The Last Harvest(6)
I always thought of Coach Pearson like a second father, but when I quit the team, he left Midland. Heard he took a job in Arkansas, and that’s that.
Neely brought in some fancy coach from Texas. The team moved on. The town moved on. The council moved on. Ali moved on.
I’m the only one who kept hanging on to the past.
It’s only when I dared to accuse the Preservation Society of pushing my dad over the edge that everyone got real “concerned.” Dr. Perry, Tammy’s dad, stepped in, said all I needed was sleep. He gave me a bottomless supply of sleeping pills and I’ve been uncomfortably numb since. They even started sending me to counseling at school. Every day, last period.
The bell rings and I head back in. Skipping math and health class is one thing, but if I miss counseling, there’ll be hell to pay.
*
“MISS GRANGER?” I knock on the open door.
She looks up briefly from her computer and smiles. “Emma … please.”
“Sure.” I sit down in my usual chair. She thinks it’s weird I call her Miss Granger because she’s just a handful of years older than me, but that’s how I was raised.
She unfolds the magnetic chessboard on her desk and pushes it toward me. “Your move,” she says as she scoops some loose tea from a metal tin into a teapot. I don’t know anybody else who makes tea like that. It smells good, like spicy oranges and lemons and something else I can’t quite figure out, maybe some kind of herb.
One look at her and you can tell she’s not from around here—tailored clothes, clear nail polish, long hair pulled back into a fancy bun thing. Pretty in that Playboy librarian kind of way, but I shouldn’t be thinking about her like that.
Edging forward in my seat, I move my bishop. I act like it’s a big drag coming here, but I’ve grown accustomed to it … to her. It’s calming in a weird way. And she never asks me about football. Sometimes we don’t talk at all, which is nice. Sometimes we just sit and stare out the window. There’s always music on—it’s classical, but it’s good. She doesn’t like the quiet, either.
“Here.” She leans over her desk to hand me a cup of tea.
The only jewelry she wears is a small clear cross around her neck with a little mustard seed floating around inside. She doesn’t go to church at Midland Baptist like everyone else. She’s Catholic, which is pretty exotic around here. Nearest Catholic church is four towns over in Murpheyville. Folks are nice to her, but they keep her at arm’s length. Hell, Garry Henderson’s family moved here when he was two and he’s still considered an outsider.
Miss Granger’s been real helpful with Noodle’s application to All Saints—the private school connected with the church over there. Sure, there’s nuns and that’s weird, but I can’t let what happened to Jess happen to Noodle. This town has a way of ruining people.
“Any news about Noodle?” I ask as I take a sip of the tea. I don’t really like it, but I’m trying.
She sits back, studying the board. “Not yet.”
“I’ve been checking the mail twice a day. If she doesn’t get in, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“I wouldn’t worry.” Miss Granger smiles. “She’s gifted.”
“It’s going to be tight, money-wise, but it’s worth it. She’s worth it.”
Miss Granger moves her queen. “How’s the harvest coming along?”
Maybe it’s the classical music, or the smell of the tea, or maybe it’s just her, but I blurt, “I ran over an animal with the combine this morning.”
She looks up at me from the board. Her gray eyes are soft, but curious. “And how do you feel about that?”
“Pissed.” I force a chuckle. “It got caught up in the cutting blade. It’s going to take me an hour to get that thing running again.”
Instead of turning up her nose, she seems interested. “What kind of animal?”
I think about lying, just telling her it was a fox. But there’s something about her that makes me want to open up like one of her Chinese puzzle boxes. I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t seem to make myself do it.
She leans forward. “Clay, what is it?”
“Look.” I let out a heavy sigh. “If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t tell anyone … or freak out.”
“I told you, you can trust me.”
I run my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans. “A calf.”
“A calf?” She nearly chokes on the word. She gets up and closes the door then sits in the chair next to me. “Have you told anyone else about this?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure I know who did it. Tonight’s the one-year anniversary and he’s been staring at me nonstop.”
“Are we talking about Tyler Neely again?” Her razor-sharp brows knit together. “You think he placed a dead calf in your field? We’ve talked about this, Clay. How are you doing on the medication? Those sleeping pills can have some serious side—”
“It wasn’t dead … at least not for long.” I shake my head. “The blood … it was fresh. I saw someone moving low through the wheat to the east and then I hit it. The cut on its throat looked too clean for the combine. It had golden fur.” Just thinking about it makes me feel sick to my stomach. “Have you ever seen a calf with golden fur?” I lean my elbows on the desk, accidentally knocking over my cup.