She let out a breath. “I don’t want to impose, and I know your mother would have to approve of it, too, but—”
“It’s fine, Lia. My mom’s gone this weekend anyway. She’s going away with a couple of friends to San Francisco. I don’t know what time she’s leaving on Saturday, but I assume she’ll be gone early. She’s not back until Monday.”
“Oh . . . and you’re sure you wouldn’t mind? Will you be working?”
“Off and on. But no, I won’t mind.”
“Thank you,” she said, so sweetly that my heart jumped. Her eyes were cast down but her cheeks were flushed, and she looked so pleased. That was a look I hadn’t seen on her before. And then it hit me. It was the first time she’d ever asked me for anything. In our whole lives, in all the time I’d known her, in all the years, she’d never once asked me for a single thing. The realization shocked me slightly.
“You’re welcome. Lia . . . I . . . well, you don’t have to work at Abuelo’s. I’m still paying for your mom’s apartment, and I’m happy to keep it up.” Even if she wasn’t living with me right now, and even if we were moving slowly with our own relationship, I wasn’t sure how I felt about the mother of my child waitressing tables. It seemed . . . wrong somehow.
She shook her head. “No, I like it.” She looked away and then back at me. “And I’m going to pay you back, for what you did for my mama, and for me.”
I stared at her. “Pay me back? I don’t want that.”
She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “Well, it . . . it means something to me and so I’m going to anyway. It’s . . . right.”
I released an impatient breath. This wasn’t something I was willing to argue about. I’d take any money she gave me and put it in Hudson’s college account, the one I hadn’t contributed enough to over the past year since every cent I’d had went back into the farm.
I started on the second sandwich, watching Lia as she watched Hudson, a small smile on her face.
“Do you want more?” I asked.
“More what?”
“Kids.”
Her eyes flew to mine and her face seemed to pale slightly. “I . . . no. I think one is enough.”
I couldn’t help the disappointment I felt. “Really? You wouldn’t want to give him a brother or sister someday?”
A line formed between her brows, and I hated that she looked so troubled. “I don’t . . . I mean, would you really want to go through all that again?”
I took a sip of tea, watching her, the muscles of my stomach clenched. I didn’t want to take this personally, but I couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to have any more babies with me. I remembered her telling me she hadn’t thought she was a good mother, but like I’d told her at the time, she’d been wrong. I hadn’t been around a whole lot, but I knew she was devoted, saw the motherly adoration in her eyes when she looked at Hudson. It had just been the circumstances that had made those first six months of his life so difficult for her. “I know it was hard, and the timing wasn’t great, but it wouldn’t be the same again, Lia,” I said quietly. “It would be completely different. I’d make sure of it.” I’d be here with you. Emotionally and physically. Fuck, how I’d let her down.
She looked back at Hudson and remained quiet for a minute. Finally, her shoulders seemed to relax slightly and she offered me a smile. “I know. Let’s just . . . play things by ear, okay? We still have a baby. Who knows what the future holds. And we are starting over, right? That seems like jumping ahead quite a bit.”
I returned her smile, deciding she was probably right. “Okay. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
She nodded and the mood lightened. Yes, we’d cross that bridge when we came to it.
**********
As I finished up for the day, the sun was going down, the mountains on fire with reds and oranges, the sky itself colored a deep indigo blue. I felt tired, but satisfied as I stood at the edge of the farmland looking out over it as I’d done so many times with my dad.
Today, we’d accomplished a lot, not just the first half of the harvesting, but the lettuce had been wrapped in plastic and packed in boxes right in the field. Right now it was being cooled and in a couple of days it would be shipped to supermarkets and restaurants from California to Maine.
Next week, a head of lettuce I’d picked with my own hand would be looked over by some woman in a grocery store in Bangor. She wouldn’t think of the nameless somebody who’d grown and harvested it—she’d be thinking of the salad she’d be making later, or perhaps the guests she’d be serving, maybe the kid who liked lettuce on his ham sandwich—but the idea brought me pride regardless of the fact that farming could be a thankless job. So many are, I supposed.
Tomorrow would be another long day, but I felt good going into it, knowing we weren’t behind.
I walked into the kitchen and washed my hands, scrubbing beneath my nails and then grabbing a paper towel as I heard Lia coming down the stairs.
“Hey,” I greeted her.
She smiled a tired smile. “Hey. How’d it go?”
“Good. Really good. How’d today go with you?”
She nodded. “He’s a little handful.” But she looked happy. “He never stops, does he?”
I chuckled. “Not often.”
“I gave him a bath and put him to bed. He made me read that Thomas book three times. He’s like a little dictator.”
I laughed. “I’m tired, too. What do you say we rent a movie and just relax?”
“Oh, I can’t. I’m going to the farmworkers’ camp right outside town with Rosa and Alejandro.”
I frowned. “What? Why?”
“They go every Monday to deliver food. I went with them, and they started some repairs but didn’t have enough time to finish. They’re going back tonight, and I’m going with them.”
Anger gripped me and I pulled back from where I’d been standing in front of her. “You went to a migrant camp?”
Her brows moved together, and she crossed her arms. “Yes. Why?”
“A. Migrant. Camp?”
“Yes,” she said slowly, warily, a tilt to her chin.
I threw my arms up. “Goddamn it, Lia. Do you know how unsafe those places can be? You can’t just be traipsing around the world as if you have no responsibilities. As if you don’t have a son who’s waiting at home for you.”
Shit. The hurt filling her eyes was almost a tangible thing. Why the hell had I said that? But even in my regret at hurting her, I couldn’t seem to let go of the picture that filled my head of her walking down the run-down pathways of a migrant camp as some man pulled her into a cabin, clamping a hand over her mouth.