I swing the ax and the wood splits. The chunks are small enough to stack, but I’m pissed so I swing the ax again, making the hunks of wood smaller. Besides a bonfire, there’s no reason I need to cut wood. I don’t have a fireplace, and I could have rented a wood shredder to get rid of this old tree that was downed by last night’s storm. But since this afternoon I’ve been Godzilla tearing through Tokyo. I thought chopping the wood would help erase my anger or that I’d tire myself out. I’ve been home an hour from school and neither has transpired. Guess I am cursed.
“That looks like hard work,” an unfamiliar voice calls out.
I pause mid-swing and glance over at the man intruding upon my land. A silent swear under my breath as I’m not in the mood for company, none the less someone I need to impress. I turn toward the thick trunk lying on the ground and whack the ax into it. I then pick my shirt off the ground and wipe my brow as I turn to welcome Pastor Hughes.
“It’s not so bad,” I say.
“You looked like a machine as I pulled up. I had a great-uncle who had a farm when I was younger. I remember chopping wood like you just did when I was angry at the world.”
Not the world. Just a girl named Scarlett who’s giving me heartburn. What sucks about school is even when you don’t talk, you hear things, and I heard more about her and some other guy than I wanted. She’s testing me, yet she’ll go out with him. My fingers twitch with the need to pick up the ax again.
“The storm was rough last night,” he says.
“Several trees are down, and I need to cut them up.” The storm wasn’t bad enough for so many of the trees to have toppled, which means the ones that fell were probably diseased. I have no idea what that means for the rest of my trees or if this could affect future crops. So far a Google search has been more of a labyrinth than helpful. This is one of those rare moments when I wish I had a mentor or some help.
“What brings you out?” I ask.
“You.” His eyes flicker over me, and I have no doubt he noticed the scar on my back. “I promised your grandmother I’d check in on you from time to time.”
Thanks, Gran. “Consider me checked-in on.”
Pastor Hughes doesn’t remind me much of a man of God in his jeans and red short-sleeved shirt. More like a guy who’s about to hit up fast food with his family on a Friday night. Guess I’ve watched too much TV to think these guys only wear black.
He offers me his hand, I accept, and the man has a firm grip and a friendly smile. The trailer’s in sight, but he had a decent walk. Because Gran raised me to do southern hospitality with guests, I say, “Do you want to go back to the trailer? I can get you something to drink.”
“Nah, it’s a nice day, and I’ll admit that I’d like to stay outside. I’m inside too much for my liking. But why don’t you go ahead and get a drink. Looks like you could use it.”
Fair enough. I grab a bottle of cold water from the cooler, down it fast, then set it on the ground. Near the weeping willow, Pastor Hughes scans the land as if in appreciation, and that makes me like him enough that I’m disarmed. At least enough to not tell him to leave.
“You have a beautiful piece of property,” he says. “I can see why your grandmother liked it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so rich in my life.”
“Loved,” I correct him. “Gran loved this land.” Like I do.
He nods his agreement and starts in on questions about my well-being: Am I getting along okay alone in the house, how has school gone, what have I been working on with the property? They’re questions meant to be deep, but allow me enough space to give surface answers. The type of answers, I’m sure, a busy man like him wants to hear.
Then he throws a curveball. “Have you considered applying for college?”
I pause for too long. “I’m not interested in college.”
“Why?”
If I tell him the real reason, because I want to work the land full-time, it could backfire and he could vote against me keeping the land. He, and every other adult, seems to have this quest for higher education. “Not my thing.”
“It could be.”
I shrug.
“There’s a big world out there.” Pastor Hughes looks off to the horizon. “Aren’t you curious what’s out there? Your grandmother told me you really haven’t left the state.”
Memories of Mom come rushing back and the hurt mixing with my previous anger becomes a toxic mix. “Let’s cut the crap. I know you’re part of the tribunal.”
I like that he has to pause to take in my words. “Did your uncle tell you?”
“No, and I know Scarlett Copeland is the other person. I told her the truth.”
“Is your uncle aware of your knowledge on any of this?”
“That I know the full truth? No.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I’m getting played in a game I never wanted to participate in. Seems fair to swing the game back in my direction.”
