She glanced to the east as she reached for her hoe. Squinting into the late-morning sunlight, she spotted the double-wide manufactured home that Miguel had put in shortly after purchasing the land. At first it was shockingly bright white in the sunlight and felt intrusive to her. But not long afterward, Miguel had painted it a peaceful dark taupe, which helped it blend into the landscape. And now she had to admit the Orosco farm was attractive, and probably better maintained than the McKerrys’. She peered at the poplars Miguel had planted a few years ago, surprised to see they were green and leafy and nearly as tall as their house now. Pretty.
Although it was a comfort to have good neighbors, she had regrettably voiced her opinion to CT a bit too harshly and loudly. Things weren’t going well at school, and she’d been in a mood and had probably just been up for an old-fashioned vent. Eventually, she got over it and in time she even expressed her gratitude for having the Oroscos as permanent neighbors. But for some reason, probably the onset of FTD, her husband had gotten stuck on it. Of all the things he could forget, he couldn’t seem to forget that the Oroscos owned the land that used to be theirs. And after his leg healed up, he missed that land. And sometimes he got pretty worked up over it.
She hoed into the garden bed she was preparing for tomatoes,loosening a stubborn weed, but continued mulling over the way CT’s brain worked. Or didn’t. Sometimes he got stuck on things that seemed like pure fiction to her. She couldn’t understand how he could mix up facts the way he did. Like the Oroscos. Even though that land purchase happened before CT’s diagnosis, she’d already observed that things had been off with her husband. In hindsight, she felt certain that was why CT had offered the land to Miguel for such a low price. That was about the same time she’d noticed their checkbook was a mixed-up mess and around the time CT started struggling to pull out the right amount for cash for a simple purchase. It was like money suddenly made no sense to him. So practically giving away their land was meaningless to him.
Although Honey was upset at the time, she was okay with it now. Oh, maybe she regretted that she hadn’t paid more attention, but she’d been distracted with her job at the middle school. Amid the post-COVID school politics, budget cuts, and general lack of teachers, there was plenty to preoccupy her mind. And although the figure CT had quoted was too low, Honey liked Miguel. He was a hard worker and had a young daughter to raise and a mother to support. And so she’d begrudgingly accepted the idea, imagining CT would be relieved to have less responsibility and thinking they’d be free to travel some as soon as she retired. Think again.
She bent down to tug on a stubborn milkweed, pulling so hard she tumbled backward onto her hind end. Sitting there in the dirt, with the weed dripping its sticky white juices all over her hand, she felt a smidgeon of guilt. Monarchs liked these milkweeds. She should’ve left it. But not in her garden. There was plenty of milkweed on the backside of the barn to accommodate butterflies. And since CT was oblivious to weeds these days, they would probably go undisturbed too. A blessing for the butterflies.
She glanced over to see her husband still happily planting pumpkin seeds. “Just be thankful for small favors,” she reminded herself as she gingerly got to her feet. In moments like this, she could feel her sixty-plus years in her joints. But determined notto give in, she reminded herself that today was a good day and returned to weeding. Now, instead of fretting over the past, she focused on the fact that her daughter and granddaughter were coming soon. Perhaps even next week, Jewel had told her yesterday. Although Honey didn’t plan to tell CT this ... yet. She would let him know when their arrival was imminent. Not a moment sooner.
Honey noticed her unused gloves on the garden bench as she reached for a spade. Too late for that now since her hands were already a dirty, sticky mess. A small price for having undisturbed time in her vegetable garden. She loved being out here. Especially this time of year. Already, her peas, lettuce, kale, and spinach were solidly up, and some carrots and radishes were bravely sprouting as well. The tomato seedlings in her little greenhouse were ready for transplant too. Maybe Cooper could help with that. Honey was actually relieved that Jewel hadn’t come up here as quickly as she’d originally hoped. Honey had wanted to get the spare rooms cleaned up some before they got here, but it seemed every time she went upstairs, she’d barely get started on one of the rooms when CT would holler up the stairs, calling her back down for somethingurgent.Urgent to him, anyway. It usually turned out to be some mundane chore, like helping him locate his phone—right by his chair—or a lost shoe. Or last week when he’d called her down to straighten out “the doggone TV remote” that didn’t work, only to discover he was using an old cordless phone. Where he unearthed the useless thing, she couldn’t say, but she’d dropped the defunct item in the trash.
