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GAIL DODSON WAS AS practical as she was headstrong. She lived by the land, her boots never without a dusting of fresh soil and her skin with a year-round kiss from the sun. Farming ran through her blood. Other than her family, she thrived on days of planting and harvesting, while relishing all the days in-between where her amazement at the beauty of the transformation from seed to sprout never ceased.
Her hair, the color of an eastern seashore, was pulled tightly back into a ponytail, leaving no opportunity for loose strands or inconvenience. She wore a pair of old blue jeans, covered with permanent stains from the earth, and a green flannel shirt.
Outward appearances lent the impression she was years younger than her fifty, and even though her bones sometimes ached and the long hours of running a farm took their toll, nothing kept Gail Dodson down. Certainly not physical labor. Hard work was merely a way of life. One she loved and one she was used to.
She grabbed the hammer from her tool belt and took the nail from between her teeth, holding it in place before driving it into the board. A quick reach into her tool belt brought another, and she did the same.
Moving to a stack of lumber, with her son Phillip by her side, she lifted another board from the top of the pile and ignored the throbbing ache of arthritis in her joints. They worked in harmony—synchronized. Both were skilled at most any laborious project and knew, without corresponding, what needed to be done next.
Despite the echoing sounds of pounding, when the music to She’s a Brick House—muffled, but nevertheless obtrusive in the atmosphere mostly devoid of conversation—rang out, Gail pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and answered it. Phillip, grinning, seized the opportunity of his mother’s distraction to get a cup of coffee.
Scowling at his retreating form, Gail removed her gloves and held the phone to her ear. “Hello.”
She squinted into the sun, her forehead and brow creasing in deep lines, the caramel tan of her skin in stark contrast to the pale blue of her eyes and her shocking white smile.
“Hey Mom, it’s Lexie.”
Gale’s smile was instantaneous. “Well, hi there, honey. What’s got you calling me so early?”
She turned around, her gaze moving to where Phillip disappeared. She spotted him standing in the entryway of the building, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup. Waving to him, she whispered, “Go get your daddy. Tell him Alexis is on the line.”
Scowling, Phillip quickly finished his coffee, crushed the cup in his fist, and threw the demolished remains on the ground. He left, shaking his head, while Gail pretended not to notice his annoyance.
“So, how are you, honey? Daddy’s been out plowing the fields and getting the rows ready to plant more strawberries. You know how he is this time of year; he’s giddy as a kid on Christmas, all hyped up for the season. Phillip and I have been out here working on the new store. It’s almost finished. You should see the job your brother’s done, Lex. The new market is gonna be real nice. It’ll have the usual section for produce, but he also designed a new department for baked goods, homemade jams, sauces, and we even have a section for prepared seasonal items like strawberry ice cream, blackberry shakes, or even pumpkin bread. There’s so many things we’ll be able to do with the addition. It’s really shaping up, and when we’re done, we’ll have a beauty of a place on our hands.”
“That’s great.”.
Her daughter sounded tired, Gail mused. More than usual. Probably all that city smog. What she needed was some good ‘ol fashioned country air.
When Ed’s tall, lanky form manifested around the corner of the shop, Gail held the phone away from her mouth and said, “Hey, Ed. Our Alexis is on the phone.” Putting the phone back to her ear, she said, “Your daddy’s coming along now...”
“Mom,” Lexie said.
“Oh, he’s here. That ‘ol face of his is smiling ear to ear.”
“Mom—”
“Maybe if you didn’t wait so long to call us, he wouldn’t get so excited over something as little as a phone call from his only daughter.”
“Mom!”
Gail winced, and her smile vanished. “What, Alexis? Why are you shouting?”
“Mom, I’m coming home,” Lexie said.
She froze, nearly dropping the phone. Her mouth opened to speak, but it took several seconds for her voice to work.
Could she have heard correctly?
“You’re coming home?”
“Yeah. I’m leaving today, this afternoon.”
“Alexis is coming home,” she said, grabbing her husband’s arm and squeezing. She could hardly believe it. “What’s going on, honey? Is everything okay out there?”
A few seconds passed before Lexie responded and when she did, Gail’s stomach twisted. “Yeah. Everything’s fine. I just wanted a visit, that’s all.”
Something was off. Call it a mother’s intuition, but Gail sensed Lexie’s coming home was about more than a simple visit. She knew moving out to that city had been a bad idea, and her gut told her Lexie was hiding something, but now was not the time to pry.
“You need a break from the city sometimes,” Gail placated. “You should come more often. Don’t eat anything on your way. We’ll have supper here tonight. Phil will be here too, and I’ll have him swing by and pick up Heather and the kids.”
“Great, Mom. That would be nice,” Lexie murmured.
Gail said goodbye and hung up the phone. Turning out toward the fields, she gazed out into the horizon, at the ethereal glow of the early morning sun over the cornfields. Growing up, Phil and Lexie used to joke her intuition for her children’s lies were like a barometer. And right now, her weather index registered a storm brewing in Lexie. Everything was far from fine. She could feel it.
But her baby girl was coming home. That’s what mattered now. The rest she could figure out later.