A New Hope

  “Oh, you didn’t!” she said. “Oh, Matt, she must be so desperate!”

  “Well, that’s not what I wanted to talk about, but yes, she’s desperate. But why? I mean, we had that talk—we shouldn’t have gotten married and were not happy. We were worse than unhappy, we were miserable. But that’s not what I called about. I wanted to tell you something important.”

  “Okay...”

  “Shit,” he said. “I’m an idiot. This probably won’t be important to anyone but me. To me, it’s big. You’ll probably think it’s just dumb. Or a big nothing.”

  “You’re so dramatic,” she said. “Just tell me.”

  “I hate this little apartment I live in. It was my concession to Natalie. I’d be a farmer, but wouldn’t live on the farm. When we split up, I stayed here because she couldn’t afford it, but I hate it. I wasn’t cut out to live on top of other people. I can’t be happy without land. So I had this sudden epiphany and made a decision—I’m going to build a house on the farm. My father was so excited, he almost kissed me on the mouth! He wants to get together tomorrow to look at the land. George is the only other Lacoumette living on the farm and Paco is ecstatic. And guess what? I’m pretty excited, too. Of course I’m a year away from making the transition, but I just had to tell someone. I’m going to live in my favorite place.”

  “You could live with your parents until your house is built,” she said.

  “No, none of that,” he said, laughing. “I’m almost thirty. I’m not living with my parents. I do stay over when things are crazy at the farm, when we’re tracking possible bad weather at pear harvest or bringing in lambs or something that requires twenty-four-hour vigilance. But I need a little privacy, you know? But a house on the land...”

  “The most beautiful place in the world,” she said.

  “You think so?”

  “I can’t imagine how much work it must be, but it’s incredibly beautiful...”

  “Those pear trees don’t blossom year-round, you know.”

  “It’s not just the blossoms, although just the scent is hypnotic. I love Portland in the spring when the fruit trees all over the city are in bloom! Everything about your farm is lovely—the house, the barn, the chickens...”

  “The chickens?” he asked.

  “I bet you take them for granted,” she said. “Fresh eggs in the morning...”

  “Fresh chicken at night,” he added with a laugh.

  “I hadn’t thought of that, but yes, I suppose...”

  “Peyton hates killing chickens. My mother doesn’t like it, but she does it. If George is around the house she’ll send him to round up a few and she’ll cut them up and freeze them. She protects her best laying hens. It’s about time for her to hatch a bunch of eggs, replenish the henhouse—there’s an incubator in the barn.”

  “I would love to see that, baby chicks,” Ginger said, a little breathless. “I don’t think I’d like killing them, either.”

  “Maybe you’re just not a farm girl. Not everyone is. Peyton can do anything there is to do on the farm but she doesn’t like it. She’s funny, she loves the farm—she wants the fresh food, wants to snuggle the new lambs—but our Peyton, her majesty, does not shovel shit. She’s what we call a gentleman farmer—wants the land and animals, wants to pet the animals and eat the food, and other people have to do the work.”

  “Can’t you be a farm girl and not like killing chickens?” she asked.

  “The cycle of life is important on a farm,” he said. “You grow it, eat it, grow some more. We’re a commercial farm. It’s not just about fresh eggs for breakfast, it’s a business and has to support a lot of people. It has to support the land, too. We can’t deplete and not replenish or it will be a one-generation farm.” He paused and silence hung between them. “I’m sorry, I’m boring you.”

  “No! No, you’re not. I’m really interested, believe it or not. I probably don’t have any intelligent questions to ask but I like hearing about it.”

  “But you’d like to see the chicks or new lambs?” he asked.

  She sighed. “I would love that. Maybe I’ll visit my parents on a weekend when that’s happening and I could come by the farm on my way back to Thunder Point. If that’s all right?”

  “It would be great. You have to eat, however. No one comes to the farm without eating something.”

  “I wouldn’t want to impose...”

