Eleven

Matt brought a cooler full of dead chickens into the kitchen for his mother. She was going to pluck, wash, butcher and freeze them. Since he’d been hanging around the farm, she snagged him for butcher duty.

“Help me with this,” she said, throwing a headless hen in her work sink. “It won’t take that long. And I wanted to ask you why you put in such long days and such silent nights.”

He frowned. “Silent nights?”

“You’re at my table every night. And you’re back to being quiet and withdrawn. You think we don’t see?”

“I have things on my mind, Mama. Nothing for you to worry about. I’m not depressed at all.”

“Ah,” she said, plucking away with hands that moved over that chicken carcass like greased lightning. “Maybe you think about that pretty friend of Peyton’s, that Ginger. She looks like ginger, doesn’t she? Kind of golden.”

“I’ve been thinking about the farm, the house I’d like to build. It’s a big step, building a house,” he said.

“And how is that pretty Ginger?”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” he said. “I should call her.”

“Oh, I thought you liked her.”

“I do like her,” he said.

Corinne laughed softly, feathers flying. She held up a naked, plump hen. “I’m behind the times, but usually when a man likes a woman, he pays attention to her.”

“She lives in Thunder Point. I can’t exactly carry her books home from school,” Matt said irritably.

“I understand that. Just so you’re not confusing her with Natalie,” Corinne said. “They’re not alike.”

“I know that,” he said. “I’m going to go clean the mess in the barn. Then I’m going out.”

“Of course. Friday night,” Corinne said. “No dinner tonight?”

“I’ll take care of my own dinner.”

“Have a nice time. I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I put in a long week.” He wasn’t going to share dinner if they were going to be watching him.

“You did. I think you worked harder than Paco, not easy to do. The farm is quiet for now. You should take advantage of it.”

“I was catching up. I’ll see you soon. And you’re welcome for killing ten hens. Nasty work.”

“You made a quick job of it.”

Why couldn’t she thank him? he wondered. All his parents could do was get in his business.

He scrubbed up in the barn, then got in his truck. He had a problem with “that pretty Ginger.” First, he had granted himself a couple of days to think about things, about her. Then he realized he had ignored her, hadn’t called when he said he would and probably either pissed her off or hurt her feelings, and that took a couple more days of silence. Here it was Friday and last Saturday night he had promised to call her the next day. When he was younger he’d have pretended that he’d forgotten or he’d have made up some excuse.

Ginger was too smart to fall for that. He’d been all knotted up inside because he was starting to need her, want her so much, maybe love her. He wanted to examine that for a little while, privately, with none of the confusion that came with having those long, quiet, intimate talks. Or the scent of her skin. Or the taste of her lips. Or her softness. Or the way she felt in his arms. He wanted to be sure he wasn’t setting both of them up for disappointment before he went one step further.

Then his mother, who knew everything, said, “As long as you don’t confuse her with Natalie.” And he snapped out of it. Ginger had emotional sturdiness; she knew how she felt. She wasn’t always thinking of herself first. In fact, how she could help others seemed very important to her. Whether they talked or kissed, she was so honest about her feelings, far more honest than he had been. This was a high-quality woman. And he’d been screwing around, wondering what to do next?

Before leaving the farm, sitting in his truck, he called her.

“This number is no longer in service.”

He tried it five more times. Then he called Peyton, who was still at the clinic. “Hey, Peyton, Ginger’s phone is disconnected. Something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong. She got a new number.”

“Huh? Okay, I need the number,” he said.

“Why? You lose it?”

“Ah. Yeah. Lost it.”

That hesitation ruined him. “You liar,” she said. “She didn’t give it to you. Why didn’t she give it to you? Did she get a new number because of you?”

“No! No! I think it was her ex. She said he called her...or something.”

“When did you talk to her last?” Peyton demanded.

“Come on, is this really your job, deciding who gets her phone number? Give me a break, will you? I want to talk to her. Right away.”

“You screwed this up, didn’t you?”

“Peyton,” he said in a threatening tone. Then he calmed himself and took a breath. “Okay, listen, I might’ve done a stupid thing...”

“Shocker,” Peyton said.

Matt wanted to reach through the phone and strangle her. “Okay, listen, we were together last Saturday night after the wedding. I took her out, we had a great time. I wanted to see her again right away, it was that great. But I thought maybe I should think this through since my track record is, you know—”

“Shitty?” Peyton filled in.

“I was going to say spotty. Jesus, could you be any less supportive? I took a little time to think it through, okay? I was starting to have those feelings, you know? I scared myself a little. I made a big mistake with Natalie. I didn’t want to do that to Ginger. She’s too sweet to have some idiot like me make a poor decision and get her into something not good for either one of us. So yeah, I shouldn’t have waited to call her, but I had to think it through. So that’s it. I know Ginger isn’t like Natalie and I’m not like I was with Natalie and I thought about things and...I need that number now.”

“Wow, that’s kind of mature, Matt. Fessing up like that. Admitting you’re wrong and everything.”

“So? The number?”

“No,” she said. And disconnected.

He looked at the phone and told his sister he hated her.