Authors: Michele Paige Holmes
“Watch me,” Tara mumbled as she began backing down the drive. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ben step away. A few seconds later he’d come around the front and was on the passenger side, running next to the Jeep.
“Go away,” she yelled.
He moved closer and grabbed the door handle. She pushed down on the accelerator. Ben shouted then dropped out of sight.
“Ben!” Tara slammed on the brakes. She leaned across the gearshift, trying to see him. “Ben? Are you okay?”
When he didn’t answer, she put the car in park and scrambled across the seat to stick her head out the open window. Ben sat on the ground, one leg stretched out in front of him.
There’s no blood.
Relief rushed through her.
He had an incredulous look on his face. “You ran over my foot.”
“You were trying to climb into my car.”
“You
ran
over my foot,” Ben said again. “In fact, you’re still on it.”
Horrified, Tara glanced down and saw that Ben’s shoe was in fact under her front right tire.
“Oh!” she gasped. She pulled herself back into her seat and drove forward. Instead of getting out, she leaned over the wheel and closed her eyes, wishing—as she had so many times in her life—for a do-over.
Well, he certainly won’t want to baptize me now.
“Where are we going?” Ben opened the passenger door and climbed into the car, taking extra care as he did so.
“To the hospital for an X-ray?” She pressed her lips together and braced herself for a well-deserved verbal tirade.
“Nah. I think it’s all right. You just got my toes. Don’t need those for much except balance,” he teased. “My tailbone hurts though. I fell kind of hard when my shoe caught.”
Serves you right. Saying those things.
“I’m sorry. You’re certain you’re okay?”
Ben nodded.
“Good,” Tara said. “Then please get out of my car.”
“You drive a Jeep? Really?” Ben moved his head around and turned in his seat, checking out the interior. “I would have thought you’re more the Lexus type or—”
“You don’t know a thing about me,” Tara said. “So get out. Go back to your pigs.”
“Ouch.” Ben brought a fist to his chest like he’d been stabbed. “Look. I’m sorry you overheard Josh and me. A while ago I’d told him about you, and—it’s just that you’re about the last person on the planet I expected to see.”
“Yes. You said that already.”
I’m the last person he
wanted
to see.
Tara leaned her head back against the seat. “I should have just sent a letter.”
“That might have been helpful,” Ben said. “After all, the last time I saw you—
ten
months ago
—you practically attacked me in the cab of the truck then jumped out and snuck away without even saying good-bye.”
“You were busy unloading. And I sent a thank-you card with the cashier’s check,” Tara reminded him.
“The check that was for way more than it should have been?”
Tara waved away his argument. “I’m sure I was $500 worth of trouble to you that weekend.”
“In that case, it should have been at least a thousand.”
She glared at him. He grinned back. She laughed. She couldn’t help it.
“I’ve missed you, Ben. No one else is quite as much fun to argue with.”
He shrugged. “Just like old times.”
“Yes—
no
.” She shook her head, remembering why she had come all this way to see him.
“It isn’t like old times. It’s apparent that a lot has happened to each of us this year.” She glanced toward the porch.
“Whatever happened to you, it must be good.” Ben studied her for a moment, as if really seeing her for the first time. “You look great. Your hair and your clothes, and you’re much . . .
calmer . . .
than before. The Tara I met last December would have cussed me out, shoved me out of her car, and really run me over if I’d insulted her the way I just insulted you.”
“Good suggestions, all.”
He turned to her. “But you’re really here. In a million years, I never would have imagined you in jeans and a T-shirt—”
“This isn’t a
T-shirt
,” Tara said. She might not be wearing the best brands and latest fashion trends like she used to, but she definitely hadn’t stooped to the common T-shirt yet.
Ever.
“It’s also not some hot-pink-leopard-skin print thing.” Ben grimaced.
He remembers what I was wearing?
“But here you are, sitting in my driveway like—” He stopped abruptly.
“Like what?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Like any other normal person.”
“Was I that bad? Never mind. Don’t answer that.” She remembered well enough the way she’d acted on that trip.
And many, many other days of my life.
