Page 38 of Apple of My Eye
‘All out as in I can expect Joe to wear something other than his flannel?’
Eloise laughs. ‘You’re never going to see Joe in something other than a flannel. But I meant the apple pie contest.’
I go still. ‘Eloise Anderson. Did you just sayapple pie contest?’
She laughs. ‘Yes, my mom won two years ago and she’s looking to repeat.’
‘Who gets to judge?’
‘Locals.’ Eloise emphasizes the word so heavily I wonder if she’s about to tell me that non-residents can’t participate, but then she says, ‘I’ll sneak you a piece of my mom’s, don’t worry. And .?.?.’ Eloise pauses, a shy smile creeping across her face ‘.?.?. we’re doing something different at our tent this year, we’re giving out growing kits for kids.’
A smile tugs at my lips.
‘What?’ she asks, self-conscious.
‘I love how much you love teaching kids to farm,’ I admit, thinking back to the first time she told me about how much she loved volunteering at their summer camp.
‘It’s not teaching them how to farm really,’ she corrects me, but I can tell by the way her face lit up that she’s pleased. ‘This summer we were more teaching them how to garden.’ Her shoulders drop a little. ‘It would have been better if it could have been farming. We need more farmers,’ she sighs, ‘but it isreallycute to see a little kid get so excited about a tomato.’
‘So, what are the growing kits?’
‘They’re radish seedlings that have already germinated. A radish can grow in about a month. All they need to do is water it. And the best part is that the containers are clear, so the kids can watch the radish grow!’
‘But don’t the radishes grow in dirt?’
Eloise’s bright blue eyes narrow just slightly, like they always do when she’s surprised I don’t understand something. ‘Well, not these ones .?.?. it’s a hydroponic system,’ she explains, ‘they only need water to grow. It’s magical to watch, really.’
I reach my hand towards hers and squeeze it. ‘That sounds so cool.’ There’s dirt between our fingers, and our hands are sweaty from hard work, but she intertwines her fingers with mine and squeezes back.
‘I can save you one,’ she promises.
‘I’d like that.’ I wonder if she would want to go to the festival together, but before I have the chance to, she lets go of my hand and drops to her knees.
‘I saw a worm,’ she exclaims, digging up a scoop of dark soil in her palm and letting it run through her fingers. We’ve talked a lot about soil lately. I didn’t realize how essential it was to the farm until I met Eloise. She is always feeling the dirt. Sometimes it’s dry and sandy, her shoulders sag when that happens. Sometimes it’s rich and moist, like it is today, and before her face turns towards mine I already know she’ll be beaming. This is the first time she’s mentioned worms, though.
‘Last year we filled this in with clover on the off season,’ she says happily, ‘and now, look!’ Excitedly, she picks up an earthworm that was wriggling in the dirt she just upended. ‘Hey, little guy,’ she whispers, ‘you’re welcome here.’
She sighs. ‘Sometimes I think my dad doesn’t believe me,’ she says loudly, emphasizingdadenough for Cal to hear from a row over. ‘But I don’t get how he doesn’t see it. The proof is right here!’
That’s when it hits me. It’s lack of socialization, it has to be. There’s no other explanation for why I like a girl who talks to worms.
We spend the rest of the morning finishing the netting. Like most other days, we fall into an easy rhythm. She hands me a new piece of mesh without asking if I need it. I carry the supplies with us to the next tree without either of us asking the other if we’re ready to move on. As the sun soars higher into the sky, we both build up a sheen of sweat on our faces. Without thinking, I tuck a damp curl behind Eloise’s ear while she’s netting the final tree of the morning.
I can’t tell if it’s a glow from the midday sun or a blush that colors her cheeks.
‘Thanks,’ she says.
I resist the urge to tuck back another flyaway that isn’t even there, I just want an excuse to touch her again. As I walk back to the farmhouse it crosses my mind that I’ve never been that in sync with anyone except when I’m cooking with my mamma in the kitchen.
I call her when I get back to the Parkers’, the porch door creaking behind me as I slip in.
‘Hi, sweetheart,’ she answers. I can hear her smile.
‘Hi, Mamma.’ I feel both a rush of relief at hearing her voice, knowing she’s OK, and a rush of guilt for being away from her, for starting to imagine a life with Eloise, one where I don’t live as close to my mother, where I can’t support her so fully.
I ask her how she is and she tells me about Ronnie and her cousin Vienna (who has reappeared on the scene since I’ve been gone). She gives me the vegetable garden update and laughs when I tell her I’ll have some advice for her when I get home.
‘How are Julian and Isaac? Did you tell them they could come over for dinner while you’re gone?’
