A Man's Heart Read online

  Cruz racked the triangle of multi-colored balls. Lex nodded for him to make the break. The clack of balls overrode the juke box. Bending, he positioned for the push out. “You saw her? All I saw was a blur.”

  Chuckling, Lex bent when it was his turn. “Four side pocket.” The ball shot into the hole. “The community is going to miss Fred. Has Jules said what she and Crystal plan to do?”

  Switching to the right side of the table, Cruz said, “Nine center, four side pocket.” Balls clacked and found their target. “Not to me, she hasn’t.” Lex was on a fishing expedition. He’d heard the rumors about Fred excluding Crystal from the will and wanted to know why.

  The banker studied the green felt. “Still feuding? Thought you might be a Good Samaritan and help her unload the U-Haul.” Bending, he said, “Ten in the left pocket.”

  “Haven’t talked to her in years — unless you count the other night when I bumped into her coming out of the hospital.”

  Lex sobered. “How is Sophie? I’ll stop by the hospital, but I thought I’d wait until she felt up to company.”

  “Four and six ball, side.” Clack. “Surgery went well. She has a chance. The cancer has spread, but she has a great gynecologic oncologist.”

  “I hear the cancer was worse than first thought.”

  “Sophie’s a fighter.” Cruz bent and shot. “Adan mentioned that we might have to move her to a larger facility … maybe in Kennewick or Richland.”

  Lex shook his head and bent. “Four, center. That she is. How are you and Adan making it with the kids? How old are they now?”

  “Ethan’s five and Livvy’s twenty-two months.” More stuff came out of that kid’s orifices than Cruz thought possible. This morning she’d spit oatmeal twenty-five feet—he’d measured. What didn’t go on him hit the wall. He called another shot, sank it, and changed the subject. “I planned to catch you in the office tomorrow. What are you doing working on a Sunday afternoon?”

  “This housing market is crazy. The refi’s have me covered. I’m taking the afternoon to get caught up on paperwork.” He called the shot, bent and played. The ball bumped the eight and rolled to within a hair’s length of the back pocket. “What’d you need?”

  “A week’s extension on my loan.” He straightened, meeting the banker’s eyes. “I know you’ve been patient, Lex, and I hate to ask, but I’m expecting a check from an account up north sometime by the end of the month.”

  Lex frowned. “You know your credit’s good, Cruz, but this past year you’re getting in pretty deep.”

  Cruz knew only too well. Last year’s moth infestation wiped out half his crop, and Sophie didn’t have enough health insurance. Real estate bombed, and he and Adan couldn’t sell Mom and Dad’s house—who in this community needed a house with fourteen rooms? About the only thing the home was good for was a restaurant, with its big windows and wraparound porch, and this area sure didn’t have the clientele to keep a business that size going. If this year’s crop failed …

  He shook the thought aside and smiled as the waitress brought the burger and fries. He’d work it out; he always did. At the moment, he wasn’t sure about anything other than he had to keep his distance from Jules or risk falling in love with her again. How many times did it take for him to get it through his thick skull that she was history?

  Twice bitten, and he’d learned to stay clear of women with sharp teeth.

  The game ended. The two men shook hands. “I have to get back to the bank.”

  “Sure thing. Catch you later.” Cruz hung his stick on the rack and returned to the bar where a burger and fries awaited him.

  He took a bite, wincing. Just like his life. Cold.

  Chapter 11

  May gently folded into June, bringing light showers and blooming flowers. With three hundred days of sunshine, the sports enthusiasts came out. They liked to fish, walk, and bike riverfront paths. Jules and Crystal took the children to Pasco on the weekends to take advantage of the large sport complexes—six softball fields, batting cages, playgrounds adjoining soccer fields or to catch a game with the Tri-City Dust Devils Single A baseball team. Often the entourage would windsurf, water-ski or take a leisurely hike in a nearby natural habitat for deer, Canada geese, quail and Chinook salmon.

  “Can we have hot dogs tonight?” Ethan asked one afternoon.

  Jules caught the child into her arms and hugged him. “We’ve eaten hot dogs every single night this week.”

