Golden Malicious Page 11

  Meg had the feeling that Gabe would be happy to continue talking about insects for hours, but it had already been a long day, and Meg was tired. “Gabe, thank you so much for such an informative tour. I’ve learned a lot, but I should be going now. I’m a working farmer, and that keeps me busy.”

  “I hear you! Hey, I’m glad you came by—I don’t get to show off too often. Listen, if you have any more questions, just give me a call.” He handed her a business card. “I’m here almost every day. Heck, I see a whole lot more of bugs than I do of humans!”

  Meg smiled. “Will you lead me out?”

  “Oh, right.” They went back out to the main room, then exited by a door opposite the one they had come in through. Three minutes of winding corridors later, Meg recognized the air-lock thingy. “Let me make sure you aren’t carrying any passengers.” When Meg looked blank, Gabe said, “I mean that none of our insects have latched onto you.” He did a careful visual search and pronounced her insect free. “You’ll have to take off your white suit after you go through the air lock—just hang it on one of the hooks there.” He pointed.

  “Thanks again, Gabe. I really enjoyed the tour.”

  “My pleasure,” he said.

  She could feel him watching as she left, carefully following his instructions. But better to be safe than sorry: she didn’t want to be responsible for spreading the unwanted insects.

  13

  “Dinner?” Bree said hopefully, slouching in the doorway to the dining room, watching Meg feed Lolly after her return from the UMass lab.

  “You volunteering?”

  Bree made a rude noise. “Any cold cuts?”

  “I doubt it. Lots of veggies, though.” Thank goodness the farmer’s market was close by and they all liked vegetables. Still, she kept running out of other staples, like cat food. The bag of kibble she kept on hand for Seth’s dog Max was running pretty low, too. He was spending nearly as much time here as his master.

  “Meg?” Bree broke in. “Food?”

  “Salad,” Meg said firmly. “If you want protein, add cheese. Or ice cream. Not to the salad, but after.”

  “Hey, maybe ice cream salad could catch on! It could save on dishwashing.”

  Meg threw together some ingredients, did a bare minimum of chopping and dicing, tossed in some herbs, and set the large bowl of salad in the middle of the kitchen table.

  “So, how was the bug lab?” Bree asked, filling a bowl for herself and searching out a box of crackers.

  “I wouldn’t want to get lost in there, because I’d never find my way out. Did you have anything to do with the lab research end of things, when you were in school?”

  “I think I saw the labs maybe once, but it wasn’t like they wanted herds of undergrads trampling through polluting the place—you must have noticed that.”

  “You mean, all the precautions? I suppose they have to be careful. The guy directing it is not much older than you—Gabe something?”

  “He got a beard? I think I remember him. He really seemed to like his work, but not many members of my class were all that interested.”

  “Yes, he really seemed into what he was doing. Oh, and I did ask Christopher about why there was no irrigation system on my land here, and he told me that the university balked at spending money on land they didn’t own. I guess that makes sense, so I’ll have to blame my mother, the absentee landlady. Not that she expected me to get stuck with the problem.”

  “Have you heard from your folks lately?”

  “Nope, but that’s not unusual. That’s just the way we operate. It’s not like we’re feuding or anything, we’re just . . . formal, I guess. How often do you see your family?”

  “Not much.” Bree didn’t volunteer anything more. She seldom mentioned her family. Meg knew she had an aunt somewhere nearby but wasn’t sure where Bree’s parents were at the moment. Back in Jamaica, or harvesting something somewhere?

  Meg wondered briefly why the two of them each kept most of their relationships at arm’s length—she with Seth, Bree with Michael, both with their families. Of course, they were busy, but that was a lousy excuse for avoiding human contact. “Hey, Seth and I have been kicking around the idea of having a big get-together—you know, with Lydia, and Rachel and her family. Potluck. Do you and Michael want to come?”

  “Maybe. When?”

  “That’s the part we haven’t figured out. Sunday, maybe? Maybe we could look up a rain dance, and we could all perform it together. Strength in numbers, or something like that.”

  Bree grinned reluctantly. “You’d better bone up on your local tribes, so you don’t offend their gods.”

  “I’ll look into it. I think part of King Philip’s War took place around here, but I doubt that would be a very happy memory.”

  “King who?” Bree asked.

  “King Philip, also known as Metacomet, was a Wampanoag Indian who fought the British sometime in the seventeenth century because the settlers were kind of shoving the Indians out of the way, including around here. And that’s about all I know.”

  “Got it.”

  Meg laughed. “Good. So to get back to Sunday, at least we can all get together and eat—outside.”

  They finished their leafy dinner companionably, and after taking care of the few dishes, Meg went out to see how her goats were doing, hoping that it would be a bit cooler outside than in the kitchen. It wasn’t. The goats looked up at her from their shady corner and nodded but didn’t even bother to stand up. She couldn’t blame them. She leaned on their fence and contemplated the Great Meadow, which at the moment looked like a kind of Small Meadow.

