The Last Harvest(63)

I walk to the kitchen stiff-legged like Frankenstein, dragging her along with me. She starts giggling.

“We’ve got pancakes,” Noodle says, as she takes a seat at the table right in front of a full plate.

“Are these still here from breakfast?” I flick the top one. It’s as hard as a rock.

I check the refrigerator. It’s practically empty. Pickles, some condiments, and brown lettuce. I told Mom I didn’t want her waiting on me for supper, but I didn’t mean for her to stop making supper altogether. “This isn’t right.” I start to head into the living room to confront her, when Noodle puts her hand in mine. “Pancakes are good. Ali made ’em. Don’t worry. They’ll soften up with syrup.”

I look down at her and my heart melts. She doesn’t want a fight. And to be honest, neither do I. I’ll have to deal with Mom later.

“You’re right,” I say.

A huge smile takes over her face as she pulls me back to the table.

Noodle thumbs through the stack, picking out the best one and putting it on a separate plate. “For Jess.” She grins and licks her lips as she drowns the rest of them in syrup.

I grab two forks. The silverware drawer is practically empty. The mail’s piled up. The whole house is depressing, like there’s a dark cloud hanging over everything. “Hey, you want to work the fields with me tomorrow after school?” I ask. “I’m having a hard time finishing the front parcel.”

“You bet.” Her eyes light up.

The sugar seems to go straight to her brain because after a few bites, Noodle starts talking a mile a minute.

With Jess barricaded in her room and Mom in one of her spells, Noodle’s starved for attention, probably been on her own all day.

I feel a little guilty for kicking her one playmate under her bed. Maybe I should help her find it. “I notice you haven’t been carrying around that baby doll lately.”

Noodle shrugs. “She’s busy.”

“Oh, yeah?” I try not to laugh. “Busy with what?”

I push the last bite toward Noodle. She crams it into her mouth. “Helping Jess.”

“Well, tell her good luck with that.”

Hammy comes in the dog door all muddy and gross. Noodle holds down her plate so he can lick up the last bits and then he leaves again.

“Who needs a dishwasher with Hammy around.” She hands me the plate.

I take it to the sink, washing it with soap. I spot Hammy out the kitchen window, pacing the wheat again.

“That dog. I swear. What do you think he does out there all day and night?”

“He’s busy, too.”

“Is he helping Jess as well?” I chuckle.

“No, silly. He’s guarding.”

“Making sure nothing bad gets in?”

“Making sure nothing bad gets out,” she says.

I drop the plate in the sink.

I look back at Noodle; she lets out a big yawn, accidentally wiping syrup across her face. Sugar crash.

“Let’s get you to bed,” I say as I grab the plate for Jess and lead Noodle upstairs to get cleaned up. I run a bath for her and wait outside the door. Ever since Dad died, she wants to bathe herself … dress herself … she even cuts her own bangs. Won’t let anybody brush out her hair or fix it. That’s why she’s always got those lopsided pigtails. I guess she’s growing up, but not too much, because she’s still splashing around, singing her counting song.

She comes out of the bathroom in her nightgown, all pink and shiny. “But I’m not tired,” she says as she lets out another giant yawn.

“I know, but I need you to be rested for tomorrow. You’ve got to be alert on the combine.”

“Let’s meet in our dreams,” she says as she snuggles in. “That way you won’t get lonely.”

“Always,” I whisper.

When I’m done tucking Noodle in, I take the plate to Jess’s room. “Jess?” I tap lightly. “I brought you something to eat.”

I see a shadow move under her door, hear the shuffling of feet, and then silence.

“Did you have a good talk with Ali today? She said she could come over anytime, or you could go over there … whatever you need.”

Still nothing.

“I should tell you…” I lower my voice. “Mom’s not doing so good. It’s not like usual. This is something different. She’s not talking about Dad … she’s not talking about anything. All she does is sit and stare at the flies. I’m thinking maybe something died in the wall … a mouse … I don’t know. All I know is that without you around to keep us all in check, things have gotten out of hand. We could use a dose of reality around here.”

I listen for a laugh—any kind of reaction—but all I hear is her heavy breath.

“What I said to you the other day, or didn’t say … that was wrong. It’s not too late for you … to make something of your life.” I swallow hard and press my palm against her door. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you’re not important. It’s been a tough year for all of us. But I’m going to be better. We all need to be better.”

I set down the plate in front of her door.

I’m walking toward the stairs when I hear her door creak open. I turn just in time to see the plate slide into her room and the door slam shut again.