Dinner For Two
Tom worked a full day in the field on the corn picker. Up and down the rows, his thoughts tossed back and forth from Edgar to the death of his mom. A couple of times, he stopped: the sadness and emotion overcame him.
The sun set. He parked the tractor at the end of a row and climbed down. He plodded along the lane. He reached the barn and tossed down hay for the cattle.
He walked in the back door of the house and kicked off his boots. He checked the answering machine. The funeral home left a message.
“Hello, Mr. Bales, this is Carl Travis at the funeral home. We just wanted to let you know your mother’s cremation is complete.”
Tom dropped the phone and plopped into a dining room chair. He buried his face in his palms and wept.
Eventually, he gathered his emotions. He showered and dressed in his pajamas.
In the kitchen, Tom bobbed his head around, looking into the refrigerator for something to eat.
He said to himself, “Everything in here was prepared by Mom.’
He heard a knock at the door. He turned his head quickly.
He opened the door. It was Debbie, a girl Tom’s age who lived a mile down the road. She held a picnic basket and a sympathetic smile.
“Hi,” Trace said and looked embarrassedly at what he was wearing. “I’m sorry, come in and I’ll get some clothes on. Come in.”
“That’s okay,” Debbie said. “I just wanted to drop this off. I heard about your mom.”
She handed the basket to Tom and noticed he had been crying.
“Thanks, Debbie,” Tom said. “But please, come in.”
“Are you sure?” Debbie asked.
“The company would be nice,” Tom said, standing out of the way to allow her to come in.
“Why don’t you have a seat at the dining room table?” Debbie smiled, “and let me take care of everything.”
“I know better than to say no to you,” Tom said and sat at the table.
Debbie emptied the basket, spreading a meal in front of Tom. There was a thick slice of roast beef, fried potatoes, tossed salad, and half of a pie.”
“You don’t expect me to eat all the pie, do you?”
“Only if you want to,” Debbie said and sat at the table. “There are two roast beef sandwiches at the bottom of the basket and some more potatoes. I think you're good for another two meals.”
“I don’t like to eat while other people are just watching,” Tom smiled. “If you don’t have at least a piece of pie, it will leave me thinking there’s something wrong with it.”
Debbie pressed a smile. She reached inside the basket and removed a piece of pie already on a plate. “I knew you would say that, so I was prepared.”
As they ate, they talked.
“I heard about your mom a couple of days ago,” Debbie said. “I’ve been by a couple of times, but either you weren’t here or out in the field.”
“Yeah,” Tom said, “I’ve been really busy.”
“It looks like things are still pretty emotional for you,” Debbie said.
“It comes in waves,” Tom said. “And unexpected.”
“She was good to me,” Debbie said, and added, “She was good to everybody. She was a good person.”
“Remember when our moms stacked hay for ole man Fenster?” Debbie said.
“You were out there, too,” Tom grinned.
“And you came by to help,” Debbie added.
“The job was almost done by the time I got there,” Tom said.
“That was such a good day,” Debbie warmly smiled. “Is this okay for you?” She placed her hand on his hand.
“It’s perfect for me,” Tom said. “Those are the things I think about all day long, and have nobody to share them with.”
“Where’s Edgar?” Debbie asked, changing to a serious tone.
“He’ll be home in two days,” Tom said. “He passed his bar exam, and his firm piled him with a bunch of cases right away.”
“You know something?” Debbie said. “I wouldn’t work for anybody who wouldn’t allow time off for my mother’s death.”
“I get it,” Tom said. “It’s a great job for a prestigious firm. It’s a great opportunity for him. He’s worked hard for it. Besides, I’m not doing anything different than him, I’m working all day.”
“It’s different,” Debbie said. “There’s nobody to take in your corn. Everybody’s busy doing their own. His firm should step up and help him.”
“I think it’s a different world that he lives in than you and I do,” Tom said.
Debbie shook her head as if to say, ‘You know that’s not right.’
“By the way,” Tom said, “why aren’t you away at college?”