“No—not bad.” Ben was trying to backtrack. “Different. We move in different circles. Can you imagine me on my tractor in LA? That’s all I meant. This place doesn’t seem like you, that’s all.”
“It’s not as weird as I thought it’d be,” Tara said. “And sometimes things change—people change.”
“Circumstances change?” Ben asked, a questioning edge back in his voice.
“I suppose,” Tara began, “but that’s not why I came. I want to ask—”
“Ben,” Josh yelled from the porch. “Ham’s wedged himself in the cellar door again.”
“That pig,” Ben muttered. He opened the car door. “Sorry. I’ve got to go, and this could take a bit. Last time we had to lather Ham down with cooking oil to get him out. He goes after the apples I store down there. I put two twenty-five-pound bags of flour on top so he couldn’t open the door, but I guess he figured a way past that.”
“Smart pig.”
Wait
, Tara wanted to say.
Just give me one more minute. I have something really important to tell you—to ask.
But Ben was already getting out.
“Stupid pig. One of these times I might not be able to get him out of the predicaments he gets himself into. O—ow.” Ben stood slowly, a pained look on his face.
“Is it your foot?” Tara asked. “Is it hurt worse than you thought?”
Ben started to shake his head then stopped and began vigorously nodding. “Yeah. It’s my foot. I think a couple of toes might be broken.”
“You know where liars go,” Tara said.
“What?” He bent down, giving her a peculiar look.
“Nothing.”
Now who’s lying.
“My foot’s okay, but my tailbone
is
pretty sore. I’m probably going to have a hard time getting Ham unstuck.”
“There’s always your Boy Scout tool,” Tara suggested.
Ben grinned. “Why don’t you come in and help me? You can stay for dinner afterward. It’s the least you can do for running over my foot.”
“The least I can do to alleviate your guilt for so rudely talking about me, you mean.”
“That too,” he had the decency to admit.
Their eyes met as he waited for Tara to decide. Part of her was still ticked and hurt at what she’d overheard by the shed. The other part of her had immensely enjoyed their conversation the past ten minutes. A few minutes—few hours—more, and she’d be able to ask him for sure.
Tara pulled the keys from the ignition. “Who am I to turn down the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of seeing you wrestle with a slippery pig?”
“It’ll be good,” Ben promised. “Though probably not so entertaining as seeing you scared by a jackrabbit.”
Thirty-Eight
Ham, as it turned out, had done a fine job of getting himself stuck and was literally hanging, caught around his rotund middle and squealing, in the opening of the basement storeroom when they reached him.
“Stay here. You two grab his front legs,” Ben said to Josh and Deb. “I’ll crawl through the basement window and push him back up. Tara, there’s cooking oil on the bottom shelf of the pantry. We may need it.” Ben ran out of the kitchen, and a second later the front door banged shut.
Deb took one hoof, and Josh the other, and they held on to Ham, trying to relieve some of the pressure around his abdomen.
Tara entered the well-stocked pantry and located the oil. She brought it over to the trio—Josh, Deb, and Ham.
“Okay. I’m here,” Ben called from below. “On the count of three. I’ll push; you two pull. One. Two. Three.” Amid numerous grunts, most of which were
not
from the pig, Tara watched as Ham budged about a quarter of an inch.
“Tara,” Ben called. “We’re going to need some oil. If you could help with that—”
She looked at the jug in her hands.
He can’t be serious.
“And hurry, please.” Deb’s face was red, her breathing heavy. “Unless you need me to do it . . .”
The old Tara would have said, “It’s all yours, sister,” and walked off, but the implication that she was above such things or incapable of helping Ben bothered her enough that she began unscrewing the cap. Tara stepped forward between Deb and Josh and poured a generous amount of oil onto Ham’s back.
Disgusting.
She grimaced then placed her hand on the pig, slathering the oil into his skin and hair. Giving up pork forever was definitely not going to be a problem.
She continued the process on his sides where, to make matters worse, he was covered with flour. He’d chewed through the bags then pawed the flour out, getting it all over himself and the kitchen in the process.
Ham was now slippery enough that he began sliding back into the cellar—despite Ben’s heroic efforts to hold him up.
