“We were very sorry to hear of your father’s passing,” my mom said. “How is your mother holding up?”
“I, uh—she’s making it,” the Dixon said and cleared his throat. “Keeping herself busy to take her mind off things.”
“We dropped off some food,” my dad began. “We didn’t try to see her or any of you.”
“We weren’t sure it was appropriate,” Mamá took over, her voice lowering when she added, “Considering . . .”
“Considering,” the Dixon echoed and then gave a little laugh. “Jesus. I don’t even . . . I don’t know where to begin. I can’t believe you even let me in your house.”
He mumbled things too low for me to hear, and I chanced a peek around the wall, studying him long enough to ascertain it was, in fact, Hunter.
Scrubbing his hands over his face again and again. His hair cut short with a military fade.
“The ranch and orchard,” he went on, “all of it is mine now.” He nodded to himself, but he looked sickened by the fact he’d shared. “It took me a few days, probably because I’ve just been in shock, but I finally realized no one was showing up. The crew . . . everyone was gone.”
My parents shared a look before my mom suddenly found her pants fascinating.
“That’s when my mom said a lot of y’all had left.” Hunter gave another faint nod before his head quickly shook. “None of y’alls numbers were in my dad’s cell, so I started going through his office, trying to find a way to contact anyone. And that’s when I found his financial reports. The payroll book. Everything.”
My dad sat back and folded his arms over his chest, staring at Hunter without a hint of emotion.
“I’m sorry.” Hunter pressed a hand to his chest before letting it fall. “Your family, the rest of the crew, y’all are our family. You didn’t deserve to be treated that way. Mr. Estrada, you’ve been there since before I was born. From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry for what my dad did. But I’m not my father, and I need help. I can’t do this alone, and I can’t lose that orchard. What can I do to get you back?”
Hunter’s eyes widened a fraction, making him look all kinds of lost and worried when my parents started softly speaking in Spanish to each other.
Their hushed back-and-forth about how my dad had sworn he would never go back to Dixon Farms after enduring what he had for years—but how this could be different . . . then again, it might end up being the same—didn’t last more than a minute. But Hunter looked more worried than before by the time they finished.
“Grocers aren’t going to buy from you,” my dad eventually said.
“I’ve learned that too,” Hunter said. “My dad was going to get out of selling—I realize why now, obviously. I think I need to continue with his plan, though. Open up peach picking to the public, see how that goes. Try to repair the relationships with the grocers in case a few seasons of that prove unsuccessful.”
My dad nodded for a while as my mom leaned toward him and murmured, “You miss it,” in Spanish.
“Your plan,” my dad began, “I think it’s a wise one. As you said, I was in that orchard for a long time. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to help you see this through.”
Relief flooded from Hunter, but I was already storming in there, biting out my thoughts in Spanish so he wouldn’t be able to understand me.
“No, no. Papá, you can’t. You can’t trust him not to do the exact same thing his piece-of-shit father already did to you and the others.”
“Isabel,” my mother said, softly gasping as she looked at me in warning.
“You finally found another great job, don’t blow it for a family who thinks they’re above paying their employees.” I slanted a glare at Hunter. “Don’t throw it away for someone who won’t care about you either.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Hunter said softly.
“More or less,” I said in English, “fuck you.”
“Isabel,” my dad snapped.
I jolted and took a step away, my head lowered only a fraction but my hardened stare remained on Hunter.
He blinked slowly, looking like he couldn’t figure out if he was more surprised at my outburst or at seeing me.
“I’m so sorry for my daughter’s inappropriate behavior. Please forgive her and me,” my dad said. “She has had a very difficult year.”
“Haven’t we all,” Hunter said slowly. But it didn’t sound like he was dismissing my dad’s explanation, just adding his own grief in understanding.
As if his dad’s death would ever compare to what I’d been through.
“I will be there in the morn—”
“Papá,” I began, but the hard look my dad sent my way silenced me.
“First thing,” he said after making sure I wasn’t going to continue, then turned to look at Hunter. “I’ll see you first thing. I should warn you, it won’t be easy convincing the others to come back.”
“I understand.” Hunter stood, looking overwhelmingly grateful. “Thank you. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“He deserves more,” I cut in and ignored my parents’ reprimands. “They all will.”
“I’ll do everything I can to make sure your father knows how important he is to me and that orchard.”
My head moved in quick jerks. “Ten percent.”
The room went silent.
I wasn’t sure my parents were breathing.
Hunter Dixon was watching me as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what I meant. After a few moments, his head slanted to the side and he asked, “Of what?”
“Your dad gave one percent raises every year.” I lifted a hand to the side to keep my parents from trying to stop me. But when I glanced their way, they were utterly still, shock covering both their faces. “These walls are paper-thin, you think I haven’t heard y’alls conversations?”
Looking back at Hunter, I lifted my chin to look him in the eye even though I was sure he was a foot taller than me. “If you’ve seen those books, then you know that roughly four years ago, your dad stopped giving raises. He also started cutting their pay by more than one percent every year, saying illegals should be grateful to have a job at all.”
Shame and remorse flickered across Hunter’s features before he scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Just because we speak a second language doesn’t mean we aren’t citizens. My parents were born here.”
“I know,” Hunter said softly, but his voice remained steady as he accepted what I threw at him.
“If you want my dad to come back to work for you, then you’ll offer him what he was making four years ago. Plus a ten percent raise. Same with every other crew member.”
Hunter studied me as he thought, never once taking his eyes off of mine. “Why ten?”
“Because Dixon Farms has a stain on it, and he’s risking too much by coming back. They deserve more.”
After another minute, he said, “Ten percent then.” He turned to my parents and shook their hands as he said goodbyes, then faced me again. “Isabel.”