Come Hell or High Water | mxm

4.3

4.3

The overcast sky had been low and heavy all day, but as Sam's little silver car grit down the last few kilometres of familiar gravel road, the gloom was finally beginning to break up. Cool blue peeped through as cottony clouds gradually drifted apart. Shafts of treacly late-afternoon sunlight pierced between feather-edged gaps to illuminate ripe golden fields, turning crop dust to glitter in the air. Sam watched the clearing sky with a small smile on his lips.

Wind blew strong and steady, rippling endless waves through an ocean of tasselled wheat. The lowering sun edged free of cloying cloud cover to ignite a world brushed in the warm palette of autumn. Branches creaked as Sam turned down the long gravel drive, its re-graded surface no longer rattling his teeth in his skull.

Except for the old rusty blue pickup, the yard was empty. All useful farm equipment was stored tidily away in the quonset and the last of the inoperable vehicles had finally gone for scrap; fallen leaves were raked into the neat compost pile; flower beds below the windows lay blanketed in compost and manure, ready for winter; sagging eavestroughs had finally been replaced with sturdy new ones that stood out clean and white against crisp blue and green paint.

The wind sighed in the trees. Across the wilting yellow grass, the door to the greenhouse stood ajar. When Sam slammed his car door, frantic barking echoed between steamy glass walls. Through the open doorway Quip came bounding, her claws skidding briefly as she crossed the crooked stone path in front of the house.

Sam squatted down and gave her a brief, vigorous scratch behind the ears. She slobbered adoringly against his arms. Behind her emerged Gord, brown hair tousled, a woven basket heaped with gleaming lemons tucked under one arm. He smiled fondly at Sam and Quip as he eased the greenhouse door shut.

Straightening, Sam shouldered his duffel bag and crossed the yard. At the bottom of the path, he met up with Gord and they shared a gentle kiss.

"Happy birthday, Gord," Sam said, smiling softly.

Gord smiled back, teeth white against his trim dark beard. "Happy six months sober, Sam. C'mon inside, dinner's nearly ready."

"Sorry I'm late," Sam said apologetically as he followed Gord up the path. "I meant to leave earlier but I wanted to get my application off today, and my mom insisted on reading it over before I submitted it. I feel like I'm a teenager applying for my undergrad again." He laughed.

"So yer really doin' it?" Gord asked, kicking off his shoes inside the door. "Goin' back to school?"

Quip trotted ahead; from the kitchen doorway, she looked back with doleful eyes, shaggy tail waving slowly to encourage them to follow.

Dropping his bag by his feet, Sam perched on the stool to unlace his shoes. "Yes," he said, giving Gord a huge grin. "I hope. Early admissions don't start until the end of the year, so it's just a matter of waiting now."

"You'll get in," Gord said warmly; when Sam stood he pulled him in with his free arm and kissed him thoroughly until Sam turned away laughing.

As they made their way down the hall to the kitchen, Sam said dryly, "You've got more confidence than me. This master's in sustainable energy development is a really competitive program, especially with so many industry professionals out of work right now."

Thumping his basket onto the counter, Gord chuckled. "Yer sharp as a tack, they'd be crazy not to take you. Mind takin' care o' the lemonade here?"

Obligingly, Sam found a jug and began washing the lemons. "I hope you're right. This administrative work I'm doing right now is a nightmare. It makes me feel a lot of sympathy for all the admins I've dealt with over the years."