Hay Season

Chapter 18

Rylan

I went through three months of hell, able to laugh, cry, and praise the Lord at the same time. ~ Susan Sanford ~

If you listed a million different ways why this wouldn't work, I'd list a million different ways why it would. That's the guy I am. Once I make up my mind, it's hard to sway it. I promised myself a long time ago to live my life the way I wanted to, but sometimes I need reminding.

~Our Hometown of Dewbridge/Journal Entry by Rylan Tucker

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"Damn it!"

Chucking the schedule across the room, I swear a few more times before looking down at the computer and the information in front of it I'm supposed to enter. Desk work. I hate it with all the passion in the world, and the schedule my father has written out for me shows a lot of it. I agreed to work for the family business before deciding on college and other life decisions. Dad wanted me to understand the mechanics of the company. It was supposed to be part-time, but that paper tells me a different story.

"Must be pretty bad. I think you may have even invented a new word or two."

I glance up from the computer monitor to find Nelda Evans, the town psychic, smiling at me.

"Wanna share?"

My eyes narrow.

Pointing to her head, I state the obvious. "Aren't you supposed to already know?"

"Am I?"

Scowling, I cross my arms. "Are you going to play with my head?"

"Do I need to play with your head?"

"This is a trick question, isn't it?"

She winks. "You're a smart boy, Rylan. I've watched you grow up. I changed your diaper."

I cringe. "Nice to know, Mrs. Evans."

She continues, ignoring me. "So, do you want me to tell you what you want to hear or the truth?"

Pondering over her question, I avoid her gaze. I know what she's talking about. She's as much psychic as my right arm is magic. I can play and throw a ball with the best of them. Not because of something supernatural, but because I fucking worked my ass off for it. Mrs. Evans doesn't see the future. I asked her once when I was a child why she could see the things that no one else could. She stated that it wasn't what she couldn't see that gave her a gift but the things she saw every day. In other words, she's a better people watcher than Tad could ever be. Nelda Evan's gift isn't in seeing the future but giving people hope. To simplify it, she tells people what they want to hear and gives them the confidence boost they wouldn't usually have. What they do with it after that is up to them. Half the time, she doesn't accept payment ... until she has to pay the bills. Before her husband died, she could give her services away for free. Now, when his retirement check proves less than stellar at helping with her medical bills, she has to pick up where it slacks off. I know this because she's the grandmother my mom doesn't want me to claim since her money doesn't mix with ours. Still, she never had a problem letting her babysit me for all the many social functions she had to attend without pay.

I don't answer her question because I know she won't lie to me. "What is it about this town? Why can't it let go and let be? Why does some knowledge have to be so fucking hard?"

I chance a peek and find her sizing me up. It's eerie how her gray-colored eyes seem to see right through me. It leads credence to her supposed 'ability.' I squirm under her scrutiny. Mrs. Evans, my mother insisted at an early age that we call her that in case someone wanted to question her upbringing, isn't a talkative woman despite her occupation. When she speaks, it's because there's something important to say. Sometimes, I wonder how she ever gave birth to my mom. Maybe my mom was switched at birth. That's a reasonable explanation.

"A town is only as strong as its people, Rylan. Remember that. Your path will reveal what secrets and skeletons are hidden, and I've never known you to take the easy route. You chose your path the day you met her. It's not the town that makes the boy. It's the boy that makes the man. You can be a product of your upbringing, or you can forge your own destiny. It's your choice. As for the knowledge, it's a part of life that will never go away. Sometimes, knowing something can be worse than not knowing at all. Don't you think?"

I don't know if this is a riddle or a form of poetry, but I understand her meaning. Staring out the window, I search for the perfect response. The weather is changing, and Christmas is getting closer. I want things to change. It won't be long before graduation is upon us, and I want my future to be the one I made it to be. Several minutes later, I glance back toward Mrs. Evans, but she's gone. In her place stands Mattie, and she's looking at me with those forlorn eyes of hers. The same eyes that haunt me daily and the eyes that desperately make me want to wipe away all her worries.

"Should I hate my father or love him?"

"Love him."

Despite the troubles I know she has to face daily, it's an easy answer to give. Her father is one of the town drunkards; whether people say it to her face, they know it. My grandmother has given me the answer I need. Scribbling out a new schedule, I attach it to the clipboard, grab my duffel bag, and head toward my girl. Pulling her to me, I give her the welcome kiss she deserves and pull her toward the exit. There's a pretty blonde I'm determined to spend the day with, and no one will stop me.