  “Didn’t you notice how much my family loves feeding people? Not everyone enjoys it, by the way, but it’s possible Scott married my sister for the food.”

  “Tell me about the classes you teach.”

  “I just guest lecture in the biology department. I usually talk about either plant biology or animal husbandry. I can lecture on the biology of the farm, the microbiology of soil. The students love talking about cloning and two-headed sheep. We’re making great progress as a biological as opposed to organic farm because we still use small amounts of chemicals and we immunize the sheep, but we’re cautious. We fertilize mostly with chicken manure, kill pests on the trees organically, stick to nature where we can.”

  “Sure,” she said. “You have to take care of the fruit...”

  “We have to protect the bees. If we kill the insects and the bees disappear, we’re doomed. The balance is delicate and the health of the plants and animals and consumers is... Am I putting you to sleep?”

  “No!” she nearly shouted. “I never thought of farming as a science...”

  “It is indeed a science. Paco is not a scientist but his experience and instincts are flawless. Everything he taught me holds up scientifically. Almost everything, at any rate. It is not true that if you put a statue of Saint Isidore the Farmer in the yard you will have a good crop year.”

  “Is there a statue of the saint in the garden?”

  “My mother has one in the garden, yes. Also Saint Maria and the Virgin. Not overwhelming in size, but obvious. And her garden is plentiful.”

  They were quiet on the phone for a moment. “Matt? Why did you really call me?”

  “Peyton asked the same question.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her there was a special bonding moment when I groped you and you knocked me out...”

  She laughed almost uncontrollably for a moment.

  “Really,” he said. “It’s because you felt like a friend. Strange as it might feel to you, I think we somehow became friends. I hope you’re okay with that.”

  She smiled. “Everyone can use a friend.”

  * * *

  Ray Anne had a sweet little hideaway on top of the garage, a deck. From there she had a great view of storms rolling in over the bay. Or, when it wasn’t storming, just starlight so deep and wide it was otherworldly. She and Al dragged out the bean bag chairs, he had a beer and she had a glass of wine. They reclined together, talked about their week, he told her about the boys and she reported on Ginger, who seemed to be doing better all the time. They kissed and fondled and made sneaky love under a blanket, then talked some more. It was almost eleven when Al carried down the bean bags and blanket and Ray Anne carried her glass and his bottle. They stood in the kitchen for a moment, safe in each other’s arms, reluctant to say good-night.

  There was a sound in the house, a soft lilting coming from the bedroom. They both froze to listen.

  “Oh, God, that’s Ginger!” Ray Anne said. “She’s crying!” She turned to go to her.

  Al grabbed her hand, stopping her. “Ray,” he whispered. “Listen!”

  She froze and listened. With their arms around each other’s waists, they moved closer to the bedroom door.

  “She’s laughing,” Ray Anne whispered. “She’s talking on the phone and laughing!”

  Al smiled down at her. “I don’t think she needs rescuing.”

  “Who in the world is she talking to? Laughing with?”

  “Maybe if you’re very sneaky, you can worm it out of her.”

  Four

  Matt had talked with G
inger for over an hour and he’d congratulated himself that he’d been right—she was a genuine person who could be a friend with no agenda to redesign him. She wasn’t a woman who wanted to sleep with him and then change him into at least a boyfriend, at best a husband. They didn’t talk about it, but it was implicitly understood they were both too vulnerable to take on new partners. Ginger, like Matt, was in recovery from her own short, extremely disappointing marriage. And yet they had so many things in common. More than Ginger realized. No doubt she thought it was just their divorces. That was enough.

  But Matt, who had dated half of Portland, knew it was more. It was as though it balanced with his loss somehow. She’d wanted a family and fate had cruelly snatched it away from her. He wanted a family and hadn’t had a chance at that.

  They might never talk about these things, he realized. He really didn’t want to tell her or anyone how selfish and cruel his ex-wife had been.

