Ana of California (7 page)

The last two riders rode alongside each other. The larger rider was outfitted in blue and green, and a few flags attached to the back of his bike flapped along in the wind. The smaller rider wore a yellow and black jumpsuit with a pair of wings, which fluttered like a bumblebee as both riders slowed their bikes as they passed. Ana didn't know if the sunstroke was setting in for real, or if it was just her tired delirium, but she let her hand float up and sweep the air in a slow-motion wave.

 • • • 

A
bbie couldn't help herself. She waited until she saw everyone head back out into the fields and went up to the guest bedroom. Nothing was out of place, so she opened the backpack that remained tucked into the bottom of the armoire. Abbie was already aware of Ana's limited wardrobe—which she was prepared to launder regularly with nary a word that might blemish her pride—but as she fished around in the old army sack, she pulled out a notebook. Page after page was
covered in elaborate pen drawings. One was the backyard of a dilapidated house, its yard barren and swirling with ribbons of dust. Another depicted a schoolyard with dried grass that resembled thick hair entangled with insects and bits of torn paper, remnants of truncated poetry. She flipped the page and stopped at an unfinished portrait of a sad-looking dog with a torn ear. It was rendered in almost photographic detail and backed by a tattered quilt. Underneath, written in letters resembling spray-painted graffiti, was the word
CHELO
.

“Astonishing” was the word Abbie said aloud, scaring herself, and her reflection in the armoire, in the process. She couldn't help but flip through the entire thing, heart racing, mouth agape, as she uncovered what felt like secret maps to a neglected city most startlingly alive.

She put the notebook back in the bag when she heard the screen door open downstairs. It was only Emmett coming in with a box of beets.

“What's with the expression, Sis?” Emmett said, taking a cookie from the tray on the stove as Abbie entered the kitchen. “Up to no good?”

“I'd say the same of you. Those cookies are for later.”

Emmett gave her a wan smile.

“Listen, I'm taking Ana on deliveries this afternoon. I want to introduce her to Rye Moon.”

“What's the point?” Emmett said, grabbing another cookie.

“I think it's important she meet girls her age.”

“Mm-hm.”

“This town is minuscule, Emmett, and people are naturally curious. It's best if we keep from hiding her right from the start.”

“Why do you care what other people think? She's our summer intern, and she's staying only a month.”

“Honestly.” Abbie sighed. “It's her first day. Let's give her a chance, shall we?”

Emmett looked out the window and across the fields. He watched as Ana seemed to struggle with a carrot that wasn't yet ready to be picked.

“If this morning's any indication, I'd keep her for less than a week.”

“I'm taking her to meet Rye, and there's nothing you can do about it.”

“Okay. But, I'll warn ya. You've never experienced that girl in a moving vehicle.”

 • • • 

A
na didn't have time to change. Her faded jeans were covered in dirt and sagging in the knees. She had one of Abbie's stained work shirts unbuttoned over her favorite band tee. The thought of meeting someone her age, especially a girl, twisted her stomach into a nauseated loop.

Ana dropped the box of produce on the front porch as Abbie had asked and made her way past Abbie's lopsided van.
GARBER
FARM
ORGANIC
PR
ODUCE
was splashed across the side of it in fading letters. She continued down the pebble pathway to the potting shed on the other side of the house just beyond the garden. The tin-roofed shed was tiny, and covered in flowering vines. The Dutch door's top half was open, framing Abbie as she worked. There was a stained glass window above the entrance, unusual and charming, adorned with a blackbird surrounded by olive leaves.

“So, now that we have a moment, how did the morning go?” Abbie asked.

“It's debatable,” Ana said. “According to Manny, I did
just fine. According to Emmett, I need a bachelor's degree in farmer's science, if that exists.”

“It'll get easier,” she said.

“Should I change clothes?”

“You're fine the way you are.”

“I'm filthy.”

“We're farmers, it's part of the look,” Abbie said, tying bundles of cornflowers with twine. “Let me see your hat.”

Ana took off the gardening hat, worried Abbie would notice the stained ring of sweat that had accumulated under the brim.

