Page 53 of Every Good Thing
She giggles dramatically. Nothing makes sense.
“Mr. Deakins, I have a business proposal for you,” I say, ready for redirection.
“Oh, Ben Wright, you keep things real. Tell me about it, and let’s make a deal.”
I tell him my ideas, though his incessant rhyming is enough to make me reconsider it.
When we return to Saddletree a few hours later, it’s busy. Scattered picnic blankets surround the pond. People tour the overgrown garden with baskets to get what’s left of a dwindling crop. A small, neon-clad bicycle group meets at the carport, prepping for a long country bike ride. A line forms near the patio for the hayride, where Lena’s weekend help—two teenagers who take turns driving the old tractor—organize the next round of guests.
I park near the barn, and Mr. Deakins, driving the small cargo van I’ve rented, pulls in beside me. He and four others exit the vehicle. I give them their assignments.
Ruthie and I don’t find Lena upstairs. A quick text informs me that she’s with Dot and will return soon, which is ideal. My plan can take effect before she arrives.
I can’t wait for her to see.
Ruthie and I enjoy sandwiches and sodas on the café patio when Dot’s van appears. They park near my Jeep, and Ruthie calls them over as soon as they exit.
Lena looks nice. Her summery dress immediately catches a breeze when she walks our way, tickling something in my chest. She’s a beautiful woman. It’s almost comical that she felt insecure meeting Lauren. Perhaps by the world’s standards, Lauren is more traditionally beautiful, but I prefer Lena. She doesn’t look salon-perfect most days (or any, for that matter), but I love her natural beauty. The way her nose freckles in the sun, the varying shades of blond and light brown in her hair, the fact that she looks pretty much the same with or without makeup, and her gentle strength when she rides horses, mixes batter, rakes the garden, or picks up our daughter.
She is and always will be the sexiest woman I know.
I stand when she approaches, the patio chair scraping the concrete under me. She smirks when I lean in for a quick kiss. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“Yes.” I examine her braced arm—swollen and red. “Pain level?”
“High,” she admits, slinging her bag off her shoulder. “Forgot to take my pills.”
I open her bag so she can dig through it. A thick folder peeks from the top. She retrieves the pill vial and hands it to me—she can’t twist the lid one-handed.
Ruthie giggles when Dot steals half a sandwich from her plate.
I give Lena my chair and move another from an empty table.
It’s nearly three. Families spread over the acres like pegs on a map. Lena glances around, seemingly surprised that we’re out here, enjoying the day when she’d typically be working her ass off on a given Saturday.
She tosses back the pain pills with a swig of my drink. I push my plate toward her. “Eat something.”
Dot gives Lena an urging look.
“Um, I have news.” Lena sounds nervous.
Before she continues, the tractor rolls up the driveway. From the driver’s seat, Mr. Deakins waves his arm dramatically. “Alas, we reach our journey’s end. We started as strangers, and now, we’re friends.”
The full trailer behind him breaks into applause, as they’ve done for every ride since he took over the position. He removes his hat and bows.
“Holy shit! It’s Shakespeare!” Lena laughs. “What’s he doing here?”
“He calls it Poetry in Motion. I call it working.”
The delighted look on her face makes me swell with pride—I love that look.
Her head tilts as she grins at me. “What did you do?”
“I hired extra help for the day. Longer, if you approve. Mr. Deakins has agreed to be your new driver.” I motion to the small cargo van parked beside my Jeep. “I rented a van for him. He has a clean driving record, and his landlord has agreed to allow it in her driveway. Four or five days a week, he could arrive in the morning with help and take over the hayrides and deliveries. I have one guy on dishes and cleaning tables. Others work the gardens, fields, and pens. After closing, he’ll drive everyone home. They get reliable paychecks. You get the help you need if you agree.”
She gawks as two men emerge from the garden carrying armfuls of weeds. In the distance, she spots another on the ATV, refilling the horses’ water troughs.
“If you like the idea, we’ll invest in a van. The Harveys might be interested, too. People want to work. This solves the problem of getting them here… at least until we get a bus stop. I also assigned Trisha as the temporary dining room manager. Your weekenders are helping Tessa and waiting tables—it’s a much better use for them. May and June now have to compete for tips.”
