Page 111 of Dove
“We’ll keep an eye on her,” I promised.
Hopefully she was just having an off day. A vet visit was pricey, especially for farm animals since it required a traveling vet to come out. The farm was already in a tenuous financial situation, although I didn’t say that to Dove. I wasn’t entirely sure she knew, and I hadn’t mentioned it yet. Knowing my father, he likely hadn’t been very forthcoming about it. No surprise there. She wouldn’t care, though. Dove loved the animals so much; she’d do anything for them, enough money or not.
If we could get this harvest to work in our favor this year, we could skirt by until we figured something out. I’d been meaning to bring it up to her, but with everything going on… I kept it to myself. Dove didn’t need more bad news. I was taking care of it, looking over our options. I just needed a bit more time before I brought it up.
Clover whinnied and a second later Dove’s gentle voice replied, soothing and affectionate. My heart panged in my chest, overwhelmed by just how amazing this girl was. Thoughtful, sweet, and unbearably beautiful, I wondered how in the world I got to call her mine.
I wondered if I’d get tokeepcalling her mine.
Rodney came shuffling out of the back room with boxes loaded in his arms just as the thought crossed my mind, saving me from spewing the mushy thoughts out loud to Dove.
“Got to go,” I rushed out quick, hurrying over to hold the door open. “I’m heading to Dell’s after this, but I’ll be home soon, okay?”
“Alright,” she replied warmly. “Don’t rush. I’m good here.” She paused for a moment before adding, “Be safe.”
I couldn’t stop the pleased smile at hearing those two little words. That was how she used to always end her calls to me. “Always.”
When the phone beeped, signaling the end of our call, I shoved it into my back pocket and fished out my keys, holding the door as I pressed the button to open the trunk.
“Fancy,” Rodney commented with a derisive snort as he passed by. “Right there in the back?”
“Yeah.” I followed a step behind him, making sure he or the boxes didn’t fall. “Need any help with that?”
He grunted, which I took for a solidI don’t need your help, boy.
Three years away and I still spoke local-ese.
Once everything was stacked in the back, I pressed the button just inside the trunk that caused it to close automatically. As I ducked out from under it, I ignored Rodney’s quiet scoff and cynical grousing as it shut and locked with a quiet mechanical whir. Unable to help myself, I asked, “I can Venmo you, right?”
He looked at me like I’d grown another head. “We take good old fashion American dollars at this here establishment. None of that fake internet money you kids are dabblin’ in these days.” With that, he turned his back to me and made his way back into the shop.
“Good thing I’ve got some of that,” I replied in amusement as I followed him in.
He ignored me as he shuffled toward his desk, settling behind it as he began calculating my total in nearly the same way Dell had, probably adding on a few extra dollars foroutsider tax.
Would it kill this town to welcome the modern age?
Some of my father’s manners must have still been ingrained in me, because I refrained from taking my phone out while I waited, knowing it would seem rude. I curbed the urge to text Dove again, not wanting to bug her while she’s busy, and insteadinspected the shop more closely, trying to spot any noticeable changes from what I could remember it looking like.
Not much had changed, which was unsurprising. Although the corkboard behind Rodney was filled with more colorful flyers than before, all of them pinned over each other, creating a collage of old and new events.
A bright red flyer with the outline of a giant strawberry caught my eye.
Haven’s 85thannual County Fair and Strawberry Festival
Come on out and have a BERRY good time with friends and family!
It boasted food contests, games, live music, and more. The flyer might change each year, but the festival was always the same. It started off family-friendly, but as the night went on, it turned into a lively party, with people dancing, drinking, and getting increasingly inventive with the leftover strawberries—and the booze.
Dove and I had gone almost every summer, usually after our chores were finished and the heat died down, right after families scurried home with tired children but just before the real fun began. One year we’d gotten into a pie eating contest, a group of my friends and Dove, who nobody believed could out eat us teenage boys.
I was the only one who bet for her rather than against her.
Won myself quite a bit of money that night.
Unfortunately, another flyer was covering the date and time, so I cleared my throat and causally asked, “Strawberry fest’s coming up, huh?”
“Yessir,” Rodney answered without bothering to look up, “s’always about this time of year.”