  The child squealed with delight when she tickled him. Jules wasn’t sure how they managed, but between her and Crystal they had kept the kids’ minds off their mother and on a normal routine.

  “Can we visit Mommy tonight?”

  Crystal tousled the boy’s hair. “Sure. Would you like to take her a pretty flower?”

  “Yeah!” The child broke away and headed for one of the petunia beds.

  “Crystal, he’s not supposed to pick the flowers.”

  “Nonsense.” Crystal smiled at Jules. “What are flowers for other than to be enjoyed by a sick mommy?”

  Pesky complications kept Sophie in the hospital. Prolonged bowel obstruction slowed her recovery. The need for nasogastric suction kept her in the hospital. Jules was relieved that her spirits were still intact. Every day she made the drive to Pasco and visited while Crystal occupied the kids.

  “You can’t tell me that by now you’re not pulling your hair out. I know what a handful Olivia can be.” Sophie forced a wan smile.

  “Honestly, she wears me out, but Crystal and I love it.”

  Her friend cocked her head swathed in a doo rag. Sophie was particular about her long, thick hair, and a hospital bed did nothing for her beautiful locks. “Are you and Crystal getting along well?”

  “We barely see one another. I’m so busy trying to help Joe keep the farm running while Crystal watches the kids. I see her in the evenings for a few minutes, and we take the kids into Pasco often.”

  “I thought by now you two would be at sword’s point.”

  “She’s messy,” Jules confided. “She doesn’t know how to stack the dishwasher, and she can step over clutter as though it isn’t there. I nearly broke my leg stumbling over one of Livvy’s toys last night.”

  “Does Crystal help with the cleaning?”

  “Cleaning?” Jules laughed. “I’m not sure she’d recognize the word. She’s in her own perfect world. Flowers, fauna, peace, love and goodwill to all men.” That was Crystal’s focus and admittedly, her strong points. Jules envied her ability to let Rome fall while she puttered in the flower beds. Dirty dishes and dust balls under the bed didn’t faze her.

  “Pastor Williams stops by every day.”

  Sobering, Jules met her eyes.

  “We pray together.”

  “That’s good. Do you want me to pray with you?”

  “Do you pray alone for me, Jules?”

  Jules squirmed. She did, but on the run. Drive by prayers. God bless Sophie today. God make Sophie comfortable. God heal Sophie. Of course she prayed. “He’s answering my prayers.”

  Sophie caught her hand. “Oh, Jules, I worry about you.”

  “For goodness sake, why?” As far as she knew, she was the same ole Jules. Dull. Hard-working. Loyal. Short nails with potato dirt under them.

  “Because I know if this turns out differently than you expect, you’ll be mad at God again.”

  “Again?”

  “Oh, Jules. You’ve been angry at God since the last time you broke up with Cruz.”

  The last time? That was unnecessarily frank. “I wasn’t angry at God. I was mad at myself. You know how I hated what Mom and Pop did to each another — to our family. I need to be certain when I marry, and, at the time, I wasn’t certain.”

  “Yeah.” Sophie sighed. “It’s hard to imagine your mom having an …”

  “Affair?” Jules provided.

  “Was it a full-blown affair, or one regrettable indiscretion?”

  “One indiscretion that ruined her life. Pop never fo
rgave her.”

  “Odd. He was such a good, tolerant God-fearing man. You would think that forgiveness would come naturally.”

  Jules smiled though tears welled in her eyes. Not having Pop around was going to take adjustment. She missed his cheery smile every morning, his voice calling to her from the potato fields. “We’re forgiven by the grace of God, Sophie. That doesn’t make us perfect in human form. But yes, Pop’s inability to forgive Mom not only destroyed his life, but it took mine and Crystal’s childhood.”

  “And now?”

  “What?”

  “Are you ready to marry and settle down now?”

  “Yes—if there was a man in the picture.” She was ready; she’d love to have her own children. Caring for Ethan and Livvy made her realize that she wasn’t getting any younger. Her maternal clock was ticking.

