Preston's Honor(83)

She looked back at Hudson and remained quiet for a minute. Finally, her shoulders seemed to relax slightly and she offered me a smile. “I know. Let’s just . . . play things by ear, okay? We still have a baby. Who knows what the future holds. And we are starting over, right? That seems like jumping ahead quite a bit.”

I returned her smile, deciding she was probably right. “Okay. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

She nodded and the mood lightened. Yes, we’d cross that bridge when we came to it.

**********

As I finished up for the day, the sun was going down, the mountains on fire with reds and oranges, the sky itself colored a deep indigo blue. I felt tired, but satisfied as I stood at the edge of the farmland looking out over it as I’d done so many times with my dad.

Today, we’d accomplished a lot, not just the first half of the harvesting, but the lettuce had been wrapped in plastic and packed in boxes right in the field. Right now it was being cooled and in a couple of days it would be shipped to supermarkets and restaurants from California to Maine.

Next week, a head of lettuce I’d picked with my own hand would be looked over by some woman in a grocery store in Bangor. She wouldn’t think of the nameless somebody who’d grown and harvested it—she’d be thinking of the salad she’d be making later, or perhaps the guests she’d be serving, maybe the kid who liked lettuce on his ham sandwich—but the idea brought me pride regardless of the fact that farming could be a thankless job. So many are, I supposed.

Tomorrow would be another long day, but I felt good going into it, knowing we weren’t behind.

I walked into the kitchen and washed my hands, scrubbing beneath my nails and then grabbing a paper towel as I heard Lia coming down the stairs.

“Hey,” I greeted her.

She smiled a tired smile. “Hey. How’d it go?”

“Good. Really good. How’d today go with you?”

She nodded. “He’s a little handful.” But she looked happy. “He never stops, does he?”

I chuckled. “Not often.”

“I gave him a bath and put him to bed. He made me read that Thomas book three times. He’s like a little dictator.”

I laughed. “I’m tired, too. What do you say we rent a movie and just relax?”

“Oh, I can’t. I’m going to the farmworkers’ camp right outside town with Rosa and Alejandro.”

I frowned. “What? Why?”

“They go every Monday to deliver food. I went with them, and they started some repairs but didn’t have enough time to finish. They’re going back tonight, and I’m going with them.”

Anger gripped me and I pulled back from where I’d been standing in front of her. “You went to a migrant camp?”

Her brows moved together, and she crossed her arms. “Yes. Why?”

“A. Migrant. Camp?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, warily, a tilt to her chin.

I threw my arms up. “Goddamn it, Lia. Do you know how unsafe those places can be? You can’t just be traipsing around the world as if you have no responsibilities. As if you don’t have a son who’s waiting at home for you.”

Shit. The hurt filling her eyes was almost a tangible thing. Why the hell had I said that? But even in my regret at hurting her, I couldn’t seem to let go of the picture that filled my head of her walking down the run-down pathways of a migrant camp as some man pulled her into a cabin, clamping a hand over her mouth.

She whirled on her heel and rushed out of the kitchen, grabbing her jacket and flinging the front door open.

I made an angry grunt and ran after her. God, why was I so irrationally furious? I wanted to stop this fight, I wanted to rewind and come in the house again and be prepared for this conversation, handle it differently, let go of the irate fear that was still racing through my veins, but I couldn’t seem to let it go. I followed her out through the front door and onto the porch.

Lia was already in the front yard, but suddenly, she whirled around and raced back toward me. I came up short so I wouldn’t collide with her. “I’m not traipsing all over the world, Preston. I know I have responsibilities. I went to the camp to take food to the people who live there because they’re hungry. I was with a group, and I was never in danger. And moreover, they’re not dangerous. They’re just people. People who are poor and hungry and who’ve risked everything, risked hardship, and loneliness, and even death for the only reason anyone risks those things: for love. For the hope of providing their children with the basic human needs so many take for granted. They don’t ask for much—just a place to belong. And yet they don’t belong here, and they don’t belong in their own country anymore. Maybe they don’t belong anywhere, or at least that’s how it feels!”

She was shaking and her words took my breath, making me feel confused and suddenly uncertain. She turned away and then turned back, and I saw tears in her eyes. “The drought has affected them, too, and they have nothing to fall back on. Nothing. They pick food nine hours a day and yet they can barely feed themselves let alone their children. Can you even imagine the fear of that? Have you ever even thought about it?”

“I—”

“If they don’t work the fields, who will?”

I let out a breath, running my hand through my gritty-feeling hair. “Lia, I know—”