“My fingers are slipping,” Deb complained. Tara set the oil aside and hooked her arm beneath Ham’s leg, just as Deb let go and the pig went rocketing downward, taking Tara with him.
Tara shrieked. Her free arm flailed in the air, her legs bounced down the steep, narrow stairs, before she and Ham both landed on Ben and a couple bushels of apples. Flour rained down, topping things off.
“Are you all right?” Josh knelt over the opening, peering down at them.
“I’m okay.” Ben sounded as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. “A broken rib or two, maybe. It’ll go well with my tailbone.”
Unsure if he was serious or not, Tara rolled away. “I’m fine,” she said, feeling anything but. Her shin was killing her, and her hair was tangled in the side of a basket of apples. She was covered in oil and flour and—
pig
. She pushed Ham aside with her foot. He began running circles around them, squealing. This made the DI shopping trip with Ben seem like a completely normal activity.
“You
look
fine.” Above them Deb snorted with laughter. Tara frowned, wondering if this had been part of Deb’s evil plan all along.
Make the unwelcome visitor look like an unattractive idiot.
Josh joined her laughter. “Yeah. You two look great together.”
Pushing the hair back from her face, Tara struggled to sit up. She glanced over at Ben a foot away. He was still lying flat but raised his head to give her a lopsided grin.
“Here on the farm, we believe that true once-in-a-lifetime opportunities involve participation.”
* * *
“The bathroom is on the right.” Deb pointed to the door across the hall. “You can shower first. I think you got the worst of it.”
You think?
“Thanks,” Tara said, both annoyed by and appreciative of Deb.
Why does she have to be so nice?
Tara didn’t think she would have been if the tables were turned and some woman happened by in her territory. But since the pig incident, and since Ben had invited her to stay for dinner and then stay the night, it seemed Deb was doing her best to be kind and make her feel welcome. Though she couldn’t seem to help flashing her diamond around while she did it.
“You can take that bed.” Deb pointed to one on the far side of the room beneath the eaves. “I’m glad you’re staying.” Tara’s eyes narrowed as she hoisted her suitcase on the bed and began unzipping it.
I’m glad you’re staying? Who is she kidding? No one can be
that
nice.
“I wasn’t planning on it, but I don’t have much choice.” Tara glanced down at her shirt, covered in a sticky mixture that was part oil, part flour, part pig.
Ruined, no doubt. Oh well. At least I’m used to getting rid of clothes.
Deb left the room, and Tara collected her things for a shower. On a whim, she selected the pink sweater Ben had purchased for her last year. She doubted he would remember it, but somehow the thought of wearing it around him again seemed right.
After she’d showered and changed and dried her hair, she came downstairs to the smell of fried chicken. Ben, wearing a clean pair of jeans and a different flannel shirt, stood at the stove, turning the chicken. Josh was busy mashing potatoes, and Deb pulled a pan of perfect-looking biscuits from the oven.
Of course she’s a great cook.
Tara felt a pang of something more than sadness or jealousy as she stood in the doorway watching the scene before her. It reminded her of standing in the hospital doorway, looking in as Peter and Jane held their babies. The closest thing she could think of to describing the feeling was homesickness.
I’m
sick
of not having a home like this. People to be with and care about.
Ben noticed her standing there and beckoned to her. “Would you mind setting the table?” He asked the question almost as if he were afraid of offending her.
“Not at all,” she said, grateful he’d asked her to do something inclusive. “Where is your silverware?”
He pointed out the drawer and the cupboard that held plates and cups, and Tara got busy, doing as much as she could with her menial task.
Nothing to compete with compared to those biscuits. That’s okay. I’m
not
competing. Never was. I came here to ask Ben to baptize me.
That thought, and all that it meant, all the change that had occurred in her life over the past months, came clearly into focus, and a sense of peace and contentment settled over her.
How wonderful it will be when I can feel this all the time, when I receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.
She longed to ask Ben now, to tell him all that had happened in her life since December. When they sat down to eat, she folded her arms, closed her eyes, and bowed her head. After Josh said the prayer, Tara looked up to find Ben giving her a peculiar look, much as he had earlier when she’d almost quoted him the scripture about lying from the Book of Mormon.