Watermelon Summer by Anna Hess Read Free Book Online Page B

complete, I wandered outside to see if I
could help Arvil in the garden.  Blueberry bushes arching over my
head were dripping with fruits in all stages of ripeness, and my host
soon set me to work plucking.  A considerable number of berries
ended up in my stomach, but it still didn't take long to fill my bucket
with a gallon of the ripest fruits, at which point we moved on to
weeding a nearly immaculate vegetable patch.
     
    "We didn't really talk about your father," Arvil said
after a while, when the sun and earth had begun to fill my mind with
the pure silence I usually only achieve after a long hike.  But I
wasn't sorry to be interrupted from my reverie, though I was relishing
the peace.  Thinking about my bio-dad was one of the reasons I
hadn't been able to fall asleep this afternoon, so it was good to get my
worries out into the open.
     
    "You said he'd be okay?" I asked tentatively, not
really sure what answer I wanted.  "Is there a way for me to go see
him in the hospital?"
     
    "I'd be glad to take you there anytime you want—I'm
going to visit him soon anyway," Arvil answered, "But I don't
recommend that you come.  Glen can be a bit vain, and I suspect
he'd rather meet you under better circumstances.  He wants to make a
good impression."
     
    I thought of all the crazy notes scattered around
Greensun and almost laughed, but I just hummed noncommittally
instead.  "Okay, I'll wait then, if you think that's the best thing
to do.  If you're going to go see him, though, maybe I could send a
card along with you?"
     
    "Sure," Arvil answered, and we moved from one topic
to another at the same time we moved from the squashes to the tomato
patch.  "Are you thinking of planting a garden while you're here?"
Arvil asked me, about the way Mom asks me if I plan to do my homework—the correct answer is always yes.
     
    I admitted that I'd never grown anything to eat but
thought I might try it.  I didn't add that I was enthralled by the complex
beauty of Arvil's garden and was blown away by the flavor of everything
I'd tasted here so far.  Staying for supper and breakfast was
starting to feel like one of my wisest moves to date.  But, "Do you
think I've got enough time to grow anything before the summer ends?" I
queried.
     
    Arvil did, indeed, think I had enough time. 
Especially if I started with some tomato stems that had drooped to the
ground and rooted—"They should be blooming in a week or two," he
promised—and seeds from the crookneck squash he'd selected as being
the most resistant to the wily squash vine-borer.  Swiss chard
would soon give me leafy greens, and how about some of these ultra-fast
hybrid cucumbers?
     
    Before I knew it, we were back inside, filling
homemade seed packets with this and that, my head once again over-full,
but this time with instructions on planting and days to maturity. 
Arvil also filled a basket with ripe produce for me to take home the
next day, just to tide me over.
     
    "I shouldn't accept all this!" I exclaimed, wanting
the delicious, brilliantly colored food, but not knowing what I could
give Arvil in exchange.  The seeds, especially, seemed like a
fascinating project but also a major gamble.  After all, "I really
might be leaving in early August," I warned him as the bounty began to
overfill my pockets.  "I don't want to waste your seeds."
     
    "Don't worry, I have plenty," Arvil answered. 
That did, indeed, seem to be the case.  It also seemed like my
neighbor had loaded up his seed box primarily from his own garden, and
he soon explained that he'd be harvesting more seeds shortly to refill
his coffers.  "If you want to pay me back, you can come weed
another day and listen to my stories.  You know I love an
audience."
     
    I smiled—being an audience, at least, was
something I did well, even though I had seemed barely more than a
hindrance