Cynthia Kadohata - The Thing About Luck

Grain elevators checked for moisture, weeds, and protein content. Wheat that was too dry would weigh less and thus be worth less. Plus, if you let the wheat ripen too long, the protein content could fall. So timing was everything. Another thing that frightened the farmers was hail. Hail could break the wheat or smash it to the ground. I had actually seen a farmer—a big, burly man—cry during a hailstorm. So farmers just wanted to get the harvest over as soon as possible. As I said, I got it.

Mr. and Mrs. Parker drove the combines down off the trailers they were hauled on. I squinted into the distance and didn’t see the end of the wheat field. The house, over to the left, was big. I wondered how many kids the Laskeys had and whether we would meet them.

Jiichan steered the tractor and grain cart off the trailer. Then the Parkers had to attach the headers to the front of the combines. The headers, as I mentioned, were the rotating parts of the combines that actually cut the wheat.

John Deere support trucks always followed the harvest because different custom harvesting companies would all be in about the same part of the country at the same time. The support trucks were full of combine parts and manned with John Deere mechanics who could come and help you with your combine if there was a problem. Usually, you didn’t need an expert because most harvest crews had a good mechanic on hand. In our case, the best mechanic was Mr. Parker. But if something electrical broke down, you needed a John Deere guy.

I watched Mr. Dark and Mr. McCoy get into two semis and Mr. Parker into a pickup. They roared off back to Kansas to get the rest of the machinery. Poor guys—they’d be driving practically eighteen hours by the time they were done. Then two of the combines and the grain cart headed for the field. It all sounded like an airplane taking off.

When the noise subsided, Mrs. Parker, looking worried, approached us. “You should probably find a grocery store right away, so you can make the crew sandwiches.” She handed a stack of binders to Obaachan. “I’ve planned out the meals for the entire season, complete with recipes, like always. It took me a long time, so please follow the meal plans to a T.” She started to walk away, then turned around again. “Why don’t you make them tuna sandwiches for lunch? Just remember that my husband isn’t fond of too much mayonnaise. He likes mayonnaise, but not too much of it.” She gave a little laugh. “Of course, he won’t be having lunch today since he left, but I’m reminding you for the future.”

She stood for a moment, frowning some more. “On second thought, why don’t you make chicken salad sandwiches? I have tuna casserole on the menu for next week, so we don’t want to bombard everyone with tuna, and I have tuna again for sandwiches on day twelve.” She still couldn’t bring herself to turn around and leave. “Always use wheat bread. I don’t know why they still manufacture white bread... .” Her voice trailed off. She bit at a thumbnail. “And get ice for the cooler, since the refrigerators are in the other camper. You can put any extra food in the cooler—it’s a big one. Get enough to make sandwiches for dinner, too.” She handed just two twenties to Obaachan.

“She has a photographic memory,” said a voice behind me. I turned around and found myself face-to-face with Robbie. OMG. He was talking not to Obaachan but to me. “She has the menus for the entire season in her head. I think we should save her brain when she dies to compare it to Einstein’s.”

“Wow,” I said. That wasn’t the most brilliant thing to say, so I added, “That’s amazing.” That still didn’t seem very brilliant, so I came up with, “I mean, it’s really cool. Einstein.” That was the best I could do for now.

“Robbie doesn’t like it because I never forget a thing,” Mrs. Parker said with a laugh. “Isn’t that true, hon?” She looked at him with what could only be called overwhelming love.

“It makes you hard to argue with,” he said. But he smiled, and she smiled. I could probably count on two hands the times Obaachan and I had smiled at each other, and those times only happened when we were watching her favorite TV show, America’s Funniest Home Videos. I think watching people fall down and barrel into trees was her most favorite thing to do in the world.

Mrs. Parker and Robbie walked off together to the combine she was driving. Mr. Laskey headed toward his house. There was nobody left to tell us where a grocery store might be.

After I went to the bathroom and Obaachan’s aspirin kicked in, she, Jaz, Thunder, and I got back into the pickup. Obaachan made a slow, wide U-turn, and once again we were bumping along the dirt road. “Which way should we head?” I asked. “I didn’t see a store on the highway.”

“Errrr.”

If I’d been with my parents, I knew I wouldn’t have to participate in finding a store. They would take care of it. But with Obaachan, who could say what would happen? Then out of nowhere the thought popped into my head: I should have used the word “impressive,” as in “It’s really impressive that your mother has a photographic memory.” I made a mental note to say that to Robbie some other time.

“Is there map in glove compartment?” Obaachan asked. Jaz began going through the glove compartment. He turned over each slip of paper and read it for a moment, as if that were the only way to determine if it was a map.

“Just a map of the whole country,” he finally said.

Obaachan drove to the highway and kept going until we got to a gas station. Then she pulled up and turned to me. “Go ask where grocery store is, Miss Talk So Good.”

I got out and walked into the station. There were a few candy bars and drinks for sale, but there was no mini-mart like in many gas stations. The attendant was sitting on a stool behind the counter. “Hi,” I said.

“Hello, young lady.”

“Can you tell me where the closest grocery store is?”

“What are you looking for?”

I paused. “A grocery store,” I repeated.

“I mean, what do you need to buy?”

“Bread, canned chicken, lettuce, tomatoes, and mayonnaise.”

“Sounds like you want to make a sandwich.” He lazily spun his stool around until he was facing me again.

“Yes, sandwiches.”

The man asked, “Do you need any drinks to go with those sandwiches?”

“Yes, drinks.”

He gestured grandly to where the drinks were in a small refrigerator.

I hesitated before turning and walking out and up to the driver’s-seat window. “He wants to know if I need to buy any drinks. They have Coke and stuff.”

“He tell you where grocery store is?” Obaachan asked.

“No, I think he wants me to buy drinks.”

“How much drinks cost in there?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Obaachan looked worried. “What if drinks here too expensive and we no have enough money for food? Get in seat.” She restarted the engine as I got in.

We drove to a small restaurant, but it was closed, maybe forever. It wasn’t boarded up, but it just had that aura of something that was closed forever. Farther down the highway, more glass windows in what used to be stores were boarded up. I remembered learning in school that some small towns in the Great Plains were closing up as children grew older and moved to the cities.

We drove all the way to the grain elevator about ten miles away.

“I go this time,” Obaachan said. She got out and was gone for what seemed like hours. I started timing her after a while. Thirty minutes passed. The sweat dripped down my forehead, getting DEET into my eyes. They instantly started tearing up, the sting was so bad.