The Return Page 7

  Mila’s mini-rant came to a stop just as Phillip finished his paperwork and slid it across the top of the desk toward his lovely new landlord. He forced himself to a point of calm. “I guess I’ll have to figure that out when and if it happens. And since I’m officially on the hook, I want you to know one more thing.” He focused on full lips, pressed a bit taut by tension, but touched by a tempting shimmer of pink gloss. He could imagine the softness—the sweet taste—the give and take of a supple kiss. “I’m here, rock-solid, to see after the people I care about.” He focused on her eyes. “All of them.”

  ~*~

  “I appreciate your time, Mr. Thomas. Thanks for seeing me.”

  “My pleasure, Phillip.”

  A handshake ensued. Phillip followed Byron into his office at the back of Thomas’s Grocery and settled in for their meeting. An appealingly musty, aged atmosphere permeated the space, an atmosphere that spoke of history. Over a century’s worth of Antioch citizens had wandered the floorboards; in that time, the establishment had weathered more than its share of culture change and shifts in the patterns of the world. Nonetheless, for Phillip, it remained a cozy, welcome constant.

  “Must admit, I’ve been curious, and I’ve wanted to touch base ever since you returned to Antioch. Never seemed a comfortable time or place to do so, though.”

  “Until now.”

  “Now indeed.”

  They shared grins and Phillip studied the man from across the expanse of Byron’s dark-wood desk. “I’m happy to have the chance to talk, and catch up.”

  “Which I’m sure is only part of the reason for our meeting today.”

  “You’ve always been astute. Sure, I have questions and thoughts about the harvest to come. You and your company are the starting point for Antioch’s farm families. From there, we stretch out to the local wholesalers, then the regional distributors. That’s all well and good, but rather than saying the buck stops here, I’m inclined say the buck starts here.” Phillip gestured wide to encompass the Thomas mercantile.

  Byron nodded, his regard one of visible respect, and shifted more comfortably into his chair. He was a tall man, muscular, but a touch angular. Sharp green eyes promptly reflected his emotions, along with a keen intellect. Not many fast-balls flew by this man. He was smart, and Mom and Pop had always said Byron possessed depth of heart. As far as Phillip was concerned, that depth of heart was sometimes at odds with the reality of money making and corporate survival.

  Survival. Security through business. Phillip could relate to the man.

  “Mr. Thomas—”

  “Phillip, by now I think you’re entitled to call me Byron.”

  OK, that was a nice gesture. Phillip softened—and accepted—but inwardly remained on guard. “Old habits, and my childhood, die hard, Byron. Thank you for leveling matters.”

  “No problem, and understood.”

  “The thing is, my family has given the first fruits of every harvest to your store and the people of this community. During the depths of the harvest season, when my family gathered at table for dinner, or when my brothers and I helped work the fields, I always heard my father tell us to show thanks by returning our blessings, and giving to those around us. That’s why, every year, he opens his fields to those who are less fortunate. He’s never asked for much, or tried to price gouge, or beg for more than he felt was due. For better or worse, from a business standpoint, he always makes sure he feeds his neighbors first. That’s how he’s always operated and always will. Again, for better or worse.”

  “Nothing wrong with generosity, Phillip.”

  “Correct, and mark my words, I admire and support his commitment. But it’s killing him, Byron. Slow, but sure.” Phillip hadn’t meant to reveal such vulnerability. He pulled in an enriching breath and straightened, going steady, sure of purpose. “I’m counting on you for a return of that generosity. He needs a break. He needs rest. He needs the kind of leeway he’s given to others all his life.”

  “In what way can I help? Surely you’re not asking for special treatment.”