  But here was Matt with a new friend and he felt very tender toward her. He wasn’t about to get involved, but she had already changed everything. He was going to stop fucking everything that moved, for one thing. That hadn’t worked for him and he’d probably hurt people in the process. He was going to clean up his act, show gratitude for friends and family and carry on in a much more chivalrous manner. He’d done a few insensitive, careless things himself—he wasn’t proud of that. Somehow Ginger reminded him that at his core he was a good man. He would at least behave in a way that wouldn’t shame his mother and infuriate his father.

  Matt already had an idea of where he’d like to build a house, if Paco agreed. On the far side of the orchard, just within sight of his parents’ home, there was a perfect spot. From the front he would see the grove, from the back, the mountains, to the west the big house. He’d have to grade a road. He tried sketching out a floor plan. He had inherited many of his father’s ways, but living lean to the bone wasn’t one of them. He was frugal but he intended to have plenty of bathrooms in the house and an indulgently big master bedroom and bath. He’d be more than happy to extend the use of those extra bedrooms to the family who showed up at shearing and harvest to help them. Even though he didn’t watch a lot of TV, there would be at least two in his house. And they would be large.

  Later in the week, he called Ginger again. “I’ve taken to sketching out a floor plan that I think I like and I’ve learned something important.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “Architects are geniuses. Do you have any idea how hard it is to string a bunch of rooms and hallways together? The rooms I want to be the largest look the smallest on the drawing and vice versa. I think I took mechanical drawing in high school. How come I can’t do this?”

  “Just be sure to put those sliding shelves in the kitchen,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  “Well, you open a lower cupboard door and pull the shelf out instead of getting down on your hands and knees and practically crawling in to find what you need. They’re so awesome!”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Ginger, I’m going to live next door to my mother, who will probably cook almost every meal I eat. I won’t even be able to fill the kitchen cupboards.”

  “That may not be the case forever,” she said. “I know you don’t think so now, but you might actually get over this marriage phobia and meet someone nice who wants to live on the farm. And cook. In that kitchen.”

  “Highly unlikely. Will you? Get over it? Try again?”

  “Sure,” she said. “When I’m fifty.”

  “I might just look you up when we’re fifty,” he said. “Then if it works out, you can put in the sliding shelves.”

  “That seems pretty reasonable,” she said. And they both laughed.

  “What’s happening in Thunder Point?”

  “A lot, as a matter of fact. Grace has been spending a lot of time at the new house so she can get her mother moved here. You know, I told you, her mother has ALS and is weakening by the day. Grace’s fiancé is helping her whenever he can because he really wants Grace to meet his family and they’re having trouble finding a time to do that. She can’t move her mother into the house and leave her to go south to meet Troy’s family. And he hasn’t told his family that Grace is pregnant because he said they will all immediately pile into cars and head this way, invited or not. So...everyone around town is putting every effort toward getting that house ready for them. Even me. That stretch of beach has taken on a life of its own—it’s like a barn raising.”

  “Sounds like the Lacoumette family,” he said.

  “Peyton confirmed that. Except for the cultural dress, wine and dancing, it looks like it, too.”

  “Peyton is out there, too?”

  “Sometimes. She’s busy with the clinic and Scott’s pretty busy with the clinic and being on call. But they can’t seem to stay away. If they’re not out there working, they’re checking on the progress.”

  They talked for over an hour and covered every subject. They laughed a lot; they were both good at puns. There was even a little cautious flirting going on, starting with hooking up at the age of fifty and touching on her reassurance that she was now convinced he could be a gentleman.

  “Didn’t you tell me you’re usually asleep by eight o’clock?” she asked.

  “I think I’ve been a little excited about the prospect of getting out of this apartment. It’s almost ten. Late for me,” he said.

  “For me, too. I’ve been getting up very early to get into the shop and get things rolling so that when Grace comes in, she feels comfortable leaving it in my hands so she can do what she has to do.”

  “You’re vying for employee of the year,” he said.

  “I’d far rather be awarded friend of the year.”

