The Farmer's Son

Chapter 43 Kiss and Tell

The day dawned cold and grey, overcast with clouds and undercut by a low breeze that caused shivers with its touch. Overhead, crows lazily flapped around the eaves, giving only a halfhearted caw or two as the red and tan trucks approached up the overgrown drive, pulling to a stop in front of the short porch. As the Walker family stepped out of the trucks in front of the Dalton house, everyone huddled into their jackets, pulling up collars and shoving hands deeper into pockets against the chill.

"It's not as bad as I thought," Marge said, looking up at the house as she zipped up Sunny's yellow puffy coat.

"Ray and I worked on it some over the winter," Noah said, the slightest smoke coming out with every breath. "Replaced the porch floor, and the front and back step. Didn't get to the inside, but we managed to replace the whole roof."

"I want to take a look inside. You girls stay out here," Marge said.

"I'll stay with them," Ray said, standing by the tan truck with his hands in his jeans, the jacket over his sweater unzipped. He was used to much colder winters in Montana. As he spoke his gaze went up to the house, his mind filled, not with memories of working on it with Noah, but of a hot summer night, his throat parched and dry, and a fitful sleep broken by the appearance of a young man and his dog.

Alan, standing by the front steps, looked up at the house with the same memory in mind. His gaze slipping down the façade of the house to Ray, their eyes met, briefly, before he looked away. Leaving the three girls to run around the yard under Ray's watch, Alan, his father and aunt and uncle stepped up onto the newly repaired porch and into the house, disappearing into the gloom.

Ray sighed.

Last night, not long after their conversation, Alan had gotten out of bed, collected his clothes from the floor and left in the dark. This morning, coming down the hall from his room, Ray had seen Alan coming out of the living room, brushing dust from his sleeve, and rubbing the back of his neck. It was obvious he had slept there. They'd stopped and looked at each other in silence.

"Alan," Ray had said, stepping forward. "About last night—"

But before he could finish, the rest of the family had come down the stairs, and whatever he was going to say got swallowed in the morning chaos. Even for the drive over Alan had chosen to ride with his father and nieces in the red truck, leaving Ray with Marge, Jeff, and Bear. As he sighed again, his musing was broken by the sound of shrill voices, no longer raised in merry, but in teasing.

"You stop that!" Darla, the oldest girl at eleven, yelled. "Take it back!"

"Na-uh!" called Rose, the middle girl. "I won't! We saw it, right, Sunny?"

"Right!" pipped up the youngest, who had no idea what she was supposed to have seen.

"I saw you and him. I know," Rose said, crossing her arms and looking smug.

"You don't know anything!" Darla cried, sounding close to tears. "You don't, so just shut up!"

And she whirled in a fan of brown curls and dashed off towards the red truck, circling behind the back wheels. As the other two girls began to play again, Ray cast them a glance, then walked towards the red truck. He found her crouched under the tailgate, a ball of brown and pink puffy coat, arms hugging her green leggings clad knees, face buried in them, hair spilling everywhere around her almost to the ground. She didn't move as he approached, but as he went down into a crouch beside her, she spoke.

"Stupid Rose," Darla said, voice muffled. "She thinks she knows everything, but she doesn't know anything. Having a sister stinks!"

Ray hid a smile. "And what does Rose think she knows?"