“And bless them for it.” Amy gathered up the print-
outs, blocked their edges, and pushed back from the
computer. “It absolutely infuriates me to see how cava-
lier some of the growers are with pesticides.”
“Well, Haywood and Robert can remember when
they had to worm and sucker tobacco by hand,” I said
as we moved into the living room. I added another log
to the fire and we sat down on the couch in front of the
crackling flames. “No wonder they love being able to
run a tractor through the fields pulling a sprayer that’ll
take care of everything chemically.”
“Better living through chemistry?” Amy slipped off
her boots and tucked her short legs under her. “Except
that it isn’t. I wish they had to see some of the mi-
grants who come into the emergency room, covered
with pesticides, their clothes green with it. The rashes
on their skin. The coughs. The headaches and memory
loss and God alone knows how many strokes, cancers,
and heart attacks have been triggered by careless han-
dling. They’re not supposed to go back in the fields
for forty-eight hours after some of those chemicals are
used, yet we’ve had women tell us that they’ve actually
been sprayed while they were out there working. Most
122
HARD ROW
times they don’t even know what they’ve been doused
with. Birth defects are up. It’s criminal. We’ve called
EPA and the US Department of Agriculture on some of
the employers, but there’s not enough teeth in the laws
to make the growers back off.”
Her tirade broke off as the children came in, hungry
and needing to use the bathroom. I had set out a tray
of raw vegetables and sliced apples with a yogurt-based
dip, but Mary Pat spotted the bowl of oranges and im-
mediately asked if I’d cut a hole in the top so she could
suck out the juice. The three boys thought that was a
great idea and they all headed back outside, oranges in
hand, noisily sucking.
“She’s a pistol, that one.” Amy laughed. “Kate’s
going to have her hands full.”
“She already does,” I said ruefully.
We took the children back to Kate and Rob’s on
Sunday evening, tired and dirty and ready for bath and
bed. Kate, on the other hand, looked the most relaxed
I’d seen her since R.W. was born. There was color in her
pretty face and her honey brown hair had been cut and
styled since yesterday morning. The haircut echoed her
old glamour and reminded me that she had been a New
York fashion model before she married Jake’s dad and
