The Last One(22)

I passed through the tomato plants, pausing to rub a leaf between my fingers. Something was eating them, and I frowned. I’d have to amp up our organic pest spraying—only natural ingredients, as defined by the state—or risk losing the plentiful white blossoms and tiny baby green fruit. If there was one thing I’d learned over the past decade, if I got lax on any front, the bugs, the critters or the weather would get ahead of me, and I’d lose plants, food and money.

The walk back to the house was quiet, with only the occasional buzz of cicadas to keep me company. At the shed, I stopped, stripped off my sweat-drenched T-shirt and ran water in the old sink. I used the rag hanging on a hook nearby to wash my face, my arms and my chest. I remembered my dad and my granddad making this stop every day during the spring, summer and fall as they returned from fields, and it had become part of my ritual, too. Ali said it saved on the mess in my shower and in the kitchen sink, and anything that kept my sister happy was worth doing.

I climbed the two steps to the kitchen door and opened it, making a mental note to oil the squeak tonight. Or maybe this weekend. I tried to remember where I’d left the WD-40.

“Sam, is that you?” Ali called from the front of the house.

“No, it’s your other brother who’s been working out in the fields all day and brought you some fresh-picked onions. Who else were you expecting?”

“Could you please come in here and stop yelling?”

I frowned. What was she up to now? I tossed my dirty shirt into a basket in the laundry room and followed the sound of her voice.

“What do you ...” I began speaking as I rounded the corner and then stopped abruptly. All rational thought left my brain, because sitting on my mom’s blue love seat was an all-too familiar red-head with big green eyes that mirrored my shock.

Her eyes closed, and I saw her lips press together as her chest rose and fell in a deep breath. Her chest. No, I couldn’t go there. I jerked my gaze up and stared at my sister.

“What the hell’s going on? What’s she doing here?”

Ali’s eyes widened. “Sam, language. And what’s wrong with you? This is Meghan. Our ArtCorps volunteer. She just got here a little bit ago, and Bridget and I were showing her around.” She drilled me with a hard stare that said I was being rude, I was embarrassing her, and if I didn’t pull it together, she was going to make me pay.

“I didn’t know it was you. I had no idea. I mean, I knew it was the town, but it’s not like I chose to come here. I was assigned.” Meghan spoke through clenched teeth. “I wasn’t supposed to be in Georgia. I signed up for Arizona. Or New Mexico.” She stood up. “I’m sorry. I can leave. I can—”

“No.” Ali caught her arm. “Just hold on a minute. I’m lost here, but clearly you know my brother. Or at least he knows you. Would one of you care to fill me in?”

Involuntarily I glanced back at Meghan. Her eyes had fastened somewhat south of my face, and I remembered I wasn’t wearing a shirt. Her lips parted a little, and I saw the tip of her tongue dart out.

“Any time now, Sam.” Ali’s arms were folded, and she was wearing her no-nonsense mom face.

I exhaled and rubbed the back of my neck. “Remember a few months back when I stopped on my way home to help the girls whose car had broken down?”

My sister’s brows drew together. “Yeah, I think so. From out of town, right?”

“Yeah. Well, Meghan was one of the girls.”

“Okay.”

I looked down at the floor, studying the intricate design at the edge of the Persian area rug. “Then I ran into her again. At Boomer’s, when she was picking up her car.”

Ali rolled her hand in a keep-going gesture.

“I may have ... I guess I kind of, uh, gave her a hard time about being drunk that night. When her car broke down. I might have gone a little overboard with it.”

Ali opened her mouth, and then she popped it shut. She looked at Meghan, and then at me. “What exactly did you say to her, Sam?”

I flushed. “I don’t remember. Um, I guess, that she was irresponsible. And that it was stupid to get so hammered when you’re in a strange place.”

“And that I wasn’t a very good friend to Laura,” Meghan added. When both Ali and I turned to look at her, she glanced away. “Sorry.”

“Sam, did you lose your mind? Why would you ...” Ali shook her head. “Was she driving drunk?”

She already knew the answer to that question. I’d told her all about it the morning after I’d towed Meghan’s car to Boomer’s.

“No. Her friend was the designated driver.”