Page 32 of Always Meant for You
I press the phone tighter to my ear, the shame rising so fast I nearly choke on it.
“Dad, it’s me,” I whimper, humiliation twisting through every word. “Can I come home?”
Chapter Seven
CAL
The sun’s out. The breeze is light. Not a cloud in the sky.
It’s the kind of morning farmer’s markets are made for—warm, dry, no threat of rain to scare folks off.
The farmstands are vibrant and packed with organic farm-fresh food. Berries, cabbages, carrots, greens, summer squash, piled high and untouched. Sunlight filters through stacked mason jars brimming with honey. Loaves of spelt and amaranth bread, the ancient grains we started growing a few years back, sit neatly arranged. The table from the dairy farm holds a tiered cheese display, each wheel stacked with care and precision. It looks pulled from a boutique window.
Every damn thing is perfect. Except the part that matters.
Paying customers.
No footsteps. No voices. Not a shopper in sight.
“I don’t think that company you hired to get the word out did much, Cal,” my farmhand says.
I nod. Because he’s right. And there’s not a damn thing I can say that makes it less true. Starting the Elverna Farmers’ Market was part of the plan, my plan with Jamie.
I’m checking the numbers. That’s what I do. Jamie was the dreamer, and I was the data. Cost per acre. Yield projections.Transition timelines. What it would take to let the fields go fallow, how long before we could recertify the soil. Every form, every inspection, every goddamn spreadsheet to prove we were following all the guidelines to be certified organic. I ran the margins. I kept us on track.
On paper, and on my myriad of whiteboards, we should be profitable. But paper doesn’t walk into a farmers’ market and buy a head of organic lettuce.
I’m running myself ragged, trying to make this work.
But it’s not enough.
We got duped—again—by some online, big-city, all-talk-and-no-deliver bullshit promotions company. I should’ve known better than to trust an outsider.
Today’s farmers’ market is a bust.
Same as last week.
Morale’s already teetering. If this keeps happening, I don’t know how I’ll keep everyone on board.
The last four years have been brutal. But I stood in front of this town—without Jamie—and asked them to believe in our plan.
And they did.
What we need now is proof it was worth it.
We need buyers, revenue, and a reason to keep going.
What we’re doing here is revolutionary. We’ve accomplished the dream, but we’re stuck.
Marketing is our biggest failure.
My failure.
Jamie died in my arms. His last words were about helping this town and . . . Mabel. With his last breath, he asked me to do something. Made me promise. And I’m in real danger of breaking it.
Where do I go from here?
I never thought the farming part would be the easiest.
