Блейк Пирс - Once Lost

Good old black Iowa dirt, he thought as bits of it trickled down between his fingers.

This land had been in George’s family for years, so he’d known this fine soil all his life. But he never got tired of it, and his pride in farming the richest land in the world never waned.

He looked up across fields that stretched as far as he could see. The earth had been tilled for a couple of days now. It was ready and waiting for corn kernels dusted purple with insecticide to be placed where each new cornstalk would soon appear.

He’d held off on the planting until today to make sure of the weather. Of course there was never any way to be certain that a frost wouldn’t come even this late in the year and ruin the crop. He could remember a freak April blizzard back in the ’70s that had taken his father by surprise. But as George felt a breath of warm air and looked up at some high clouds streaking across the sky, he felt as confident as he could hope to feel.

Today’s the day, he thought.

As George stood watching, his field hand Duke Russo came driving a tractor that dragged a forty-foot-long planter behind it. The planter would seed sixteen rows at a time, thirty inches apart, one kernel at a time, deposit fertilizer on top of each one, cover the seed, and roll on its way.

George’s sons, Roland and Jasper, had been standing in the field awaiting the tractor’s arrival, and they walked toward it as it rumbled along one side of the field. George smiled to himself. Duke and the boys made a good crew. There was no need for George to hang around for the actual planting. He waved at the three men, then turned to head back to his truck.

But that odd patch of earth near the road caught his attention again. What was wrong over there? Had the tiller missed that patch? He couldn’t imagine how that could have happened.

Maybe a groundhog had been digging there.

But as he walked toward the spot, he could see that no groundhog had done this. There was no opening, and the soil was patted down.

It looked like something had been buried here.

George growled under his breath. Vandals and pranksters sometimes gave him trouble. A couple of years ago, some boys from nearby Angier stole a tractor and used it to demolish a storage shed. More recently, others had spray-painted obscenities on fences and walls and even cattle.

It was infuriating – and hurtful.

George had no idea why the kids would come out of their way to give him trouble. He’d never done any harm to them that he knew of. He’d reported the incidents to Joe Sinard, Angier’s police chief, but nothing ever got done about it.

“What have those bastards done this time?” he said aloud, tapping the soil with his foot.

He figured he’d better find out. Whatever was buried here might wreck his equipment.

He turned toward his crew and waved for Duke to stop the tractor. When the engine was off, George yelled to his sons.

“Jasper, Roland – fetch me that shovel in the tractor cab.”

“What’s wrong, Pop?” Jasper called back.

“I don’t know. Just do it.”

A moment later, Duke and the boys came walking toward him. Jasper handed his father a shovel.

As the group watched curiously, George prodded the soil with his shovel. As he did, a strange, sour smell met his nostrils.

He felt a wave of instinctive dread.

What the hell’s under here?

He turned over a few shovels full of dirt until he struck something solid but soft.

He shoveled more carefully, trying to uncover whatever it was. Soon something pale came into view.

It took a few moments for George to register what it was.

“Oh, Lord!” he gasped, his stomach churning with horror.

It was a hand – a young woman’s hand.

The next morning, Riley watched as Blaine fixed a breakfast of eggs Benedict with fresh squeezed orange juice and rich, dark coffee. She reflected that passionate lovemaking was not limited to ex-husbands. And she realized that waking up in comfort with a man was something new.

She felt grateful for this morning, and grateful to Gabriela, who had assured her she would take care of everything when Riley had phoned her last night. But she couldn’t help but wonder if a relationship like this would survive, given the many other complications of her life.

Riley decided to ignore that question and focus on the delicious meal. But as they ate, she soon noticed that Blaine’s mind seemed to be elsewhere.

“What’s the matter?” she asked him.

Blaine didn’t reply. His eyes roamed about uneasily.

She felt a flash of worry. What was the problem?

Was he having second thoughts about last night? Was he less contented with this than she was?

“Blaine, what’s wrong?” Riley asked, her voice shaking a little.

After a pause, Blaine said, “Riley, I just don’t feel … safe .”

Riley struggled to make sense of what Blaine had said. Was all the warmth and affection they’d shared since their date last night suddenly gone? What had happened between them to change everything?

“I – I don’t understand,” she stammered. “What do you mean, you don’t feel safe?”

Blaine hesitated, then said, “I think I need to buy a gun. For home protection.”

His words jolted Riley. She hadn’t expected this.

But maybe I should have, she thought.

Sitting across the table from him, she could see a scar on his right cheek. He’d gotten that scar last November in Riley’s own home, trying to protect April and Gabriela from an attacker bent on revenge.

Riley remembered the terrible guilt she’d felt at seeing Blaine unconscious in a hospital bed after it was over.

And now she felt that guilt all over again.

Would Blaine ever feel safe with Riley in her life? Would he ever feel that his daughter could be safe?

And was a gun what he really needed to make him feel safer?

Riley shook her head.

“I don’t know, Blaine,” she said. “I’m not a great fan of civilians keeping weapons in their homes.”

As soon as the words were out, Riley realized how patronizing they sounded.

She couldn’t tell from Blaine’s expression whether he was offended or not. He seemed to be waiting for her to say more.

Riley sipped her coffee, gathering her thoughts.

She said, “Did you know that statistically, home weapons are more likely to lead to homicides, suicides, and accidental deaths than successful home defense? In fact, gun owners are generally at greater risk of becoming homicide victims themselves than people who don’t own guns.”

Blaine nodded.

“Yeah, I know all about that,” he said. “I’ve been doing some research. I also know about Virginia’s self-defense laws. And that this is an open-carry state.”

Riley tilted her head with approval.

“Well, you’re already better prepared than most people who decide to buy a gun. Even so …”

Her words trailed off. She was reluctant to say what was on her mind.

“What is it?” Blaine asked.

Riley took a long, deep breath.

“Blaine, would you want to buy a gun if I wasn’t part of your life?”

“Oh, Riley – ”

“Tell me the truth. Please.”

Blaine sat staring into his coffee for a moment.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he finally said.

Riley reached across the table and held Blaine’s hand.

“That’s what I thought. And I’m sure you can understand how that makes me feel. I care for you a lot, Blaine. It’s terrible to know that your life is more dangerous because of me.”

“I get that,” Blaine said. “But I want you to tell me the truth about something. And please don’t take this wrong.”