  When they hung up Matt lay on his back on his bed with his phone in his hand. The phone was hot. Matt was hot. I have to stay away from Thunder Point, he thought. Very scary place to go.

  Ginger was so sweet. So kind and generous. Here she was, still hurting after being treated like crap by her husband and losing a baby she was devoted to, and what concerned her most right now was helping Grace and Troy, helping her new friends. Ginger didn’t have a single sharp edge anywhere. She was pleasant, soft, unselfish...nice. She was nice.

  Mad Matt never thought about that when he thought about women, at least not lately. He thought about long legs and perky boobs. He thought about pretty, buoyant, confident and lively. When he fell for Natalie he was willing to make almost any compromise to keep her satisfied, to keep her home, but he hadn’t ever once thought about if she was unselfish or how caring. He thought about not forcing her to deal with his overbearing family too much, about trying to balance her need for fun and a social life with his need for sleep, about trying to be sure none of the farm stayed on his hands or boots when he went home to her.

  Ginger was so nice, but she was not bland. When laughter took her by surprise, she sounded wicked and playful, which triggered his memory of her smile. Her smile could melt a man’s heart. And he loved those freckles. Maybe it was the freckles that made her seem almost childlike to him, innocent, in need of a strong arm.

  Stay away from Thunder Point, he told himself.

  The thing about Matt—he’d been with a lot of women, before and after Natalie. He wasn’t bad-looking, he was pretty smart, usually stable. Before Nat he was probably searching for someone permanent without really acknowledging it. After Nat he was looking for a way to get over her. But there was one thing, probably a cultural thing, a family trait—marriage was sacred. He didn’t need a High Mass wedding to feel that way, it was just a thing with him. Once you pledged yourself to a woman, she became everything. Naturally it followed that he would be her everything, that she would do anything to see him happy and content. Between them there would always be complete honesty, trust. Everything would be shared, discussed, dealt with as a team. It was true that he had some firm, unshakable beliefs. That kind of went with the Lacoumette territory, especially the men. Stubbornne
ss and passion might prevail, they might act like the king of their castle, but it was all a show. The women ran the castle. The men worked tirelessly to support their families and they served their women.

  He spent Saturday around the farm though his father and George hadn’t been expecting him. If it wasn’t crazy season, he usually took a couple of days off a week. On Sunday morning, he woke at four like a bad habit. He showered and got in his truck. He grabbed a fast-food breakfast he could eat on the road and he drove south. Fast, along a deserted highway. He was in Thunder Point before nine in the morning. He drove right out to the parking lot behind Cooper’s place. It was no mystery where the action was—there was already a lot of activity around the third house down from the bar.

  The garage door stood open, and three men he happened to know were armed with paint rollers and painting the inside walls of the garage. A truck holding four large ceramic planters filled with small trees was parked on the road.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” Cooper asked Matt.

  “I heard there was a barn raising and I was curious, thought I’d check this out. And since I’m here, maybe you can use a hand.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming down,” Scott Grant said. Scott was covered in paint and it was still early. “Are you staying over?”

  “Can’t. Monday morning Paco is snapping his whip early. We’re temporarily caught up at the farm and I had a day, so...”

  “Does Peyton know you’re here? Did you stop by the house?”

  “I didn’t. Didn’t call her, either. Spur of the moment. What can I do?”

  “I don’t know,” Cooper said. “Project manager is Troy. Really, it’s Grace, but she’s letting him think he’s running things. Last time I saw him he was struggling with the light fixture in the kitchen. Apparently it’s complicated...”

  “I got that,” Matt said with a laugh.

  When he got inside, Troy was apparently supervising while a big guy in a blue T-shirt was on a ladder installing track lighting. He was introduced to Al, whose name he’d heard in conjunction with Ray Anne. The great room was cluttered with furniture covered in plastic, several boxes and picture crates. And a lot of women with rags, mops, brooms and shelf paper were opening boxes, looking things over, organizing.