  “Not at all. However, I’d appreciate the mutual, and timely exchange of market information and growth opportunities that can benefit not just you, but Antioch’s farming community as a whole. I’ve been learning fast, and learning a lot. I want to help you by being transparent and above board about what our farm can provide. Meanwhile, you’re privy to information that can benefit everyone, and this year has been brutal. I saw that plain when I reviewed my family’s revenue statistics. Since I’m sure you’d agree that mutual survival is in everyone’s best interests, what I’m here to ask for is continued openness. I’ll be handling negotiations for our family this season, and I think you and I can form a determined—relentless—synergy. We need to team up and push for the best prices, the best relay of product, that we can. Not just for us, but for the other farm families as well.”

  “With that, I’d caution you by saying you’re preaching to the choir. I’ve never been anything but above board.”

  The elder man’s tone edged toward bristling. Antagonizing Byron Thomas wasn’t Phillip’s goal, but a frank discussion was the only way to navigate the tricky financial waters to come. “That’s very true, as well as appreciated.”

  “I’m a business man, but never—ever—mistake my business interests for a lack of caring, or engaged behavior within my community.”

  “I know that, and I’m saying all of this only because I want to be clear and direct. I want to lift an annual weight from my dad’s shoulders. In so doing, maybe a beneficial road can be paved for you, and for the farming families counting as always on a sustaining harvest. We have one of the bigger farms in the area, so we know our production influences the bottom line for you as a broker. We want to work with you, and I assure you, we want everyone to come out on the successful end of this year’s harvest.”

  Silence held sway, a holding pattern of sorts, after which Phillip continued. “We need to find a way through, Byron. Excess rain and maggot infestations at the start of the season—a drought at the end—we need to work together. And, believe me, I’ll do whatever it takes. Everything that’s been poured into our fields for generations isn’t going to die. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Interesting you use that term.”

  “Which?”

  “Our fields. As in yours.”

  “Yes, mine. The farm may not be my passion, like it is for Ben, or Aaron, or most especially my mother and father, but make no mistake. Those acres of soybeans are part of who I am. They’re part of my family—my legacy. Just like your businesses are to you and yours. Right?” Into his mind dawned the image of Mila, with her straightforward sweetness, her unencumbered faith, those big, dark eyes and that fall of hair that went on forever.

  “Right, and fair enough. I’ll work with you side-by-side as market data comes to life. That’s a promise. Now, tell me about your return.” Byron arched a brow. His scrutiny intensified and his lips quirked into a form of knowing that stopped Phillip short. “More specifically, talk to me about whatever designs you might have on my girl, Mila.”

  Formidable and strong-spirited, Byron Thomas hadn’t gotten to where he was in their tight-knit community by burying his head in the sand, nor by being ill-informed. Therefore, Phillip wasn’t unprepared for the line of questioning. “You pull no punches. I respect that.”

  “Return the favor and we’ll have that in common.”

  Touché. Phillip nodded. “We’ve enjoyed spending time together, getting reacquainted. Seems to be no secret there.”

  “And?”

  “And, for now, I reserve comment and expectation. Although, I promise, if that changes, you’ll be the second to know.”

  “The second?”

  Phillip nodded. “With all due respect, sir, Mila should be, and will be, the first.”

  ~*~

  Rejuvenation and a sense of purpose chased Phillip’s heels clear across town. What did he have to lose? If Byron was keen enough to detect
nuance, it was past time to move forward. Phillip wanted to test those deep, azure waters that rippled between him and Mila—state his case, so to speak. Charged by adrenaline, pumped by the idea of working proactively with the town’s largest merchant to help the farm and his family, Phillip stormed the figurative gates of Sundae Afternoon, ready, now, to take on the matters of his heart. He caught Mila’s eye right away, and a rush of warmth crested fast and hard. Somehow, mysteriously, they attuned to one another. Amazing.

  He parked on a stool at the front counter and braced his feet on the metal rail, twisting from side to side just a bit while he watched Mila engage her customers. She was as sweet as sunshine, dispensing smiles, winks, laughter and a pat on the shoulder. She loved working the front of the shop as much as she loved ciphering profits and expenses. Such an interesting blend of left brain/right brain. And he wanted to know more.

  “What’s your pleasure today, Mr. Fisher?”

