“The dog won’t hurt you, I promise.” She reached for a dose of patience that seemed in short supply at the moment.
Tonio stood on the far side of the fence, refusing to enter the field and help with the goats so long as Silas was there.
“I already told you, I hate dogs.” He eyed Silas and shook his head. “No way you’re changing my mind.”
She didn’t want to deal with this. Not now, not with West lurking nearby, threatening to upset the balance of her universe.
“I understand how you feel. Dogs can be dangerous. Did you have a bad experience with one?”
He kept watching the dog as he answered. “Something like that.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it.”
He shook his head.
“Here’s my problem,” Soleil said. “Silas is a working dog. He has an important job here at the farm, and if I keep him penned up in the barn, he can’t do the work I need him to do, and more goats could wander off.”
“I’m not helping with the goats then.”
“Fair enough. For now, I’ll find other work for you to do.”
She didn’t add that later, she’d get to the bottom of his dog fear, but she intended to. It was hard to go through life terrified of dogs, especially when that very fear could put Tonio in danger around aggressive canines. She took note of the pale, barely visible scars on his arms and neck and realized he’d likely been mauled.
A moment later, West appeared, striding toward them in that confident, ready-to-conquer-the-world way he had, and her hunger pangs morphed to anxiety.
She wasn’t ready for him. Wasn’t ready for this conversation. She’d known it was coming, but she’d thought she had more time. She’d expected him to show up in town for the holidays, and she’d planned to approach him in her own time, prepared to give him a firm talk about how she intended to raise the child on her own, and how he could have as much or as little involvement in the child’s life as he wanted, but that she didn’t need his help.
It all sounded so perfectly reasonable in her head, and yet, she was terrified of saying any of it aloud.
“Oh, hey,” Soleil said stupidly. “You’re here.”
To Tonio, she said, “You’ve got chicken duty. You won’t have to worry about the dog if you’re in the chicken zone.”
The chickens would keep him busy for a little while. They needed to be fed, and their coop cleaned once any fresh eggs had been collected. He’d already done the job twice thanks to his dog fear, so he knew the drill.
His shoulders slumped. “Do I have to? The chicken coop smells.”
“Your other choice is mucking out the barn. Which would you like?”
“Chicken duty,” he said sullenly, then slunk away.
West watched the boy go. “How’s your current batch of kids doing?”
He’d spent enough time at the farm with her during the summer to have a rough idea what she did here-take the most promising applicants who applied to her program and give them an internship at the farm, where they could learn skills to take back to their community and help run urban-garden projects.
“They’re doing well,” she said, glad to focus on something innocuous.
He nodded. “I’m going to repair that fence. Where can I find a hammer and nails around here?”
She thought of protesting his help again, but really, she needed the fence fixed, and there wasn’t much sense in turning down a free hand today. And if he was occupied away at the property line, she’d have time to mentally brace herself for the inevitable baby conversation.
“Just inside the barn, to the left, you’ll find what you need.”
He nodded, and strode toward the barn without another word. Something about his expression had been a little off. He hadn’t looked as happy and relaxed as he had during their initial encounter.
Had he figured out the truth on his own? Well, duh. How could he not have?
She chewed the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit since childhood, and headed for the house to prepare lunch.
As she approached the porch, which was bedecked in wreaths and holiday garland she and the kids had hung the day before, it hit her that her own child would be playing here in a few years, toddling around after the ducks, swinging on the porch swing, pulling up flowers from the garden.
She may not be able to give her baby a perfect, intact nuclear family, but she could give the child this place-the happiest moments of her own childhood had happened here at this farm, and the same would be true for her baby. This idea, she loved.
The notion still made her a little dizzy sometimes. But she’d already felt the baby’s fluttering first movements, had seen its tiny heart beating on an ultrasound screen, and she knew that soon enough, her reality would be permanently, drastically altered.
How would she do it? She didn’t exactly have any great role models for motherhood to turn to. Her own mother’s drinking, raging, depressive style was not one she would ever emulate. Or at least she hoped she wouldn’t. With every ounce of her being she wanted to be a better mother than her own had been-more loving, more attentive, more centered.
And yet she didn’t know how she’d do it.
Her train of thought was interrupted by a scream from inside the house, then someone else yelling, “Bitch!”
Soleil headed down the hall to the kitchen, where she found Lexie with milk dripping down the front of her, and Angelique looking as though she wanted to throttle her.
“What’s going on here?” Soleil demanded.
“She called me a crack whore.”
“You
“Both of you, stop! Lexie, you go to the bathroom right now and get cleaned up. Angelique, you sit down,” Soleil commanded in her most authoritarian tone.
At five feet six inches and a hundred and forty pounds of pure pregnancy, she doubted she was all that intimidating, but she’d never had a discipline situation get out of hand in all the five years she’d been running the farm.
Lexie rolled her eyes and stormed out of the room, and Angelique stared after her for a few moments before relenting and sitting down at the table.
Soleil sat opposite her. “Tell me your version of the disagreement,” she said calmly.
“She’s such a spoiled bitch.”
“Without profanity,” Soleil added.
“Okay, she’s such a spoiled
Behind all her street attitude, Angelique was wickedly smart.
“Why do you say that?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, slumped in the chair and refused to say anything more.
Soleil leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. “She hurt you, and you wanted to lash out.”
Angelique narrowed her eyes. “Don’t give me your dumb social-worker strategies.”
Soleil sighed. Why hadn’t she learned by now? “Okay, keeping it real,” she said in her best south Berkeley accent. “She dissed you, and it pissed you off, which is understandable. But we have to live here together without fighting. Part of this program is learning to work and live cooperatively.”
The girl shook her head, sending a cascade of long cornrowed hair, accented with white beads, across her shoulder. “I want to go home.”
Was there a full moon? Between the escaped goat, the fighting teenage girls and West showing up out of the blue, Soleil was beginning to feel weary beyond measure. And she wanted ice cream.
“I need you here,” she said calmly. “And your neighborhood needs you to go back ready to help run the garden.”
“Nobody gives a damn about that stupid garden. I just came here to get out of school.”
Soleil tried not to feel insulted by this-Angelique was pushing her buttons. It was no easy feat getting chosen to come to Rainbow Farm. The kids were referred by teachers or social workers, yes, but they still had to show the interest to apply, write a compelling essay to compete for an internship and commit to a year’s service in their local
