And for the first time, he wondered whether the company had been using his resentment toward Daniel Mercer to hide its own intentions.
On August eighteenth, Eli harvested his first watermelon.
He had been checking it for days.
The tendril nearest the fruit had dried.
The underside had developed a creamy field spot.
And the fruit had stopped growing as quickly as before.
He knew those signs weren't perfect proof of ripeness, but they suggested it might be ready.
Sarah stood beside him.
Ms. Alvarez had come after school to see the garden.
Nora also visited briefly during a scheduled field check.
Eli carefully separated the watermelon from the vine.
Then lifted it with both hands.
It was heavier than he expected.
Dark green.
Round.
And beautifully striped.
For a moment, he simply stared.
Sarah covered her mouth.
“Oh, Eli.”
The boy grinned.
“I did it.”
Ms. Alvarez smiled.
“Let's weigh it.”
They carried the fruit to the barn scale.
Eli watched the indicator settle.
Then looked up.
Twenty-eight pounds.
Not a world record.
Not an impossible fruit.
But far larger than anyone expected from the drought-stricken garden.
Eli stared at the number.
Then laughed.
Sarah began crying.
He looked toward her.
“Mom?”
She shook her head.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she wiped her face.
“Your grandfather would've loved this.”
Eli looked toward the watermelon.
For a moment, his smile faltered.
He imagined Daniel standing beside the scale.
Arms folded.
Hat tipped backward.
A peppermint candy hidden in his shirt pocket.
He could almost hear him.
Well, son, now we've got something worth measuring.
Eli swallowed.
Then whispered, “I wish he was here.”
Sarah held him.
“I know.”
They cut the watermelon that evening.
The flesh was bright red.
Sweet.
And full of seeds.
Eli saved some of the seeds for future trials, noting that a single successful fruit didn't guarantee the next generation would behave exactly the same way.
They ate slices on the porch.
Juice ran down Eli's chin.
Sarah laughed.