  Sophie laughed. “Twice I thought I was ready. You’ll never be absolutely certain about the man. You might think you are, but then he’ll do something so entirely foreign to what you expect or thought you knew about him, and you realize that you can never really know a person. You have to accept the good with the bad unless the bad outweighs or endangers you. I chose men who met both criteria.” She sighed. “I know people must wonder about my destructive choices.”

  “People love you, and if anyone would dare criticize your choices you have two brothers who would defend you ’til death.”

  The wan smile surfaced. “Yeah, they are great brothers.”

  Jules watched as Sophia’s strength visibly drained. She pushed back from the bed. “Can I bring you anything special tomorrow?”

  “No …” She caught Jules’s hand. “What day is it?”

  “Twenty-eighth of June.”

  “Are you riding in the Fourth of July rodeo this year?”

  Jules had thought about signing up for the event, but it seemed inconsiderate of Sophie, and it wouldn’t bring the same joy. “I think I’ll skip it this year. The potatoes take up so much time—did I tell you someone stole one of our tractors over the weekend?”

  “You mentioned it.” Sophie closed her eyes and rested her head on the pillow. “Do they have any idea who took it? Cruz and Adan can’t afford to lose any machinery.”

  Jules shook her head. “Machinery theft is rampant. Our old potato planter is making a racket. Maybe they’ll steal that.” Her thoughts turned to the dirt barrels sitting in Pop’s tool shed. The one promising experiment had now bloomed, and the potato was growing. She maintained a daily check on its progress. The other four tubs had ordinary looking plants, but the fifth tub … She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but there was definitely something unusual about that fifth plant.

  “I want you to.”

  Jules glanced up, drawn back to the conversation. “To what?”

  “Ride the barrel races this year.”

  “Oh, Sophie, I don’t —”

  “For me.” She reached for Jules’s hand. “Do it for me. I don’t want this stupid cancer to interfere with tradition. I’ll be there with you in spirit. I don’t want you to miss the fun.”

  Jules had no heart for the event, but if it meant so much to Sophie she’d ride. “Okay. But you’ll owe me one.”

  Smiling, Sophie nodded. “I’ll lie back next year, let you win.”

  “Lie back, my foot. I always beat you by a couple of seconds.”

  “Not always.”

  “Oh right. Four summers ago you got lucky and won by a millimeter.”

  “Still won, didn’t I?”

  Jules bent to kiss her friend’s forehead. “You still won. And you’ll win this one too, Sophie.” Jules gently readjusted the doo scarf, willing strength into her friend. She knew the long odds were against the fight, but anything could happen, and Sophie was responding to treatment and chemo would start soon. Other than the pesky surgery complications, she was doing great. She’d known people who’d beat this disease and if anyone could, this brave young mother would. Sophie had endured two deadbeat husbands. She could whip a disease.

  Sophie caught her hand and held on tightly. Jules could feel the tremble, both in her heart and Sophie’s fingertips. “You keep praying,” she whispered. “God’s mercy is the only thing that’s going to pull me through this.”

  Chapter 12

  Arriving back at the farm, Jules got out of her vehicle and headed straight for the tool shed. Tub five plant was practically shooting out of the container, so much so Jules couldn’t wait to see the product. An ordinary potato would be months away from harvest, but judging by the sheer size of the tub plant, Jules had a hunch if she gave in to her curiosity she’d find a sizable potato under the dirt. She reached for her trowel and turned when Crystal appeared in the doorway.

  “Hi. I thought I heard you drive in.” Her sister picked her way through the crowded tool shed, side-stepping picks and rakes. Jules gaze swept the small area. Pop had three different size lawn mowers in here, one that didn’t run, one that did, and one that he refused to discard. The stench of oil and pesticide hung in the air. Crystal paused before the tubs of dirt. “Why are you growing potatoes in tubs? Isn’t a couple hundred acres enough for you?”

  Stepping around her, Jules pulled on her gloves. “They’re experimental plants.”

  “Like how?”

  “Like, they’re different from the others, Crystal.”

  Her sister eased around the tubs, studying the shoots. “What are you trying to grow?”

  “French fries. Pull them out of the ground, heat them, and they’re ready to eat.”

