PLOT TWIST by GILLYLEE RATED FRC

Running a business takes a lot of time and effort, but Jeff Tracy never forgot he'd also had to raise a family.

With all my thanks to SamW for her help.

Every time Jeff Tracy managed to come home early enough to have dinner with his sons and mother he knew he'd made the right decisions after his wife died. Leaving the World Space Agency to start a company of his own, Tracy Aerospace, so he wouldn't be away from home for so long. And, instead of disrupting his sons' lives even more than they had already been by sending them to his mother in Kansas, he had asked her to come and live with them here in Houston. Of course Kansas would probably have been a better place for the children to grow up, but Jeff needed to be close to where his future customers were.

This evening eleven-year-old Scott had news for his father and grandmother.

"Miss McCloskey told us that we could go farming and grow vegetables and stuff like that. We're supposed to go there once a week and someone will be there to tell us what to do."

"Now, I like that idea," said Margaret Tracy to her eldest grandson.

"Will you get machines like Grandpa had?" asked Virgil, fascinated.

"No, we're going to get garden tools, it's just a small piece of land," said Scott.

"Oh," said Virgil, who immediately lost all interest.

"Can I go, Dad?" asked Scott. "Almost everyone does. Only, Miss McCloskey said it was an extracurry, an extracurricul, an..."

"Extracurricular activity," prompted Jeff.

"An extracur-ri-cu-lar activity, and you or Grandma were to take me."

"Is there a set day for you to go there?" asked Margaret.

"Thursdays."

Margaret and Jeff looked at each other.

"Thursdays is all right for me," she said. "I guess it will be me who will do the most of the taking and the fetching." Jeff smiled ruefully. Tracy Aerospace did take much of his time, more than he had expected.

"So can I go?" asked Scott.

"Sure, son. If you want to do it, it's fine," said Jeff.

"Great! Thanks, Dad!"

Three months later Jeff, his thoughts still with the meeting he had had that afternoon with the bank, absent-mindedly returned Scott's wave as the boy walked over to the school garden plot. Turning the car around, he hoped the traffic would allow him to get back to the office quick enough to get rid of some paperwork before he had to return and fetch Scott. Another glance in Scott's direction and Jeff suddenly noticed the sizeable gap between his son's shoes and trouser legs. "Our eldest is growing tall, Luce," Jeff said, looking at his rear-view mirror. "He's going to..."

Scott abruptly stopped and stood stock-still; his shoulders slumping forward. Jeff watched as he took off his cap and ran his hand through his hair. Something in his son's stance took Jeff back to his own youth. 'Just like Dad,' he thought. 'He's just like Dad. Dad used to do that too, when something went wrong on the farm.' Suddenly worried, he stopped the car, grabbed his hat and got out. Walking over to Scott, he asked, "What's the matter, son?"

"So many weeds. Look at all the weeds, Dad."

Jeff looked at the ten foot long and wide piece of 'land' that was his son's assignment. "Impressive," he said. "Is that your harvest for a week?"

"Two weeks, Dad. I couldn't come here last week," said Scott. "Grandma needed me to babysit Gordie and Al. But Dad, look at all the weeds! I can't believe they grew so much in just two weeks."

"Well," said Jeff, "pick up your hoe and start working. The quicker you get started, the quicker you'll finish."

"Yes," said Scott. His eyes blinked rapidly for a moment. Then, clenching his jaw, he picked up his hand hoe and went to work.

Jeff walked to his car, turning once more to look at his son, when the sight of Scott's determined stance made him hesitate. He looked at his watch, then at Scott, then at his car and then back at Scott again. "Oh, what the hell!" he muttered. He ripped off his tie, putting it in his trouser pocket. Then he flipped out his pocketknife and knelt down. He ran his hand through a dense clump of weeds, spreading them till he saw some onions between them. 'All right, those I recognize,' he thought.

Scott felt the shadow of his father fall across him and looked up in surprise. "Giving you a hand, son," muttered Jeff. A broad smile lit up Scott's face. 'He has your smile, Luce,' his father thought.

Half an hour later they had already filled a bucket with weeds. Scott took it over to the compost pile at the back of the place. He passed one of his classmates and stopped to greet her. His father saw them talk and laugh and then Scott picked up her bucket and with a sudden swagger in his steps, walked on. Jeff looked at the freckled blonde and stifled a laugh. 'Our eldest has discovered girls, Luce,' he thought. 'I wonder how soon he'll realize why they're so interesting.'

Father and son worked doggedly on under the hot sun, till finally they had dug up every single weed. While Scott was emptying the last bucket of weeds on the compost pile, Jeff stood, admiring the result of their efforts. The place was now almost deserted.

"Ah, Dad," Scott said as he returned, his voice hesitant.

Jeff turned; saw the look of dismay on his face. "What's the matter, son?"

"Ah, Dad, this is row seven, plot five..."

"Uh-huh, and...?" Jeff glanced down at the dry dirt that clung to his trousers and shoes.

"This isn't my garden."

"What?" He had Jeff's full attention now.

"Mine is row five, plot seven." Scott pointed at a piece of land that was only lightly sprinkled with weeds. "That's my plot, Dad!" His shoulders were slumped again.

Jeff grinned. "Just like a Tracy, son. One smile from a pretty girl and you can't remember which plot is yours."

"Why didn't Marcie tell me I was in the wrong plot? I helped her." Scott sounded distinctly wounded.

Jeff slipped his arm around his eldest's shoulders. "Sometimes, son," he said, "sometimes that's just the way it is with girls."

Scott sighed wearily. He fished a dog-eared piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. "Row seven, plot five...row seven, plot five...here it is. Oh!"

Jeff glanced down at him. "What?"

Scott was smiling now. "This is Rick Laramie's plot. He's been really ill, so he hasn't been able to come to class for a while. We all sent him a get well card last week."

"Well, I suppose now we know why there were so many weeds," Jeff said.

Scott nodded. "It's okay, though. I can catch up with mine next week - after this it will be a breeze. But when Rick comes back at least he won't have to start from the beginning again."

Jeff was impressed. "That's a great attitude, son."

Scott grinned up at him. "I guess it's true what Grandma always says, Dad. It's got to be a really ill wind to blow nobody any good."

He started off toward the car. Jeff paused for a moment, watching him go, thinking about all that their family had endured in the last two years, and what a miracle it was that they had all survived it so well. Hoping that Grandma's words would come true in more ways than just this simple happy accident over a kid's class project.

'You'd be so proud of him, Luce,' he thought to himself as he began to follow Scott. 'You'd be so proud of all of them.'