Chapter 5

Feed The People. Feed Your Soul.

We swing through Jack in the Box so Jimmy can grab a burger.
I haven’t been to a Jack in the Box since high school,
which feels like a different lifetime ago.
As we pull into the parking lot, it all comes rushing back.
Bath And Bodyworks perfume.
Dashboard speakers rattling with rap.
Fries dipped in ranch.
Bouncing between cars until the cops showed up
to remind us of the sign clearly posted in the lot:
NO LOITERING.

Then we’d pile into whoever’s car had gas,
chase the night down dark empty roads,
and always end up back at The Ponds.

Jimmy glances over.

“Want anything?”

I shake my head.
But then, grease wafts through the air into the truck.
I change my mind.

“Okay, fries and a vanilla shake.”

We wait at the window.

Jimmy chuckles.

“Who orders a vanilla shake?”

I take it from him like it’s sacred.

“People with taste.”

We follow the map to the northwest corner of town, near Wine and Roses.
What was once a quaint little bed and breakfast when I was a kid
has become a renowned boutique hotel and spa,
and destination for lavish weddings and events.
My parents and I would come every Christmas for dinner and live music. Twinkle lights in the trees,
carols echoing under the archways.
The grounds were beautiful.
A place I could’ve imagined getting married, too.
Were it not in LowDie.

Jimmy drives past Wine and Roses to the overgrown lot across the street.
I look at the map.
This is where the first line stops.

I half expect to see something obvious.
A marker, a monument, a sign that says,
“Here it is! The first flow point.”
Mystery solved.
But all that stands at the far edge of the property
is a dry well and a bronze plaque set in stone.

Jimmy walks ahead of me.
The breeze lifts his shirt slightly.
The air smells fresh, like rose petals and dirt.

The well is discreet.
Ringed with weeds.
Dried leaves gather in the cracks.
Stones stacked high over a deep hole
covered with a grate so no one can fall in.
It looks forgotten.
Useless.
The plaque reads:

"And I will give you shepherds after My own heart,
who will feed you with knowledge and understanding." —Jeremiah 3:15

Beneath it, in smaller print:

Towne Corner, est. 1902.
Dedicated to Burton Augustus Towne and the founding families of Lodi.

Jimmy asks for the printed map, and lays it across the stone ledge of the well.

"One of the lines starts here. You can see it if you match the tree line."

I lean over his shoulder.

"And? We found it. Now what?"

He taps the plaque.

"Maybe we do what it says. Feed the sheep."

I look around.

"Jimmy, there are no sheep."

He half-smiles.

"In the Bible, sheep means people. Feed the hungry. Care for the ones who get overlooked."

The words don’t feel overly spiritual or religious.
They feel right.
Like a hint dropped in plain sight.

"What if we clean this place up? Set up a table. Bring food. Just… do what the plaque says. At worst, we do something good for the community. At best, we reverse a curse and set me free!" I tease with a smile.

Jimmy’s giving me that look again.
The one that makes me feel like he sees more than I’m trying to show.
He nods.

"Let’s do it. I can call the vineyard crew, see if I can get a few of the guys out here. They owe me a favor. But we’re in the middle of prepping for harvest, we couldn’t do anything until Saturday morning.”

“That will give us time to collect food. Maybe get some donations from local businesses?”

“Couldn’t hurt to ask,” Jimmy agrees. “I know a lot of the grocery store managers out here too, I’ll make a few calls, see if they can pitch in for good measure with the community.”

I lean over the well and look inside again
as Jimmy heads back to the truck.
It feels eerily like looking into a mirror.
Deep.
Empty.
A hot mess.
I jump into the truck with Jimmy
and start making a list of ‘to-dos’ in my phone
as he drives me back to my car.

I spend the next four days trying to focus on my research paper,
but my mind drifts often.
To the map.
The well.
Jimmy.
My attorney has officially filed divorce papers.
To no surprise, He who wants to save his public image
filed an hour before me.

