Thegood thing about them being there is thatIwas able to persuade them both to come here with us today before they head back toManhattan.It’sa shame that the other two brousins can’t be here—Tom’sinLondon, andWalker’ssomewhere out nearCapeCodlocked in tough negotiations to buy a big piece of property to expand the brewery business.Butat least having the others around will help make everythingIhave in store today special.
Polly’sgot an expression like she’s trying to remember if she left the goat pen closed.
“Everythingokay?”Iask her.
“Notsure.I’ma bit worried aboutConnor.”Shelooks over to where he,Elliot, and my dad are lined up for donuts.
“Whatthe fuck has he done now?”
Mompats me on the chest. “Givehim a break,Max.Youknow he’s upset about the board.Atleast he had the sense to get out of the city.Givehim some credit for that.”
Pollyleans into my ear on the opposite side from my mom. “Hesmells likeGerald’swine.Andhe’s getting a bit loud.”
Connor’santics have ruined so many things lately.Andnow he’s on the verge of ruining his own business.Theboard thinks he’s damaging the reputation and, more importantly, the value of the squeaky-clean company.
I’mbeyond caring what he ruins for himself, but if he ruins today for me,Iwill fucking kill him.
“Yourdad will keep him in check,” saysMom. “Youconcentrate on enjoying the day, and don’t worry about it.”
Pollynudges me and pecks me on the cheek. “It’stime for your speech.”
Thenerves that have been fluttering around my stomach all morning go into overdrive.Notbecause of the public speaking—I’vedone that a thousand times before.Butbecause of whatI’mplanning to say.
“Okay, here goes.”Istride over toEd’stractor and hay cart, which are parked on one side of the garden.Thesame tractorIfirst kissedPollyup against.Nowit’s forming the backdrop for a whole other momentous event.
Igrab the megaphone—yes, the same one—and climb up onto the cart.
Thebrass band winds down to silence right on cue, and every face in the crowd turns in my direction.
Iswallow hard as my usually steady hand shakes whenIraise the bullhorn to my lips.TheTVcrew and photographer point their cameras right at me.
“Thankyou all for coming today.Ican’t tell you how much it means to me, and to the wholeYellowBarnandHarvestEnterprisesfamilies, to have your support for the new and exciting direction we’re taking in this community and in many more communities to come.”
Ipause for the smattering of claps.
“ButIcan tell you all with absolute certainty that we would not be here today—Iwould not be here today, these vegetable plots would not be here today—were it not for the greatest giftWarmSpringscould ever have given me.”
Irest my hand on my chest. “Myheart.Mylove.MyPolly.”
Shephysically squirms as everyone turns toward her and offers a rousing round of applause and some whistles.I’mtoo far away to see clearly, butI’dbet myLamborghiniher cheeks are the most gorgeous shade of pink right about now.
Mommight be the most enthusiastic clapper of them all.Dadjoins in as he,Connor, andElliotarrive next to her, clutching donuts.Evenfrom up hereIcan tellConnoris probably as flushed asPolly.Andhe’s a little unsteady.
But, for now, that’s his problem.Ineed to focus on this most important of moments.
“You’vechanged this community,Polly.Andyou’ve changed me.”
An“aw” passes through the crowd.
Mystomach, empty from me being too nervous to eatMom’sbreakfast this morning, flips over and over.
“Iarrived inWarmSpringsexcited by the thrill of being involved at the ground level of a project for the first time in years.Itmade me feel likeIwas an important part of something again.”
Asea of smiling faces looks back at me asIpace across the hay cart.
“ButeventuallyIhad to admit to myself that it wasn’t trying to get approval for the store that was thrilling and exciting.Itwasn’t the work that was filling a hole inside meIhadn’t realized was there.ItwasWarmSprings’sfavorite produce seller.”
There’ssome clapping, a couple of wolf whistles, and a cry of “No,Adam” from a woman trying to stop a small boy digging up some sort of vegetable with his bare hands.