  She heard Max before she heard Seth approaching. The goats gave Max a wary eye but still didn’t move. “Hey, there,” Meg said. “I hope you aren’t looking for food, because Bree and I already ate. Or maybe a better term is grazed, since it was mostly green stuff. The kind of stuff that Isabel and Dorcas would have been happy to share with us.”

  “Hey to you, and don’t worry, I’ve already eaten. How was your day?”

  “Hot and dry, no surprise. I went over to Amherst in the afternoon to see the university’s insect research labs. Christopher offered it as some sort of reward for my finding the ALB here, and I didn’t want to disappoint him. What do I know about insects?”

  “Enough, apparently,” Seth said. Max dropped to a grassy spot at his feet and settled down, panting.

  “What’ve you been up to?”

  “A couple of small jobs, then working at Donald’s. The framing’s done, and even the lath, but we’re waiting on a real plasterer, and he doesn’t want to work in this heat—says it affects how the plaster sets up. Donald, needless to say, is not happy, but I can’t rush the expert, so he’ll just have to wait.”

  “No air-conditioning at his place, either, unless you count natural air. Ah, well, our ancestors survived, so I suppose we will. Have you talked to your mom about getting together on Sunday?”

  “Not yet. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  “How’s Max holding up? He’s got a lot of coat on him.”

  “I’ve finished up that dog run behind my house—there’s plenty of shade, and I make sure he’s got water.”

  “So,” Meg said, unsure of what she wanted to say.

  “So,” Seth agreed amiably.

  “Are you staying?” she asked.

  “Do you want me to?” Seth countered.

  Meg smiled. “This is a ridiculous conversation. Of course I do. By the way, Bree thinks you spend more time here than at your place.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No. Not for Bree. Or for me. She says that at least you clean up after yourself, which for her is a major compliment. I gather Michael is more, uh, casual about such things.”

  “I’m impressed that she noticed. Shall we go in, before the mosquitoes show up?”

  “Sure, although it’s no cooler inside. Well, maybe in the bedroom.”

  “I could get you a better air conditioner at cost, you know
.”

  Meg sighed. “I know, but if I got used to it, I’d probably find too many excuses to stay inside wherever it was, instead of doing what I need to do. I’d get soft. Check back with me at the end of summer, will you? Maybe I’ll have exhausted my pioneer spirit by then, and besides, they should be on sale, right?”

  “If there are any left. You want Max in or out?”

  “Wherever he’s most comfortable. Lolly probably won’t even notice—she’s very good at finding the places where the air moves best, and Max can’t reach most of those.”

  Once inside, Meg rummaged through the refrigerator, savoring the cool air. “There’s still some iced tea, if you want.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Seth sounded tired, and when Meg turned with the pitcher of iced tea and poured him a glass, she thought he looked tired, too. It was hard, doing physical work in this heat—she should know, because she was doing it, too. They made a fine pair, half-catatonic after a long day. I wonder when the most babies were born in New England? She idly counted on her fingers. If everyone was too exhausted in summer and during harvest to even think about making babies, then the lowest birth months should be . . . April through June. She wondered if there was any way to prove her thesis.

  “You look amused,” Seth said. “What are you thinking about?”

  Her mouth twitched. “Making babies, historically. Or more specifically, not making babies, because it’s too hot even to think about it this time of year and farm couples were exhausted.” When Seth looked confused, Meg waved away the subject. “So whose schedule is more complicated? Your mother’s or Rachel’s?”

  “I’d bet Rachel’s.” He eyed her curiously. “Has she told you—”

  “That she’s pregnant? Yes, she told me yesterday. Does your mother know yet?”

  “Yes, Mom told me. Rachel talked to you before Mom?”

  Why was he asking? Was he hurt that she’d known before he had?

  “Yes, but only because I happened to be there, after I got my hair cut. I don’t think she planned it—I kind of dropped by, and that’s when she brought it up. She said she wanted to tell Lydia in person, but I was right there in front of her. I guess she was wondering what my plans were, in that area.” Why did I even bring up babies? Meg wondered.

  “For babies, you mean?” Seth’s expression was unreadable.

  She shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve barely got a handle on the orchard, and that’s my livelihood. I can’t just walk away for a chunk of time, and right now I can’t afford to hire someone to fill in for me.”

  When she finally looked back at Seth, he had turned away and was staring out the kitchen window at the growing darkness. “That’s a very practical assessment,” he said carefully.

  But it leaves out the whole question of loving someone and wanting to build a life with that person, one that included a child or children. And I’m really screwing up this conversation, which is probably what Rachel didn’t want to happen. Meg took a deep breath. “Seth, this is something we should talk about, but not right now, okay? We’re both exhausted.”

  He looked at her a moment, his eyes oddly blank. “You tell me when you think you’re ready to have this conversation, all right?” He stood up abruptly. “I think I’ll head home after all.” He gathered up Max and went out the back door, leaving Meg sitting at the table, stunned.