I make a bunch of phone calls to local businesses.
Wine and Roses contributes boxes of fresh produce,
extra wine crates for display tables.
Local charities want to send volunteers and donations.
Canned goods.
Jugs of water.
I find a sweet rhythm between
dealing with the baggage of the life I’ve left behind,
and rallying onward to do something good in the days ahead.
Something stirs in me that feels alive.
Something like purpose.

The food drive comes together quickly.
I’m surprised how much I enjoy being at the center of it.
Jimmy even gets us a blurb in the Lodi News-Sentinel.
He’s family friends with the editor.

Between legal phone calls,
my ill attempt at networking for job openings,
and navigating the quiet waters of an empty house with Dad,
the rest of the week passes quickly.

Before I know it, it’s Saturday morning.

I arrive to the corner lot early, just as the sun rises.
Jimmy’s crew rolls in with weed trimmers, rakes, gloves.
The brush is thick with years of neglect,
but the crew tackles it swiftly like a well-oiled machine.

By noon, the corner looks different.
Not perfect, but open.
Visible.
Like something’s been invited to return.

Jimmy and I haul in groceries.
Bags of rice, canned soup, peanut butter, pasta.
We pile it all onto a makeshift table at the mouth of the well.
Local farmers drop off crates of cucumbers and tomatoes
after seeing the piece in the newspaper.

By two o’clock, people are showing up.
Walking. Biking.
Word spread.
Lodi isn’t big. It didn’t take long.
Local business owners are chatting with local farmers.
No one is rushing off.
Somehow, our little last-minute food drive
has turned into a communal gathering.

Cam zips into the parking lot, top down, music blaring.
She slides out and heads straight to the table,
tossing a flirty wave at one of the cleanup guys, who winks back.
Must be Caleb, the boyfriend she mentioned.

“What is this?" she asks, eyebrows raised.

"Food drive!”

I feel Jimmy’s eyes on me, lips curled in a faint smile.
It doesn’t escape Cam’s attention.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Bringing my boyfriend lunch,” she smiles, blowing an obnoxious kiss toward Caleb that makes him blush in front of the other guys.

“Okay, Miss ‘I hate Lodi’ what is this really?” she prods.

There’s too much traffic to stop and tell her
all about the fountain and the flow points
and the lost legend of Lodi.
Families are pulling in and unloading,
more than we have volunteers for.

“Tell you what - you help out, I’ll tell you the whole story.”

She stares a second, then shrugs.

"I’m in."

Cam jumps in and bags groceries.
Hands them off.
Chats with moms, seniors, kids.
She’s loud and magnetic.
A better host than me.

Something happens while we work:
I stop thinking about myself.
About failure.
Divorce.
My unfinished paper.
What’s next.
I remember why I started writing in the first place.
What I was in it for.
It wasn’t to win awards.
To grow a public platform.
Be invited to lavish parties.
It was to serve.
To illuminate.
To care.

It feels good.
Real.
Like while I’m helping to feed others,
I’m feeding something inside of me
that’s been starved for too long.

A two-man news crew shows up and asks for an interview.
Jimmy and I share a giddy grin.
In the midst of it all,
I love that I’m sharing this with my longtime friend.
These winks and wide-eyed grins,
surprised at what we could do together in such little time.
Jimmy insists I go on camera.
I refuse, but he won’t take no for an answer.
I swipe on lip gloss,
pinch my cheeks,
run my fingers through my hair.

When the reporter asks
what inspired the impromptu charity drive,
I consider briefly haunting the town
with the mysterious legend of a curse
that’s keeping them all trapped.
My final middle finger to the town
I’ve resented for so long.
But only half-heartedly.
I look up at Jimmy,
at the people,
and I find a deeper truth.

“At the end of the day, we should be looking out for one another,” I say. “We’re hitting hard times. And these generous local businesses and volunteers just wanted to show up and love on their neighbors. Make sure everyone has food to eat. Simple, really.”

I see Jimmy smiling at me from the corner of my eye.

The news crew takes off.
The day goes on until people trickle off.
The table is nearly empty.

Jimmy leans over.

