Gerrit grabbed Morgan’s backpack and shoved his hand inside. His fingers found the packet of papers, and he pulled them out and slammed them on the table.
“Got a pen?”
Morgan covered his notebook with his arms and scowled. “No.”
Gerrit moved to dig back into the pack.
“Okay, fine.” Morgan pulled a pen from the spiral of his book and held it out. “Here.”
“I don’t want it.” Gerrit held up his hands. “You do it. Start with your name.”
With a sigh, Morgan filled out the first couple of lines, mumbling, “It’s a big waste of time.”
“No it’s not. You’ll have no trouble getting in. You said you get straight A’s.”
Morgan looked up, fire in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how much it costs to go to college?”
Gerrit looked in the boy’s eyes and could see him wrestling. Hope and fear and desperation all battled for position. Was that what his face looked like when he and Luke had this same conversation forty-some years ago?
“Community college is cheaper than a university. And the libraria—uh, some lady was telling me about this thing called FAFSA.”
“I know what FAFSA is.”
“Then you know you can get money for school.”
Morgan dropped his pen on the table and sat back, his black hair falling back across his face. “Even if I could get tuition covered, where would I live?”
“You can commute. It’s not that far.”
“I don’t have a car. And why would I do that?” Morgan’s face twisted like he’d stepped in a cow pie. “The whole point of graduating early is to get out of my house.”
Gerrit grunted and leaned his elbows on the table. Luke had struggled to convince him to attend college because what would be the point if he was going to spend his whole life on the farm? His future was already set. And deep inside, maybe he’d been afraid to go because he thought it would be easier to stay if he never knew what it was like to leave.
“You’ll have the same problem if you move to Nashville. No place to live. No car.”
“I could work.”
“You could work here.”
Morgan leaned over and scratched Daisy behind the ears with both hands, staring into her eyes like he might find the answers there. For a long minute, he gave her all his attention as if Gerrit didn’t even exist.
When he finally spoke, his words were quiet but resolute. “Nobody’s gonna hire me around here, Gerrit. I’ve got to get out of this town.”
“Why not? You know how to work, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why wouldn’t anybody hire you?”
Morgan kept his eyes on Daisy, maybe so he could pretend he was talking to her instead. “I’ve done some things. Stupid things. I kind of have a record. And my dad . . .”
Somehow the words he didn’t say told Gerrit more than the ones he did. The weight of a father’s influence, good or bad, could be staggering. He might just know something about that. The weight of bad choices in the past that stuck with a person . . . well, he might know something about that, too.
Uncomfortable feelings pushed at his rib cage from the inside. He couldn’t let Morgan run off to Nashville by himself. He was just a kid. As he watched Morgan and Daisy, an idea struck. That boy needed his own dog. Maybe if he had a dog to take care of, he wouldn’t be so eager to leave town.
“Whatever happened to Fangs?”
Morgan stiffened. “What?”
“You said she didn’t die. What happened to her?”
“She ran away.” Morgan rested his head on top of Daisy’s. “My mom’s boyfriend got real mad one time and started kicking and screaming, and it scared her. I looked everywhere, but she never came back.”
Gerrit looked at Daisy. If she were to run away, it wouldn’t bother him any, of course, but Hannie would be devastated. She would probably mope around and post fliers and all that. And he would probably become desperate to make her feel better and do something dumb like get her a new puppy.
Hmm.
GERRIT SPUN AROUND when he heard his name. Rae was jogging up with that David guy close behind. He opened the truck door for Daisy to hop in and gave the boy a hard look.
“I haven’t talked to you since last week.” Rae came to a stop in front of him. “How are your party plans coming?”
Terrible. Horrible. There wasn’t enough time. He was caving under the pressure. The whole thing was a stupid idea.
“Fine.”
“Are you excited?”
One side of his lip curled. “I’d be a lot more excited if I could figure out how to make a piecrust that comes out flaky but doesn’t burn too fast.”
She laughed. “I can’t help you with that.”
Why had he said that? His mouth must get a kick out of making him look stupid. But the pie problem had been bothering him for days.
“The secret is temperature.”
Gerrit and Rae both looked at David.
He shrugged and smiled. “Keeping the butter and dough cold before baking it is the secret. You gotta use cold water. That’s what my grandma says.”
Gerrit stared at him. What did he know? The little punk. But it did make sense. If the butter got too soft before the pie went into the oven . . .
“I’m David, by the way.” The boy held out his hand. “I don’t think we’ve officially met.”
Gerrit glared at the hand and glanced at Rae. Her cheeks appeared a little rosier than usual. She nodded toward David.
Fine.
He shook the kid’s hand. Hard. This guy had already made Rae cry once. If he ever did it again—
“How’s Bernard?” Rae asked.
“Still a rooster.”
She gave him a long-suffering look. “About those flowers for your wife.”
“What about them?”
“You never told me what her favorite flower is.”
He didn’t want to admit the truth, but apparently she could read it all over his face.
“Do you at least have a guess?”
He huffed. “I don’t know.”
“You must. Just think about it.”
“Any flowers will do.”
“It has to be