“Apologies. My hair is an aberration,” Ana said.

“Nonsense,” Abbie said. “But bonus points for word choice.” She snipped a few of the flowers and tucked them under the band around the brim, making them shoot out of the side of the hat like a miniature fireworks display. “My mother used to call this ‘pizzazz,'” she said, handing the hat back. “Draws attention to the eyes, and yours are lovely.”

Ana put the hat on and swept her hair behind her shoulders. It wasn't really the look she'd normally go for, not that she'd ever been able to cultivate the look she liked, but she felt slightly better.

“Very ‘of the land,'” Abbie continued. “Which is to say, just like the rest of us country folk. Trust me, no one in this town is judging.”

They made their way to the van and added to the already ample load in the back, which included boxes of jars and bottles, wildflower arrangements, and a few loaves of fresh bread in paper bags stamped
GARBER FARM
. Ana climbed into the front seat, which was strewn with various odds and ends that included a potato sack, a magazine with the
front cover torn off, a to-go coffee mug in one cup holder, a gardening tool sticking out of the other cup holder, and a half-eaten bar of baking chocolate melting on the dashboard next to
Crystal Visions—The Very Best of Stevie Nicks
. She smiled to herself. “The yin and yang of siblinghood,” she thought, remembering the scene in Emmett's truck—so much similarity in the differences.

They made their way out of the farm and down the road, passing dainty Victorian houses with manicured yards. If Ana had to pick a favorite, Garber Farm would win, she thought, and not just for the wildness of its surroundings, but also for its restrained authenticity. “The farm is so different from the rest of the houses,” she said.

“Well, we've been here a little longer. But yes, we Garbers have always embraced subtlety over ostentation. Believe me, when I was your age, I would have killed to live in one of these houses. One of my childhood friends did.”

“I bet the lawns are full of forgotten Easter eggs and polka-dot horses out in back.”

“You might find a few.” Abbie laughed. “Most of these folks are grandparents, or great-grandparents.”

“Did you ever want kids?” She didn't know why she asked it, regretted it from the moment it tumbled from her lips.

“Well, hon, to be honest, it just never happened for me,” Abbie said, leaning forward to switch the stereo on. “Some of us are built for a different kind of life, I guess.”

Though Abbie had meant to replace the
Crystal Visions
CD still missing from its case—“borrowed” by Josie nearly a year ago—she was glad she'd refused to lend out Stevie's
Wild Heart
, which she preferred.

“My mother was built for a different life,” Ana said,
continuing to stare out the window as Stevie sang. “But she accidentally had me.”

“Sometimes that happens.”

“It's funny, all the kids who have kids, the ones who can't take care of themselves being forced to take care of someone else they don't want. Then there are all those people desperate for kids, who are old enough and ready and waiting. I know girls my age—girls younger even—who are pregnant and don't want to be, and I've lived with foster parents who would do anything to have kids of their own. It doesn't make any sense.”

“No, it doesn't,” Abbie said. “But life isn't fair, and you can't choose who you're born to. It's all beyond our control, I'm afraid. There's power in how we react to our situations, though.”

The van continued ambling toward the center of Hadley. They hadn't passed any other cars or signs of life on the road, which Ana thought odd and wonderful. “What would L.A. look like if the same were true?” she wondered.

“. . .
Hopelessly enchanted, wild in the darkest places of your mind
.”

“It's ridiculous how much Stevie truly gets it,” Ana said.

“She does, doesn't she?” Abbie responded, forgetting to whom she was talking for a moment. “How did you know this was Stevie?”

“Are you kidding?” Ana asked, her eyebrows rising in mock horror. “
Stand back
, Abbie, please.”

They parked the van in front of Moon Pharm General Store, which was hard to miss with its dark facade and bright yellow crescent moon sign hanging above the door. It stood out from all the other storefronts on Main Street, with overflowing flower boxes and dream catchers decorating its front
windows. The door was set back from the sidewalk, the walkway lined with hand-painted ceramic pots filled with various plants. The door chimed as they entered, little bells and clinking pottery pieces strung together on the handle.

