we want that stuff in our house. But it didn’t take me long to change my mind about that. I don’t want any of it. When there’s time maybe we’ll run an ad and sell it. More likely, though, my brothers or sisters will hear I’m not using that sectional or bedroom furniture and borrow it. From that point on we can visit it at one of their houses because I’ll never get it back. So it goes in a big family.”

  She laughed. “How does it feel?”

  “It feels good. It feels really good. I didn’t think it would matter so I’m a little surprised—the second that truck un
loaded into the storage locker and drove off, I felt so much better. I only did it because you wanted me to. I wasn’t convinced it had anything to do with anything. I’m appreciative of the things women do to make their houses comfortable, but I don’t care about that shit. I think I could live in a cave.”

  “But not that cave,” she said, playing with his hair.

  “Not that cave,” he said. “But why not?” he asked her. “Memories?”

  “I’m sure there were some,” she said. “But mostly you didn’t really live there. It was even less personal to you than a motel room. You just needed a place to bring the flavor of the week that wasn’t under your mother’s roof.”

  “Huh,” he said. “By the way, you do know there hasn’t been a single flavor since you coldcocked me at my sister’s wedding.”

  “Shoved,” she corrected. “I assumed there hadn’t been anyone but thanks for telling me that. So, I guess that means we’re either staying with my parents when I come up to the farm or we’re bedding down in the back of your truck.”

  “I rented us a little something. It’s not much. I’m not going to tell you anything about it. I want your first reaction to be honest. It’s adequate—better than being in your old bedroom or the truck bed. It’s convenient. And private.”

  “Is it nice?” she asked eagerly.

  “Well, I think so, but you’ve already seen how wrong I can be about that...”

  “It wasn’t that apartment that was wrong, Matt. It was you while you were in it that didn’t seem right. If you’d liked it there, it would’ve shown somehow. I’m not sure how, but somehow. I can’t wait to see what you came up with for us.”

  “There is an us, right? Because you’re all I think about.”

  She gave him a kiss. “There’s an us, sweetheart. We’re just tying up loose ends so our future isn’t cluttered with our pasts.”

  Matt had done something about that, too. He just wasn’t sure whether it had worked. He had called Dr. Weymouth, the head of the biology department where he occasionally taught. He told him that he’d commit to three plant biology labs after the harvest if they needed him. And he also said, “Don’t wait too long to get your teaching schedule together because I’m getting married. Before Christmas, I hope.”

  Matt hoped that news might filter through the biology department. If he knew Natalie at all, it would send up her radar. If that didn’t happen, Matt would get in touch with her when he had the time.

  He left Ginger at four in the morning to drive back to Uncle Sal’s vineyard for one more weekend with the grapes. He was planning to come back to her Saturday night. When all the uncles and cousins were celebrating and drinking too much wine, dancing and toasting a successful grape harvest, Matt would drive to Ginger. He’d spend Saturday night and most of Sunday before heading back to the farm to get started on the pears. They were ready.

  * * *

  Matt had five seasonal hands who worked for him during the pear and potato harvest. First they would bring in the pears, which finished ripening in their shipping crates and gift boxes. They handled them carefully, delivering pristine, smooth and clean fruit to the retailers, from grocers to Harry & David.

  Then came the potatoes, which were less labor intensive; they were tougher and didn’t require gentle handling. Plus, the harvester could dig them and the farm hands would help to separate and bag them.

  There were two Dysart semi trailers parked on the property behind the barn and house. Richard Dysart had driven them over himself, one at a time. Matt, Paco and Richard took cups of coffee on the porch. Richard asked after Ginger. “I spent Sunday with her in Thunder Point, a good day. The weather was excellent and she’s in happy spirits,” Matt said. “She’s planning to come up on Saturday. The rest of the family will be here tomorrow sometime and she’s anxious to witness this harvest business that will take every second of my time for weeks. And she’s more than a little anxious to experience the food the women will put together.” What he didn’t share with Richard was that it had been three nights without Ginger beside him and it felt like an eternity.

  “You make a good argument for the Dysart clan to show up to pick pears,” Richard said.

  “You are always welcome,” Paco said. “I warn you, you might never be the same.”

  “Nah,” Matt said. “The pears won’t take too much of a toll on you, but if you really want an experience, come up in the spring for the sheep shearing and lambing. It’s exhausting. And not just a little dirty.”