He’s not mad like I expected with the bombshell. Instead, he relaxes and that doesn’t sit well with me. Pastor Hughes places his thumbs in his back pockets. “How does telling me this swing the game, as you call it, in your direction?”
“Scarlett’s already agreed to vote for me. As for telling you, I figured it would be better if you and I shot straight. I’d bet the western part of this land you know I’ve left the state twice in my life, and I’m betting you know why and what happened on both occasions.”
He probably also knows how those occasions broke me in ways that makes fixing me impossible. If he does, he knows secrets I wish Gran would have allowed to live only with me.
“Your grandmother was hurting,” he says. “She wasn’t trying to betray you by talking to me. She was trying to find a way to let go of her grief before she passed.”
I’m tempted to ask him if it worked, but don’t. He’ll lie the same way Glory does to the people who pay for her time. “I don’t want to go to college, and I don’t want to analyze the why with you. But I do want this land. Whatever it is you need me to do to win your vote, I’ll do it. Losing this land isn’t an option. I hope that’s something you can understand.”
Pastor Hughes nods like he hears everything I’m saying and not saying. Maybe some things I’m not even hearing myself. “There are many ways you could have tried to manipulate this situation, but you took the most direct method and that, I respect.”
“Does that mean you’re going to vote for me?” I ask.
“It means you have my ear.”
It’s not a vote, but it’s a start.
“I’ll tell you what,” Pastor Hughes says. “I have an important decision to make regarding your future, and I take that responsibility seriously. So I have two requests for you.”
“You mean rules?”
He chuckles. “I mean more of an agreement. You agree to meet with me every month or so, when it’s convenient for you. We’ll talk, have dinner if you’d like.”
I can do that. “Sure.”
“The second part is for you to have dinner with your uncle. At least a couple of times a month. It’ll go a long way in earning my vote if you can fix your relationship with him.”
“It takes two people to fix things.” The words come out fast and bitter. “And he’s not the saint you think he is.”
“No one is above reproach. Not you, not me and not your uncle. You two share a complicated relationship. True colors will win out on this—for good or possibly bad.”
The idea causes me to want to grind my teeth, but I stay still as my reaction will be judged. I’m tired of being tested, but this is what my life is going to be for the next year—me constantly being held over the fire. “Fine.”
Pastor Hughes holds out his hand to me again, I shake it and he says those nice things people do, “goodbye” and “see you later.” He’s four steps away when he glances back at me. “I didn’t know you and Scarlett Copeland were friends.”
Not liking the question, I yank the ax out of the trunk and use my foot to roll another, larger log to where I’m splitting the wood. “What makes you assume we are?”
“You mentioning that you have spoken to her.”
“We know each other.”
“Do you talk much to her father?” The question is casual but causes warning alarms.
I swing the ax and split the log in half with the first try. “Can’t say that I do. Do you?”
“Not much. I’ll leave my card in your mailbox. Call me when you want to meet up.”
“Sounds good.” I continue to split wood until his car disappears down the dirt road. Once he’s long gone, I wedge the ax back into the log, and I sit beside it wondering what level of hell I’ve unleashed by talking to him about Scarlett.
My cell vibrates, and if it’s Glory, I swear I’ll take an ax to my phone. I switch gears quick when I spot Nazareth’s name. The kid’s not the type to text. V’s in bad pain. Migraine from hell, and she can barely move. My parents laced their stash and it’s too strong. I’m scared of what she’ll be taking in if she smokes it. Can you help?
A war takes place in my brain. I need to stay straight and narrow in order to keep my land, but I have to help my friend. Me: Might take me a few hours.
Nazareth: Leo is on the way. He doesn’t want you to do it alone. I’ll bring V by later.
I sigh heavily, and my cell becomes a hundred-pound weight in my hands. Last time I did this to help V, I ended up in handcuffs. I was stupid, though. Didn’t watch my back. Probably why Leo is going along for the ride. Nazareth’s parents grow their own pot and if he’s asking for me to buy, it means that any supply they have isn’t stuff he’s comfortable with V smoking.
Thanks or unthanks to Mom, I know people who deal and those people won’t sell to strangers, only to people they know, which means I’m on the hook for the buy. I push buttons and send the text that’s going to help V and hopefully not damn me.