“I decided to go locally,” Debbie said. “I thought it would be great to move out of state, but when Mom, Dad, and I sat down and figured things out, you know, room, meals, all that stuff, we decided it would be best to go somewhere close by.”
“Like?” Tom asked.
“The branch,” Debbie said, “I can get the same degree there as I could anywhere else.”
“I haven’t seen you since graduation,” Tom said.
“I got a summer job at King’s Island,” Debbie said. “It was a great experience. I learned that I didn’t want to work there another summer. I’d rather stack hay. Which reminds me, what are your plans? When are you starting college?”
“I’m going to enroll at the branch this winter,” Tom said. “Dad and Mom had it figured; they would pay for Edgar’s college, and after he got a job, they’d pay for mine. When Dad died, Mom had it all figured out that we could rent the land out, and instead of Edgar paying back a college loan, he could pay for some of my education.”
“Some of it,” Debbie retorted, “Why not all of it. You’ve worked the farm and at the same time went to high school. That paid for all his education. You worked your butt off for him to have a good education.”
“Edgar worked hard,” Tom said. “He was able to get some scholarship money. That eased our burden.”
“He didn’t have to go to Harvard,” Debbie said. “There’s plenty of other colleges he could have gone to for a quarter of the money.”
“Yeah,” Tom said, “but Harvard, he’ll earn that much more with a degree from there.”
“I’m sorry,” Debbie said, “that’s none of my business. It’s just that I saw you working hard to keep the farm going, and your grades suffered.”
“I just wasn’t that smart to begin with,” Tom said.
“Cow pucky!” Debbie retorted.
“Why Debbie Truesdale,” Tom chided jokingly, “you almost said a vile word.”
Debbie smiled.
“You were always taking my side,” Tom said.
“That’s double cow pucky,” Debbie said. “You were always taking my side.”
“Okay,” Tom grinned and conceded, “we both stuck up for each other.”
“I remember my first day at school,” Debbie said. “I was a freckle-faced blimp. I got on the bus. Nobody moved over to give me a seat—but you did. And when kids teased me, you always came up to me and made me feel like the most special person in school.”
“You were,” Tom said. “You were special. You are special.”
“I remember the eighth-grade dance,” Debbie said. “Nobody asked me to go. I volunteered to work at the refreshment counter just to see what other girls did to have fun. And two songs into the night, you asked me to dance. I always wondered and never asked, why?”
“You were honest and real,” Tom said. “It was really that simple. You weren’t a blimp, and I never noticed the freckles. All I saw was a nice person.”
“We never danced again,” Debbie said regretfully.
“Dad died shortly after that,” Tom said. “I worked on the farm. Mom wanted me to go to dances, play sports, and get involved. But I was moody and depressed a lot. I took everything very seriously. To me, school dances became a frivolous waste of time.”
“We always sat together on the bus,” Debbie said. “We had such great conversations.”
“All you talked about was your boyfriends,” Tom chuckled.
“I only had maybe one or two,” Debbie confessed. “I was trying to make you jealous.”
“And a good job, indeed,” Tom said.
“We had some great summers,” Debbie said. “Our families are close. You taught me how to fish and milk a cow.”
“How could I forget?” Tom said. “And you taught me how to ride a horse and sew.”
“This doesn’t seem like the right time to say this,” Debbie hesitated, drawing a deep breath. “From that first day on the bus, I’ve had feelings for you.”
“On the bus, I always made sure nobody sat next to me,” Tom said. “The seat next to me was always for you.”
“We are very emotional right now,” Debbie said.
“My life is very uncertain at this point,” Tom said.
“I’ve made plans for the next four or five years,” Debbie said. “They shouldn’t be changed in one night.”
“Thanks for the meal,” Tom said.
Debbie stood, and so did Tom.
Tom walked her to the door and kissed her.
She smiled and winked. “Good night, Thomas Bales.”
“Good night, Deborah Truesdale.”
She smiled and pushed his nose as if it were a button. “I was too a blimp.”
