With that seed tender, Luke and I planted almost forty acres that day.
Abby rode with him the whole afternoon. When I brought them ham sandwiches at four o’clock, she was explaining to him how her dad liked to do the end rows first. And Luke was nodding, very seriously. Like she was teaching him something he didn’t already know.
It rained on Friday.
A slow, soft, all-day rain. The kind you pray for on fresh-planted ground. I stood at the kitchen window of that little white farmhouse and watched it come down on my forty acres. I said a prayer for every single seed.
Saturday was too wet to run.
I had about twenty acres left to plant. Across the road, they had their last field on the north end.
On Saturday evening, the phone rang.
It was Lori.
“Sunday dinner’s at twelve-thirty,” she said. “Like always. I expect you and Abby.”
I didn’t answer right away.
“I’m setting your places, Melissa,” she said. “Whether you come or not, I’m setting them. So you might as well come and eat.”
We went to church in the morning. Pastor Lindgren shook my hand at the door and held on to it longer than usual.
Afterward, we drove across the road to the house I’d lived in for twenty years. I parked in the yard, in the same spot I’d parked a thousand times.
It was strange walking in that back door as a guest.
Lori had put out a fresh tablecloth. The white one with the blue stitching around the edges. The roast was resting on the stove. The whole house smelled like gravy and fresh rolls.
Scott was there with his wife, Deb. Luke was there. And Randy was sitting at the head of the table, where he’d always sat at family dinners since his dad passed.
There were two places set on the left side of the table.
At one of them sat my old coffee cup.
The white one with the chip in the handle. I’d left it behind in the cupboard the day we moved because I didn’t have room in the box.
Randy stood up when we came in. That wasn’t like him. He stood there and waited until I sat down before he sat back down.
We bowed our heads, and Scott said grace.
Then Randy didn’t pick up his fork.
“Melissa,” he said. “I need to say something before we eat. Or I won’t be able to eat.”
The whole table went quiet.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
Ethan holds a degree in Communications from Zurich University, where he developed his expertise in storytelling, media strategy, and audience engagement. Known for his ability to blend creativity with analytical precision, he excels at creating content that not only entertains but also connects deeply with readers.
At TheArchivists, Ethan specializes in uncovering compelling stories that reflect a wide range of human experiences. His work is celebrated for its authenticity, creativity, and ability to spark meaningful conversations, earning him recognition among peers and readers alike.
Passionate about the art of storytelling, Ethan enjoys exploring themes of culture, history, and personal growth, aiming to inspire and inform with every piece he creates. Dedicated to making a lasting impact, Ethan continues to push boundaries in the ever-evolving world of digital content.