Finally, she decided to just let Jewel and Cooper declutter, clean, and arrange their own rooms. After all, they were coming to help, right? And there was so much “help” needed inside the house, she often felt downright slovenly. Her job and summer farm work had always provided a good excuse for letting a few things go before. She’d always managed to catch up. But that was before CT began requiring so much of her time.
Some of her friends claimed a lot of things went undone as they aged. But no one seemed to mind particularly. Still, Honeyhad a hard time letting go. She liked sprucing up a room, getting ready for guests. She’d always been active and physical, and even she used to believe she and CT were young for their age. Before frontotemporal dementia, or BFTD as she sometimes called it, the two of them had managed to run the farm, maintain a social life, and still enjoy hiking, hunting, and fishing together when they could get away from the farm. And they’d been conjuring up even bigger plans for her post-retirement.
She glanced over to the dust-coated silver camp trailer parked next to the barn. They’d purchased the Airstream after selling off that acreage to Miguel. It had been her concession gift from CT, and she’d carefully selected all the interior amenities in the classic ’38 RV. Her hope had been to visit all the national parks and cover the back end with bumper stickers that showed off everywhere they’d camped. But on their first short experimental trip to Crater Lake, CT had been surprisingly absentminded, forgetting how to do the simplest of tasks. On their second trip, to the Oregon Coast, he got confused while emptying the sewer tanks, creating a horrible, smelly, not to mention embarrassing, mess at the dump station. With only two bumper stickers on the Airstream, they hadn’t taken it out since. And now she was certain they never would again since she’d listed it in the local paper and had already had several calls with strong interest. She expected it’d be gone by the weekend.
Honey looked over to the pumpkin field to see no one there. Not too surprising for CT. He probably headed inside for a bathroom break. He took them frequently. Just part of FTD. She continued weeding for a few minutes, glancing up now and then, but finally concern got the best of her. She wasn’t even sure why. Probably just experience. She leaned her hoe against the shed and walked over to the pumpkin field. Seeing the overturned bucket and spilled pumpkin seeds, her concern spiked. And then she heard a voice in the distance, shouting something unintelligible. Using her hand to screen her eyes from the sun, she spotted two men facing each other on opposite sides of the east fence. The one with his arms raised, waving a stick and yelling, was CT.
She braced herself as she jogged over to see what was wrong. She was pretty sure the other man was Miguel. When she got there, Miguel looked frustrated and . . . something else. Was it hurt? Or anger? But his hands were planted in his jeans pockets and his lips tightly sealed. Honey imagined he was biting his tongue.
“You stole my farm,” CT growled at him. “Now you got my tractor.” He pointed to Miguel’s John Deere. “That’s mine. You give it back, you thief. Right now.” He shook his pumpkin stick in the air threateningly.
“Whoa, CT.” She grabbed his arm and took the stick. “That’s not true.”
“It is true.” CT glared at her. “Miguel stole the farm. Now he stole my tractor.”
She pointed to his chest. “No. You, CT,yousold him part of our farm. He paid for it fair and square. That eighty acres is his land.”
“No. It’s mine.” He pointed to the tractor. “That’s mine too.”
“It used to be yours, CT. But we sold it to Miguel. Remember? Last winter.”
“You’re lying. Miguelstolemy tractor. I know my tractor. I can see it.”
Honey felt the sting of CT’s words as she tried to give Miguel a sympathetic glance. She turned back to CT, placing a firm hand on his arm. “Itwasyour tractor. Now it belongs to Miguel.”
“You’re lying. Miguel’s a thief. A dirty thief. He took it from me. Last night. I heard him in my barn. He took it.”
“No, CT. Miguel is our good neighbor. He helps us. He is not a thief.”
“You’re lying. Both of you.” CT shook her hand free from his arm. “I’m gonna get my gun.”
“CT!” Honey raised her voice. “You will do no such thing.”
“I’m gonna get my gun,” he yelled louder before storming off.
Honey just stood there, waiting for him to get out of earshot, which wasn’t far due to his hearing loss. Then she turned to Miguel. “I’m so sorry for this.”
Miguel sighed. “It’s okay, Mrs. McKerry. I understand.”
“It isnotokay. But as you know, CT can’t help it. His brain is messing with him again.”
“I know. I’m sorry to see it.” Miguel’s dark brows drew together. “Will he really get his gun?”
She shook her head. “Don’t worry about that. I already sold his guns. You know, right after that time he mistook Miller’s best bird dog for a coyote. Good thing he missed.”