“Should we check it?”

I know what he means.

The well is still dry.

Of course it is.

We laugh.
Neither of us really expected it to be full.
Still, the disappointment is strange.
We wait another beat, as if something might happen.

Nothing does.

We load up our cars and call it a day.
It’s later than I expected, and I promise Cam
I’ll fill her in on everything over coffee in the morning.
I want to get home to make roasted chicken for Dad.

As we leave, I find myself feeling
like a teenager again.
Maybe it’s being around Jimmy and Cam.
Maybe it’s Lodi.
Maybe it’s the mixed feelings of old and new
weaving something entirely different into my life.
An open and unknown road ahead.
Jimmy and I hug.
Longer than our usual hugs.

“Even if we didn’t reverse the curse,” Jimmy whispers into my ear, “you did something good here today. You should be proud.”

I pull back.
The setting sun catches gold flecks around the green of his eyes.
His words mean more to me than I could tell him.
“You too, Jimmy,” is all I can say.

The next morning, Cam and I grab coffee
at the Starbucks in the middle of town.
A familiar face takes my order.

“Jules! Good to see you!”

It’s Lexie.
She was on the newspaper team with me,
and while we were never the kind of friends
that hung out outside school,
we spent a lot of hours together
covering stories and pulling together weekly editions.

Another lost soul stuck in Lodi.

“Hey Lexie,” I smile.

She hands Cam her frozen cappuccino
with extra whipped cream,
and me my black coffee,
extra hot,
no room for cream or sugar.

“On the house,” she winks at me.

I take it, thankful for the gesture.

Cam and I sit outside on the little patio,
sunlight catching on chipped metal tables.
Morning traffic passes.
Tired moms zip in and out of the drive through
after school drop offs.
Cam sips her frozen coffee, eyeing me.
Waiting for the goods.
I tell her about Lodi.
The legend of the fountain.
The curse.
Her eyes are wide.

“I love it,” she says. “I’m in. Let’s go ghost hunting!”

I’ve always loved Cam’s bubbly enthusiasm for all things.

“So,” Cam says, sipping. “You and Jimmy, huh?”

I roll my eyes.

“There is no ‘you and Jimmy.’ He’s like my oldest friend.’”

She grins.

“Mhmm.”

Lexie joins us on her break.
We talk high school.
People we used to be.
Who stayed. Who left.
Lexie actually works for the Lodi News Sentinel.
Coffee is her part time gig.
Turns out, she’s writing a book on Lodi’s wine culture.
And for a second, I wonder -
maybe staying isn’t always the same as being stuck.

Cam leans in.

“We should all hang out. Have dinner tonight. Pietros?”

“Pietros is still around?!” I laugh.

Lexie nods.

“Still there. Still has margaritas the size of your face."

“Tonight,” Cam says. “You, me, Jimmy, Caleb, Lexie and her fiancé Duke. Jules you can tell everyone about the legend of Lodi.” Her voice oozes with spooky sarcasm.

I nod too fast.
My face flushes before I can stop it.
Cam notices and smirks.

“A triple date!” She squeals.

I shake my head and laugh.

“Not a date.”

I haven’t sat to chat about
nothing and everything with girlfriends in so long.
Deadlines
and meetings
and ambition
and estranged marriages
have a way of filling up your calendar.
But today, I’m hanging out with a couple of girls.
No agenda.
Just friendship.
And tonight, we’ll sit in a booth too small for six adults.
Share salsa and stories and see what unfolds.
I wonder if it’s an obvious ‘triple date.’
If Jimmy will even want to come.

Then, I stop wondering.
Because I’m here. Present.
I let wonder and worry blow away with the breeze
and sip my warm coffee.
And for the first time in a long time,
I’m actually enjoying this quiet moment in Lodi.
So much so that I almost ignore the buzz of my phone.

I glance at it on the table.
A text. From Jimmy.

Did you see the news?!

There’s a link. I click it.

Historic Dried-Up Well Near Wine & Roses Floods Street.

Continue to Chapter 6
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