  What had just happened? Had she misread something he’d said, or had she failed to interpret what he hadn’t said? Bree was right: they’d been drifting toward couplehood for a while now, but they hadn’t really discussed the how and the why. And now it seemed she’d hurt him, without meaning to. But she could fix it, couldn’t she? Just as soon as she figured out what she wanted. She had to do what was best for her, and at the moment that meant pouring all her energy into the orchard. If she was so important to him, and having children was, too, why hadn’t he said anything to her about it? Once burned, twice shy? And if she was honest, she wasn’t exactly pushing for a commitment either. Sure, they’d known each other for more than a year, but there was so much on her plate that their tentative relationship and where it was going had not been a first priority for her. Maybe that was wrong. They had to talk about it, but not right now, not yet.

  14

  Seth called early the next morning, as Meg was finishing her coffee. He sounded strangely formal. “Meg, I talked to Mom and Rachel last night. Sunday’s good for everyone for this dinner thing.”

  “Did you tell them it’s potluck?”

  “I did. Are Bree and Michael planning to come?”

  “I think so. Bree said she’d ask Michael.”

  “So that’s nine, if you count Rachel’s kids. Just wanted to know how much of everything we’ll need. Where do you want to set up?”

  “Is here all right? I can put tables on the orchard side of the house, where it’s out of the direct sun.”

  “Fine. Anything you want me to bring?”

  “Ice? Do you want to handle the grill?”

  “All right.”

  This conversation was getting weirder and weirder, like they were trading scripted lines, and it made her uncomfortable. “Seth, I’m sorry about what happened last night. I didn’t mean to open up a whole can of worms. And I didn’t mean to cut you off. We need to talk.”

  There was a pause, and then he said, “We will. I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe around six so I can start the coals. Bye, Meg.”

  What had she done wrong? All she had said was that she didn’t have time to think about having a baby right now. She hadn’t even said whether she wanted to or not, just that this wasn’t the right time. And who was Seth Chapin to leapfrog right over things like “I love you, I want to spend my life with you, I want you to bear my children”? There were definitely some gaps in that discussion, and he had to know that. Or was having children the deal-breaker, an issue that Seth wanted to clear up before things went any further between them?

  Meg wasn’t sure how she felt about the whole boiling mess. She was sorry she had joked about it so casually, but she hadn’t realized it was such a touchy subject for him. Clearly they weren’t communicating very well. Rachel had tried to warn her, but she’d dismissed it.

  “Yo, Meg, you ready?” Bree said, dragging Meg back to the moment.

  “I guess. More irrigating?”

  “Until we don’t have to anymore. I hate to say it, but I’m beginning to worry. The soil’s drying out, and there’s no rain in the forecast. So I think we have to go to daily watering.”

  “You’re the expert. It’s got to rain sometime, doesn’t it?”

  “I sure hope so,” Bree said.

  Well, Meg thought, if she was sabotaging her future happiness, not to mention her potential progeny, she’d better make sure the orchard flourished. “Let’s go.”

  Four hours later they were back in the kitchen, all but inhaling another pitcher of iced tea. The orchard was watered, but Meg and Bree were drenched with sweat, liberally sprinkled with dusty soil, and exhausted. The thermometer on the shady side of the house read ninety-seven degrees.

  “Maybe I should check my e-mails,” Meg said. “Maybe I’ve won a lottery in some exotic location and all I have to do is send all my financial information and the check will be in the mail.” In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d read her e-mail, not that anybody was sending her anything of importance. She’d lost track of most of her Boston friends, and her Granford friends she either saw regularly or they were too busy to e-mail, as she was.

  Bree snorted. “Yeah, right. Then we can buy an irrigation system for the whole property, and a bunch of guys to manage it, when they aren’t serving us cold drinks by the pool. Oh, no pool? We’ll have them build one in their spare time.”

  Meg looked at her and started laughing. “You know, we are definitely getting punchy. I need to take a shower, then I’ll go find food supplies for tomorrow’s dinner. Are you going to talk to Michael about it?”

  Bree looked blan
kly at her for a moment. “About what? Oh yeah, the cookout. Yeah, I’ll call him.”

  “Okay, well, I’m going to clean up, and then I’m going to get into my air-conditioned car and drive to the nice air-conditioned store and just stand there for a few hours, staring blankly at food products while keeping cool.”

  “Sounds about right to me,” Bree said.

  Meg started for the stairs in the front of the house, but passing the dining room table, where she had set up her laptop, reminded her about the e-mails. Fatigue was really doing a number on her concentration. She sat down and booted up and waited for her e-mail to appear. When it did, most of the messages she could delete without reading. But Christopher had sent something—a formal report directed to somebody at the Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service, which he had forwarded to her with the added comment:

  Meg—I thought you might be curious about the juggernaut of a process the ALB discovery in Granford has set into motion. This document signals that the next official phase has begun. I have notified the appropriate governmental authority, the identity of the creature has been confirmed by their designated experts, and one or another agency will now send a preliminary group of experts to assess the extent of the problem. You need not concern yourself any further if you’re not interested. I hope I will see you soon.