  Also parked on the property, on the north side of the house, was an RV. From that spot Matt could see the mountains to the north, the orchard to the east and the plot he’d chosen for his house. After the harvest was complete, he’d work with the architect to finalize the plans. At the first blush of spring, they could pour a slab, grade a road for construction access that would be followed by a better road for his personal access to his new home. His and Ginger’s home, he prayed.

  He’d gone to an RV lot in Portland to look at a couple of rentals, picked the best one and had it driven here. The owners made it available through Thanksgiving. If this worked out, he thought it might be time to buy one of his own. Half the Lacoumette clan had some form of trailer—fifth wheel, camper shell, RV or toy hauler. They moved around to each other’s properties for family events, from weddings to funerals, planting or harvesting, reunions, whatever the call. Paco, not one to spend a dime that hadn’t been pried out of his tight fingers, had a fifth wheel that could sleep six, on top of each other at that. It was not comfortable, showering and cooking very limited, but it got them to the vineyard, other family farms or the coast where cousins’ fishing boats docked. Corinne was not fond of it, to say the least.

  Before noon tomorrow the trucks, RVs and other vehicles would begin to arrive.

  He was at the far north end of the orchard, checking trees and fruit for the hundredth time when his phone, turned to walkie-talkie mode, sounded off. He heard his mother’s voice. “Matt. Natalie is here to see you.”

  Ah! So she’s heard. He had begun to think he was going to have to seek her out. “On my way,” he said. He jumped in the Rhino and headed for the house.

  His mother had left Natalie alone in the yard to wait for him. She had not been happy about the way things had gone with his ex-wife.

  Natalie had a new car and new hair. A BMW? It was a few years old, but still. Things must be going well in the secretarial trade. Or maybe some modeling had kicked in for her. He found himself hoping it had. The new hair was no surprise—it was her signature diversity—always different. Dark auburn this time—that had been one of his favorites. Very sexy, very classy look on her. But what was very new for her, she wore jeans, rolled up at the ankle, and tennis shoes. Usually when she wore jeans they were very tight with boots or heels. She also wore a light windbreaker. This was Natalie at her most practical and casual. He couldn’t help but be intrigued. She’d never bothered to dress for the farm before.

  He approached her and it was instantly apparent that her eyes were glassy.

  “Can we talk?” she asked softly.

  “Yes,” he said. And he noted her surprise. He hadn’t been mean or sarcastic or threatened to call security. “Come with me.”

  He reached out and took her hand and led her around the house to the RV. He pulled a couple of canvas lawn chairs from where they were stored beneath the RV and opened them. “Have a seat.”

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “This is where I live now,” he said.

  “You weren’t at the apartment,” she said.

  “How did you know to find me here?” he asked.

  “Are you kidding me? It’s the harvest! Tomorrow the rest of the family will be here.”

  “You were smart to come today,” he said, chuckling. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “I heard you’re getting married.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “When?” she asked.

  “No date yet, b
ut I’m hoping we can do it before Christmas.”

  “A nice Basque girl?” she asked.

  He grinned and it was wholly genuine. “No, a pale, freckly, green-eyed girl. I suspect some Irish lingering back there.”

  Natalie looked down into her lap. “I wish you the best,” she said.

  “Thank you. What did you want to talk about?”

  “I wanted to talk about...it.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t do it to hurt you.”

  “Why did you?” he asked. He’d asked a hundred times. Well, at least ten.

  “I was afraid. Terrified.”

  “Of having a baby?”

  “Of having a life I wasn’t right for! Of eventually being held captive on a farm with a bunch of kids, shunned by the Basque women because I can’t cook or sew or grow anything! Of never having any fun again because your idea of fun and mine were completely opposite and it just felt...” She lifted her chin a notch. “It felt like the end. To me it felt like the end. But since I did it I’ve felt nothing but grief and regret and I don’t know how to fix it.”

  “I told you not living on the farm was okay,” he said. “We decided not having a bunch of kids was okay. I said that was my work but didn’t have to be yours.”

  “You said, but you didn’t mean it,” she said. “You didn’t have time for me, for our life. And we were always at the farm for family things, family things all the time. And the family, they made me feel stupid and out of place and awkward. They never liked me. Your words were all about, ‘It’s okay, honey, whatever you want,’ unless I wanted to go dancing or out to dinner or to a party my friends were throwing or to brunch at the Monaco or to a concert at Roy’s. Does this woman you want to marry by Christmas fit in? Because if she doesn’t, you should warn her before she does something that hurts so much.”

  She started to cry.

  She’s right, he thought. He’d always talked a good game but his life was the farm and the family and he secretly, deep down, thought she’d come around. If she never fell in love with his work she’d at least fully understand his love of it.