Ana breathed in the scent of varnished wood and burning herbs. She realized, for the first time in her brief tour of downtown Hadley, which was quiet for a late summer afternoon, that she was actually in a bustling place of business. It wasn't completely unlike some of the corner stores in Boyle Heights. There were aisles of grocery items, glass refrigerators lining a wall, and a sign above the front counter pointing to the pharmacy and “licensed herbalist” in the rear of the store.

Abbie waved at the gentleman behind the counter who was helping a few customers. He was a smaller man with glasses and a starched shirt tucked into high-waist khakis. He nodded, giving Ana the once-over with a gentle yet discerning eye.

“That's Charlie Moon,” Abbie said. “We'll say hi in a bit. I want to introduce you to Della, one my oldest and dearest friends. I'm sure Rye is around here somewhere. . . . I'm just so thrilled for you to meet them!”

They rounded a corner of homeopathic remedies and shelves of homemade soap and oils before being intercepted by a woman with long dark hair swinging all the way down to her ample hips. She smiled at them both before embracing Abbie. They held on to each other for longer than normal, the woman's eyes closed and a smile on her face.

“You must be Ana,” the woman said, reaching her arms out to grab Ana's hands and squeezing them with the same concentrated warmth she gave the hug. “We're so honored to have you here. Abbie told us all about your coming to
work on the farm, and we wanted to welcome you in person. I'm Della Moon. My daughter, Rye, is checking inventory and will be out in a moment. Why don't you two follow me?”

“I need to make a quick delivery,” Abbie said. “Are you okay for a few minutes? I promise I won't be long.”

“Sure,” Ana said. She was thrilled at the chance to explore the store. There were so many products she'd never seen before, small vials of tonics, lotions bearing labels with suns and flowers, a black jar with symbols surrounded by tiny bolts of lightning. There were glass containers lining multiple wooden shelves along the back wall, like an old-fashioned candy shop that peddled ginseng and rhubarb root instead of sweets.

“What's all this?” Ana asked.

“My laboratory,” Della said with a proud smile, adjusting the multiple strands of beads draped around her neck. “We run the local pharmacy, but I specialize in herbs and natural remedies too. Even tea, if you're into it.”

“What's that?” Ana pointed to a jar of slivered twigs.

“Astragalus,” Della said, reaching for it, the multiple rings on her fingers clinking against the glass. “Good for preventing illness.”

“Do you ever buy your stuff from the farm?”

“As a matter of fact, we do. Abbie grows our gingerroot, and we've found some wonderful varieties of wild mushrooms in the woods behind the farm. Quite potent.”

“I'm not allowed back there apparently.”

“Oh, but it's breathtaking! I'll see what I can talk Abbie in to,” Della said with a knowing smile.

“My abuela would say you look like Dolores del Rio.”

“Oh? And who's that?”

“She's a famous Mexican actress with a very distinct
nose, something my abuela and I find to be a treasured mark of distinction.”

“Or a wicked curse of nature,” a voice said from behind the counter.

“Rye,” Della said, adjusting her shawl over her long dress, “there's someone I'd like you to meet.”

A petite young woman came out from behind a swinging door. Despite her remark, her nose, as with the rest of the features on her face, was delicate and feminine and was offset by a severe black bob and short bangs, all of which was highlighted in shades of purple. She was striking, with long-lashed eyes that swooped up toward her hairline, cheekbones that matched her mother's, and bright red lips. She looked over Ana from top to bottom, so Ana did the same. There was a lot to take in: Rye's buttoned-up blouse tied at the top with a black satin ribbon, skinny suspenders, and tailored men's trousers rolled up at the bottom to reveal a pair of black-and-white saddle shoes. Ana had rarely seen such deliberate attention paid to personal style. Back in L.A., it was mostly sneakers and jeans. Rye raised her eyebrows but said nothing, so Ana said, “Hey,” and left it at that.

“Why don't you girls head to the stockroom?” Della suggested. “I've got customers on the way, and, Rye, you can let Ana help herself to some samples.”