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“You’re here now, you’re doing well… and you’re really, really beautiful.” Ethan leaned in. Laura smiled, and they kissed again, an electric feeling that Ethan found himself wishing for every night when he fell asleep in his bed. For the first time since moving in, his trailer didn’t feel like enough, and his bed felt thin, cold, and far too empty. “Want to get a drink after the lot closes?”
“Ethan…”
“Cocoa or coffee, I promise,” he said. “I’m not trying to get you drunk, Laura.”
She swallowed, and nodded. “Sure.”
Her phone rang, and he stood back up, giving her space as he looked out the window to see if a customer was coming. As he watched, he couldn’t help but listen in.
“Yes… yes, I’m the executor of the estate… thank you. I see… I see… well that’s certainly something interesting to talk about, what figure are we talking about, ballpark?”
Figure? Ballpark? Oh lord.
Laura continued though, and when she was done, he turned back around. “Who was that?”
“A developer,” Laura said. “They want to arrange to see the farm, they’re interested in buying it.”
“They… but…” Ethan closed his mouth for a second. “I see. And how much are they offering?”
Laura sat back in her chair, and looked at him evenly. “Ethan, come on. Your face is telling me something. Remember, I’m an attorney. What do you know?”
Ethan sighed, and rubbed at his head. “I know that last year, a developer tried to buy the Reynolds Iron ranch. You know the place?”
“Sure, my grandfather did business with Mr.Reynolds,” Laura said. “Is he still around?”
“He retired, and when he did, he was going to sell the place to a developer who wanted to turn his ranch into a subdivision,” Ethan said. “In the end his daughter took over the place, but… I kept hoping that those developers were going to stay away.”
“Why’s that?” Laura asked. “So the Rockaways could stay dirt poor and rougher than a wool blanket?”
“No, because the people here deserve a life too!” Ethan exclaimed. “Laura, you know what happens when the subdivision folks move in. In the city they call it, what, gentrification?”
“I know the word.”
“Good, then you know what happens when those developers come in. They buy up the property, build or renovate or whatever, and then you look around and you’re unable to afford rent in the very same house you were born. The folksaround you, they don’t understand what makes the Rockaways special. They just see a crappy strip mall, a truck stop, a weed dispensary, and a bunch of rednecks who can’t seem to get out of their own way. You know that’s garbage, you were one of those rednecks!”
Laura nodded, and put her hands on the desk.
“You’re right, I was. I still am. And I know it’s impossible to keep the Rockaways static and unchanging. That’s just unfair, because it keeps the people who live here in that cycle of poverty. You’re right, I remember being dirt poor, wearing old clothes and worn out sneakers. I remember being laughed at and made fun of when I got to high school and things like that really started to matter. I remember the fist fights between the boys from North Pueblo and the boys from the Rockaways, and how the only place those two groups got along was on the sports teams. I also remember when our school won the state wrestling championship my junior year, and of the fourteen starters, ten were from the Rockaways. But you know who got the credit?”
“North Pueblo,” Ethan replied, and Laura nodded.
“When I got into law school, my grandfather told folks, and guess what? The Pueblo Post did a little blurb on it. You want to know where I was listed as being from?”
Ethan glowered. “North Pueblo.”
“Yeah, they couldn’t even take the time to check that my high school and my address weren’t the same thing,” Laura said. “Look, I know it’s complicated, Ethan. And I understand your feelings. But… I have to think about this still.”
Ethan swallowed, and without a word, left the shack to go out onto the lot. There he waited for customers, stomping his feet in the dirt as a light snow began to fall. Somehow, that hurt more than anything else. The snow was supposed to be beautiful, and pure, and everything Laura seemed to be.
But the snow could turn into mud and Laura… well, she was only thinking about her offers, and her money.
He turned, and looked at the trees nearest to him. They were so beautiful. Innocent, pure, he’d shaped all of them, taking the time to trim them over the years to make them what they were, a symbol of hope and togetherness.
The thought of them all being razed for some cookie-cutter development made his eyes sting. A truck was approaching, and as it parked, he fixed a smile on his face.
“Hey there, welcome to the tree farm,” he said. “What can I help you with?”
It wasn’t until after the customer was already out searching for their tree, saw in hand, that he realized he’d forgotten to call it the Bennett tree farm.