  Crystal’s gullible side flared. “You could do that?”

  “Of course not.” Jules left the fifth tub alone and started on the smaller ones. Crystal didn’t need to know about her experiment. No one did. After a spiral notebook full of failures she expected more of the same, no matter how good tub five looked. “Where are the kids?”

  “Napping.” Crossing her arms, Crystal leaned against a rickety potting table. “How’s Sophie today?”

  Jules stuck a trowel in the dirt. “Weak, but she’s coming along. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t get to come home soon.”

  “Really?” Crystal’s features softened. “But stage three, Jules. That means it’s spread —”

  “And that’s the reason she’ll go through radiation.” Jules rammed the tool into the dirt and loosened the soil. Sophie had years ahead of her with proper treatment. “When did you become such a pessimist? Didn’t Mom take you to church — teach you the power of faith?”

  “Not often. Mom was a free-spirit. She drew her strength through the things God provides. The wind, trees, and all living things. She didn’t trust people.”

  Jules straightened to face her. “Mom didn’t believe in God?”

  “She did, Jules. She didn’t believe in religion. She believed God was God and his ways, though different from ours, need no explanation, and someday, if it’s important, we’ll understand why some prayers are answered and others aren’t.”

  Jules dropped her gaze back to the potato plant. Well, the reasoning wasn’t exactly flawed. “What was Mom like?”

  Crystal smiled. “You don’t remember her?”

  “I remember her.” Jules had lain awake nights picturing the blonde, petite woman who always smelled of Red Door perfume. “I remember her soft voice when she came in at night to hear our prayers.”

  “Yeah. And that voice could be shrill as a harridan when she and Dad were fighting.”

  “That I remember all too well. Fred, I’m going to leave you!” Jules mocked.

  “Go ahead! Make my day!” Crystal could sound exactly like Pop. Angry, hurtful words that can never be forgotten.

  Jules couldn’t find a big enough pillow to block the angry voices, accusations and horrifying threats. Alone, Pop was mild-mannered and easy going, but with Mom he lost it. “Why do you suppose they hated each other so much?”

  Crystal sighed. “I’m not sure she hated him. She spoke of him often — and she grieved that you
were caught in the middle.”

  Jules pitched a trowel of dirt into the tub. “That’s why she wrote or phoned me so often?”

  “She didn’t call or write because she didn’t want to further tear you apart. She always planned to make it up to you, and she would have if it weren’t for the car accident.”

  “Maybe.” Jules rammed the trowel in the dirt and reached for the fertilizer. “I hear Olivia.”

  “She didn’t sleep very long.” Startled, Crystal headed back toward the house.

  When her sister cleared the shed, Jules returned to tub five. With Christmas-like anticipation, she took the trowel and loosened the dirt around the plant. Even at this distance, she could see a potato, a very large potato.

  Working more quickly, she turned the dirt and her eyes widened at the sight of a perfectly formed Russet Burbank. Smooth, about the size of two fists held together. Lifting the jewel out of the dirt, she held it for closer inspection. She examined for green peach aphid, a disease that doesn’t affect people but causes tubers to have brown internal markings called net necrosis. The potato in her hand showed no sign of the insect pest.

  Excitement grew as she picked up a knife and sliced into the potato and again, the white flesh was flawless. No brown spots. She took a bite and savored the extraordinary flavor, fresh, meaty. The tuber had grown in six weeks compared to the normal growing season from planting in late May until harvesting began around the Fourth of July and continued through late summer. This particular tuber had survived on neglect, little water in the beginning, and minimum fertilizers.

  Jules’s brain spun with the realm of possibilities. Fields could be used more than once during the season. The need to “kill” off the ground—stop all irrigation or spraying with special chemicals that kill the leaves and stems before the harvest, might be eliminated. Her hand came up to cover her mouth. Now all she had to do was wait a few days and see if the potato would rot, grow eyes and sprout roots. If this potato failed to do that, then she had created the perfect spud.

  Turning to her notebook, she thumbed through the pages, impatient when her notes stuck together, the result of too many nights of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while she worked. She reached the date of planting: May 25. The page was blank.