1
Jenna
“I spend enough money on school for you that it won't kill you to do this for me. Besides, it's not like that degree will take you anywhere. Fashion is dead, Jenna, unless you plan on designing clothes for dolls. It's time to make yourself useful for once. . .”
My step-father's words repeat in my head as the plane glides through the air. It's a short flight, a little over an hour, but it's the quickest way to get there and back home before dinner tomorrow night.
I'll only miss two classes. It isn't the end of the world. My teachers gave me the notes early so I won't be behind. Flipping through the pages, I take out my notebook and start trying to sketch a useable croquis.
My pencil moves around the paper, the human form taking shape. My dream is to have a line of my own. I love dresses, especially wedding dresses. I can spend all day staring at Pnina Tornai dresses and never get bored.
The wheels hit the tarmac, and instantly the wooded view makes me sick. I already miss the skyscrapers, the bustling streets, and the smells of all the different foods wafting from restaurants. It's an overload to the senses in every way, and I love it.
New York City is my home; it's where I'm meant to be. Not this place; not anymore. I'm not the same girl I was when I left this small rundown town. I don't fit. I know I'm going to stand out like a sore thumb.
I hope no one recognizes me. Troy should be here doing this, not me.
It irks me that my step-father is forcing me to do this. But I want to be helpful, I want him to see that I'm willing to help our family. He's done so much for me over the years, what choice do I have?
It'll be fine. I'll just get this hick farmer to sign over his land once and for all, then I'll be gone. I'll never have to set foot in this place again.
I don't plan on staying any longer than I need to. I've got a big fat check that would make anyone sign over the deed instantly. It's like they hit the lottery and they don't even know it.
They can't say no this time.
According to Troy, he's tried several times to buy them out, but it never worked. He's annoyed with them already, and has too much on his plate to even bother right now. Instead, he sends me with a check that can let this farmer retire and live an easy life.
Grabbing my small carry-on, I exit the plane and head right to the car rental hub. Everything's already been set up for me, all I have to do is get the keys and head right to the farm.
I want this done as soon as possible. The sooner it's over, the sooner I can leave. Tossing my bag into the back, I drive the forty minutes to Pittsfield. Taking the exit, it looks the same, but different, if that makes any sense.
There are remnants of my childhood mixed with open lots and modern updates. Market Square is still here, but the little strip that used to have a coffee shop, a pet store, and an ice cream parlor is empty. The little oasis I can picture in my mind is nothing more than run-down buildings with a few places that were able to hang on.
Just get to the farm and get this over with.
I leave the center of town. The farm I'm going to is a place I know well. My step-father didn't tell me the name at first, not until after I agreed.
Jamison's Farm.
I almost couldn't breathe when he said it, but it's a place he's wanted for years and just hasn't been able to come to an agreement with Mr. Jamison. Nothing was ever good enough. It wasn't enough back then, it wasn't six years ago, or even two years ago.
But I'll make it good enough today.
This time my step-father is going all out. It's the largest offer he's ever given for a plot of land. He wants this bad, and today I'm giving it to him.
Mr. Jamison is getting too old to keep this up. I know this offer will be enough to put pen to paper.
The sign comes into view. It's worn, cracking, the words are almost unreadable. The apples painted on the wood are faded to a pinkish white, and the vegetables painted on have all bled together to create one giant blob.
My tires spit as I turn into the sand parking lot. Parking, I sit in my car for a few minutes trying to gather myself. The second I turned in I was hit with a rush of memories. Too many to count and focus on. It's overwhelming.