  “Been looking at her, actually.” As expected, the reference to his blatant regard caused her to go still, and sharpen her focus on him. Beautiful eyes. Just beautiful.

  “Well, aren’t you just turning on the charm today.”

  Phillip didn’t look away, not even for a second. “Have dinner with me, Mila. Somewhere out of town, somewhere that’s just for us. Fort Wayne isn’t too far. We could have a nice evening together.”

  She peered at him, pulling an oblong bowl from the stacked stash beneath the counter. She started to craft a banana split he knew without saying would be to die for. “You trying to get me to knock a few bucks off your monthly rent or something?”

  Phillip laughed hard. “I’m shocked you hold my motives in such low esteem. C’mon. I’m serious. I want to date you. I want to share dinners, and movies, and walks, and maybe even the occasional visit to Zeffman’s pond before the air turns cold.” To his delight, her cheeks went pink.

  “You’re wily as a fox, Phillip Fisher.”

  “I am?”

  “You are. In fact, it might be one of your defining characteristics.”

  “You sassing me?”

  “Mm-hmm. Not to mention keeping a list.”

  “You have a list? About me? That’s cool. My ego thanks you. A lot.”

  She smirked at him. Gave her hair a toss. “Don’t let that ego inflate too far. Only half of it is complimentary.”

  “No problem. I’ll help you fix that error. How about the rest?”

  “The rest is…shall we say…up for exploration.”

  “Then let’s give it a go.” He slid his hand over hers, soft and gentle, keeping her from dolloping whipped cream on top of the confection. “Seriously.”

  She nipped that full, plump lower lip and stared at him, visibly considering. “Couldn’t hurt.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  “Not yet, but I might be willing to learn.”

  Hope took off like a rocket through his chest. This unexpected attraction and relationship development knocked him for a loop, but Mila called to him. “That’s all I ask. I’ll pick a spot in the Fort. What’s your favorite kind of food?”

  “Fort Wayne, eh?” Her eyes sparkled, her lips curved. Anticipation rolled off her, pushing toward him, encouraging him. “You are on a mission.”

  “You’ve always been perceptive, Mila. Smart, too.” He used a thumb to caress the back of her hand. “Let’s get together Saturday night. I’ll pick you up at five. Leave the restaurant to me. That way, it’ll be a surprise for you.” Phillip stood to leave.

  “Like most everything else these days.”

  She winked, and his knees about gave way.

  “Tell me about it.”

  8

  In the end, like everything else about Phillip’s return, he took Mila by surprise. He didn’t opt for Italian, or French, or even the whimsy of Mexican or Oriental fare for their dinner date. Rather, he stuck to the basics of her life…of their lives…and opted for meat and potatoes of the highest standard at Baker Street Steakhouse.

  With a warm, guiding hand settled against the small of her back, Phillip led the way to a corner table for two lit by candles, covered by supple linens and decorated by sparkling china and crystal.

  “Very nicely done, Phillip. I appreciate this.”

  “And I’m glad you approve.”

  “How could I not? This spot is perfect.”

  He wore a gray silk suit, a deep blue tie. His shoulders were wide, strong, and she could sense now, in his sureness of self and understated confidence, the ways he might command a boardroom—or any set of circumstances.

  The idea of his family, of his return—and its tenure—the myriad ways he fought for his family’s livelihood, gave her significant pause while they were seated by a hostess. Phillip held her chair, tucking her carefully into place.

  He took his seat across, admiration flashing through his eyes. “Green lace becomes you.”

  “I was just thinking we both clean up pretty well.”

  “We do at that.”

  Girlish pleasure coursed the length of her arms, tingling, raising goose flesh. She spread a napkin across her lap. Short sleeves, a long, double-wound strand of pearls, black leather heels—Mila considered her ensemble, thinking she didn’t fuss over her appearance very often. The spark in Phillip’s gaze made her glad she extended the effort, especially since he had greeted her at the front door of her home bearing a handful of tissue paper wrapped daisies in vibrant shades of yellow, orange, and white.

