LITMIR.BIZ

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can heal on the outside and keep getting worse on the inside. Then you’re in trouble.”

      His mother, who was not well educated in the traditional sense, knew all. “Yes, Mama. I’ll watch for that.”

      “Paco will be so happy to give you your choice of land. Not too close to the house, eh? So we don’t see the hundreds of girls come and go?”

      He laughed. He was going to change that, as well.

      Then his brother and sister and their families started trooping in. George shook his hand and thanked him for the hundredth time for his help with the ewes. Ginny kissed and hugged him. Lori, George’s wife, did the same. The kids pretty much ignored him, as he was not an uncommon sight around here. Then Paco came in and gave him the traditional greeting, a hand on the shoulder and a swat on the cheek.

      “Matt wants to build a house on the farm,” his mother said from the kitchen.

      And Paco, surprised and clearly thrilled, grabbed his son and kissed him on each cheek. Then did so again. “There is a woman?” he asked.

      “Just me, your bachelor son.”

      “Good then. We’ll get you ready for a woman.”

      * * *

      It was about nine forty-five when Ginger’s cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number—it wasn’t a family member or Grace. She was in her room, reading. Ray Anne and Al were having a “date” up on Ray Anne’s private deck atop the garage. Ginger was committed to not getting anywhere near them. She was locked away so they could be alone. She wouldn’t even go to the kitchen; she did not want to hear moaning, panting or giggling.

      Thinking it must be a wrong number, she answered uncertainly.

      “Hi, Ginger. It’s Matt.”

      “Matt?” she asked, sitting up on the bed. “Did I give you my number?”

      He laughed. “You did not. I got it out of my sister and I had to swear I would be a perfect gentleman or she was going to do to me what we do to goats we’re not going to breed.”

      “Ew.”

      “Exactly. You tell her I was less than perfect and I’m a eunuch.”

      She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Gee, and Peyton seems so sweet.”

      “Ha. Don’t let her fool you. She was the oldest of eight and could be mean as a rabid dog. She’d do unspeakable things to her younger brothers and sisters as long as there was no possibility she’d get caught.”

      “You must have a reason for calling...”

      “I do. Don’t think I’m a loser, okay? I had a really crazy week that ended pretty good and here I am, home, and have no one to talk to but my mother!”

      “Your mother is there?” And she couldn’t help it, she thought red flag.

      “No.” He laughed. “I had dinner at the farm, which I do a lot. There’s always plenty of good food and an unpredictable number of family members. And I talked to my mom for a while. But seriously, Ginger. A little chatting it up with Mom is not what I’m looking for and I remembered we had a pretty cordial conversation.”

      “But what about Peyton?” she asked. “I bet you could talk to her anytime.”

      “Peyton? The pregnant newlywed who threatened to castrate me?”

      She settled back against her pillows. “Right. So what did you want to talk about?”

      “My week was nuts. I was all over that farm and had to help George with shearing some ewes who came into season late and were just now ready for lambing and the fruit trees are budding early and had to be aerated around the roots and fertilized. Dirty work. And I had to teach a two-hour class at the college—I should give that up—it’s inconvenient. But it’s also dangerous. My ex was leaning against my truck when I came out of the building. She’s done this a few times—she wants to talk. I had to threaten her with campus security to get her to go away...”

      “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

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