“Ocean—” There was a warning in Yummy’s voice now.
The little girl subsided. “It smells like cigarettes,” she whispered to Phoenix.
“So what?”
“I bet the lady smokes cigarettes.”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
Ocean leaned forward. “Excuse me,” she said, tapping Cass on the shoulder. Cass glanced into the rearview as she put the car into reverse and backed out of the space.
“Do you smoke cigarettes?”
“Sometimes,” she answered the child in the mirror. “Not often.”
Ocean’s face grew severe. “You shouldn’t smoke cigarettes,” she said. “Ever.”
“I know.”
“But do you know why you shouldn’t?”
“Yes. I know.”
“Because cigarettes give you cancer, and then you die.”
“I know.” Cass pulled up to the exit. She unrolled her window and fed the parking ticket into the slot. Felt the machine tug the slip from her fingers. For a split second she always wanted to resist the machine, to see what would happen if she held on tighter, but she never did. She always released, and the candy-striped barrier arm flipped up and let them by.
“So how come you still smoke?” Ocean persisted.
“Because I’m stupid, that’s how come.”
“Oh.” The answer satisfied the child. She sat back next to her brother. “She says she’s stupid.”
“I heard,” Phoenix groaned. “You think I’m deaf? You’re the stupid buggah.”
“I am not!”
“She’s at that age,” Yummy apologized. “Righteous little fascist.”
Interstate 86 ran west from the Pocatello airport to Liberty Falls, away from the foothills, perfectly straight, perfectly flat, cutting through a landscape that lay covered by new snow. The moon broke reluctantly through receding clouds. It was warm in the car, and after a while the kids got tired of bickering and fell asleep. Yummy stared out the window at the bright, icy expanse.
“There’s nothing out there,” she breathed. “I’d completely forgotten. So big. So empty. Nothing growing.”
“It’s just winter. Things start growing in the spring.”
“I know. It just seems so dead now. But it’s not dead at all. At rest. Deep in the soil. It’s so peaceful. It’s never like this in Hawaii. Everything’s growing all the time—a regular hotbed of vegetative activity. But here . . .”
“It’s quiet, all right. Not much happens in winter. Aside from the storms.”
They drove on a bit, staring at the patch of black highway ahead, and the broken white lines, and the white snow swirling in the headlights. Then Cass started talking again.
“About your mom and dad . . .”
“Did you tell them I was coming?”
“No. I didn’t want to just in case—”
“I didn’t show up. Okay. So what about them?”
“Well, your dad, really.”
“I know. He’s dying.”
“Yes, well, it’s just that he . . . well, since it didn’t look like you were coming home and nobody knew where to find you, he went and sold his acreage.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. A couple of years ago.”
“How many acres were there?”
“Three thousand.”
“Wow. What about the house?”
“There’s a life-estate clause in the sale contract. They can live in it until . . .”
“Until they die.”
“Yes.”
“So who bought it?”
“Well, that’s just it, Yum. It was me and Will.”
“Oh.” There was a long pause. Cass glanced over at Yummy, who was looking out the window again.
“We’d been renting and farming it for years, but I was kind of worried that you might—” She hesitated.
“What?” inquired Yummy. “Be angry? Feel ripped off?”
“Well, yes. That you might have wanted the land after all.”
“Oh.” Again Yummy paused.
“Especially, well, seeing how you ended up in real estate . . .”
Yummy turned and looked at her. “Were you really worried?”
Cass felt her face grow hot. She kept her own eyes on the white line ahead.
“Because if you were really so worried,” Yummy continued, “why didn’t you try to find me? Before you bought it out from under me, you know?”
The close warmth of the car was suffocating. No air. Nowhere to go. No choice but to talk without too much thinking. Cass took a deep breath.
“Because I figured you’d run out on your parents and didn’t deserve anything from them. Because I’d been taking care of them and was the only one who cared. Because me and Will work hard and had some real tough times and deserve better.” Breathing hard, heart racing now, reckless, words tumbling over one another like spuds into a hopper. “Because it’s good farmland, and you don’t know shit about potatoes.”
It was quiet in the car, and then Yummy spoke, softly, staring straight ahead. “Noble Pilgrim, my people and I welcome you to our land. . . .” She shook her head and laughed. “I can’t believe I remembered that.” She turned to Cass. “Listen. You’re right. I don’t know shit about potatoes. At least not anymore. And Lloyd probably wouldn’t have left me the land in the first place. So I’m glad you have it, all right? Does that make you feel better?”
Cass nodded. She’d been clutching the wheel, shoulders risen up around her ears, and now she dropped them. “Thanks, Yummy. It does.”
“Good. We know your journey has been a hard one,” Yummy said solemnly. Cass started to laugh.
“I envied you, you know. I was always the potato.”
“Oh, poor Cassie!”
“Do you know what it was like, lying there, tied up in that darn burlap bag, trying not to sneeze?”
“Yeah, but look at you now! Like a beanpole. Anyway, all you vegetables got to do the Pageant of the Side Dishes, and I had to sit there and watch. There were so many of you it took forever.”
“It was our moment of glory! Yummy, do you know what it’s like to go through life as a side dish?”
“No.”
“I don’t suppose you do.”
yumi
A white index card, meticulously printed in thick black marker, was taped to the refrigerator. It said REFRIGERATOR. Another that said STOVE was taped to the stove. Over the SINK the sign was warped by splashed water. I could stand there all night identifying appliances, and the kids would