  “I can’t get over the changes in you, Phillip.”

  “The fact that I showered, or the fact that I’m in a suit?”

  “It was kind of a tossup. Then, the tie and pocket square came into play. That duo tipped the scales for me.” Following a moment of shared laughter, Mila tried to continue, but they were interrupted by the arrival of their waitress. With Mila’s enthusiastic approval, Phillip placed an order for spinach artichoke dip with crackers as an appetizer. He was in no rush. That fact danced feather strokes against her senses. “Jokes aside, what I was trying to say is that I admire your change of heart, and your ability to see matters here in Antioch through a clearer lens. With an appreciative spirit, and a lot less fear.”

  Phillip’s expression turned somber. “Well…when you get your knees chopped, you learn to roll with the punches. I thought I could somehow make myself immune to strife. Joke was on me, eh?”

  He had yet to unfold his dinner napkin. When he picked restlessly at a corner of the fabric, Mila reached out to cover his hand. “You needed to grow up, just as we all do. No shame there. Sometimes life smacks us over the head to accomplish the task.”

  Phillip shrugged, not meeting her eyes.

  “The smack, the chop at the knees, isn’t the end of the story. Another thing? It’s sure not the whole story. It’s only a chapter.”

  Phillip looked into her eyes so long—so hard—she drew up short. All at once his shoulders sagged, as though relieved of a tremendous weight. “Lord above, but you’re easy on me, Mila.” He heaved a breath. “And for that, I’m grateful.”

  His earnest tone, his vulnerability, cut her to the quick. She floundered, but not for long. “I like where you’re at now. You’ve become what I caught glimpses of as we grew up—a good guy with solid character and a lot more love to share than he ever let on.”

  “Have you been talking to my Pop?”

  She chuckled. “No, why?”

  “Because you sound just like him.”

  She brightened even further. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” The repartee dimmed when he stilled and focused on a spot just over her shoulder. “All the same, Pop had a heart attack that nearly killed him and I was cavalier about how it would affect the family. I came home for a few days, I sat at his bedside, but in all that time, while I checked my e-mail, scrambled for coverage at work, tried to execute deals, I didn’t absorb the deeper meaning of what was happening. I was too busy building that safety net of mine to pay close attention to t
he struggles he faced, and the way it drained him, and my mom. My brothers mopped clean up while I lived large in the big city. Serves me right for falling so hard, and so fast.”

  “A valid point, but as I said, it’s just a paragraph.”

  “I should have been there.”

  “Phillip, you’re here now. You’re working hard to do everything in your power to get matters back on track. The rest will come…in time.”

  “If I can build a strong set of projections, craft a business plan that’ll align those projections into a solid set of—”

  “Phillip, you’re looking at the situation all wrong.” Mila halted his litany. “Farming…the lay of the land…the vibrations of the earth…are governed by God. They have nothing at all to do with crop reports, agriculture journals, or any kind of ancient almanac. Farming is about the way the soil regenerates. It’s about the way nourishment is fostered, acknowledged, and tended to. Seeds coming to life, pushing for soil, and sunlight. Farming can’t be read, or calculated, or quantified. There’s too much of God’s hand, and mystery in the process.” Mila went quiet, considering her diatribe. After all, such intangibles were most likely the reasons why Phillip had left the family business, and placed his family firmly in his rearview mirror.

  “True enough,” Phillip answered at last. “My failure to recognize that truth doesn’t taste too good right now.”

  “Then keep pressing on.”

  In a sudden, unexpected way, his gaze latched onto hers. “Know what I did, first thing after returning home? I gauged the fields. I dug my hands into the dirt and come up…dry.” A visible blanket of shame seemed to fall across him, further darkening his mood. Then, just as fast, hope arose, sparking light to his eyes. “Mila, it shocks me, now, to realize everything I left behind. Everything I turned my back on.”

  “And?”

  “And now? Now what I want most to do is preserve, protect, and defend.”

  “Have you let your dad know that? Have you made that intention clear to him? To your family?”