by Jodi Picoult
�Wait!� I call down from the bedroom window. �Don�t leave without me!� Joley, who�s standing outside with Hadley and Rebecca, waves-he�s heard. I run past the mirror, tucking a stray hair behind my ear, and head for the stairs.
As I am going down I pass Sam going up. He grunts at me. I don�t make much of an attempt to acknowledge him, either. I can feel my whole face turning red.
�Where are we going today?� I say, stepping onto the bright brick patio that overlooks the orchard.
Joley smiles when he sees me. �Not too far. I�ve got to go into Boston with Sam this afternoon to meet a produce buyer.� He�s wearing a shirt I sent him last year for Christmas-Polo, with wide rugby stripes in plum and orange. It�s faded, which makes me happy: he must have liked it. �How�d you sleep?�
�Fabulously,� I say, and I�m not lying. This is the second night we�ve stayed in the Big House, and for the second night I�ve been fast asleep by the time I hit the pillow. Part of it might be all the time we�ve been spending in the sun, letting summer catch us off guard. But part of it also has to do with the bed itself: a double fourposter with a feather mattress and an eiderdown quilt.
Hadley is showing Rebecca how to twist the stem of a cattail around its furry head, and then pop the head off, a projectile. He hits me on the leg. Rebecca thinks this is just delightful. �Oh, show me again,� she says. I walk towards them, a moving target.
�She made me do it, I swear,� Hadley shields his eyes from the sun.
I like him. I did right off the bat, but part of that was due to the contrast between Hadley and Sam. Hadley�s simple: what you see is what you get. And he�s been awfully nice to Rebecca. Since we�ve come to the orchard, he�s adopted her. She follows him like a puppy, watching him prune trees or do bud grafting things or even chop wood. Every time I�ve seen Hadley recently, I�ve seen Rebecca.
Rebecca wraps the stem of the cattail, with Hadley�s help. �Now just put your fingers in the loop,� he says, gently moving her hand, �and pull.� She bites down on her lower lip as she does it. The head of the reed shoots over my head and lands on Joley.
Joley moves towards us, his hands buried in the pockets of his shorts. �So where are we headed today, crew?�
�We could take them into town,� Hadley suggests. �We could take them to the supermarket so they can see where our apples end up.�
�That sounds like a thrill a minute,� Joley says.
�Don�t feel you have to entertain me,� I say. �I�m happy just hanging around here. If you two have things to do we can occupy ourselves.� I spent all of yesterday with Joley, trailing him from tree to tree as he worked. He said there was no reason he couldn�t graft and talk at the same time. We talked about the places I�d seen en route to Massachusetts. We talked about Mama and Daddy. I told him what Rebecca�s grades were last spring; what Oliver had been planning to do off the coast of South America. And in return he taught me the names of the apples grown at Hansen�s. He showed me how you can take a young budding branch and make it become part of a tree that has been dying. He showed me trees that have survived this process and trees that haven�t.
It is so good to be with him. Just standing at his side reminds me how empty it is when he isn�t around. I really believe that we can think directly into each other�s minds. Many times when we are together, we don�t bother to talk at all, and then when one of us does begin to speak, we realize we have both been wallowing in the same sharp memory.
Joley and Hadley are talking about what�s going on this afternoon at the orchard. It turns out Hadley will be busy too, as acting supervisor when Sam�s gone. I assume, though, like Joley, he�ll offer to take Rebecca along with him while he works. They both look at each other, and then they say simultaneously, �Ice cream.�
�Ice cream?� Rebecca says. �What about it?�
�We should definitely take them to Buttrick�s,� Hadley says, �no question about it. They have Holsteins penned up in the field, the ones whose milk they use for the ice cream.�
�It�s only eleven.� I haven�t even had breakfast.
�That�s all right,� Joley says. �They open at ten.�
�I don�t know.�
Joley grabs my hand and starts pulling me towards the blue pickup truck in the driveway. �Stop being such a mother. Live a little.�
Hadley offers me the passenger seat in the cab, saying he can ride in the flatbed with Rebecca. Joley turns over the ignition and just as he shifts into reverse, Hadley leaps off the truck. �Wait a second,� he yells, and he runs into the garage. He comes back with two bright striped folding beach chairs, and tosses them to Rebecca.
I peer through the tiny window in the cab and watch Hadley set up the chair for Rebecca. With a grand sweeping stately gesture, he helps her into it. She�s laughing; I haven�t seen her so happy in a long time. �He�s a nice guy.�
�Hadley?� Joley says, backing up the hill and turning the truck around. He looks in the rear view mirror, presumably to check what�s going on in the back of the truck. Rebecca�s chair, which is sliding, crashes her into Hadley�s chair, and she lands awkwardly, splayed across his lap. �He is nice. I just hope for everyone�s sake he isn�t being too nice.�
I check through that dusty little window, but it all seems innocent. Hadley, laughing, helps Rebecca back in her chair, and shows her how to anchor herself by holding on to the sides of the truck. �She�s just a kid.�
�Speaking of kids,� he says, �or for that matter, their parents- you never did tell me what your game plan is here.�
I fiddle with the glove compartment, opening it and then lockingit and then opening it again. There�s nothing in there but a map of Maine and a bottle opener. �What game plan? I thought we were on vacation.�
Joley looks at me out of the corner of his eye. �Sure, Jane. Whatever you say.�
I find myself slouching down in the passenger seat and putting my feet up on the dashboard, the very thing I tell Rebecca not to do. We pull up to a stop light, and I can hear Hadley�s and Rebecca�s voices carrying. �Eighty-two bottles of beer on the wall,� they sing.
Joley glances at me. �I won�t bring it up anymore. But sooner or later-probably sooner-Oliver is going to show up at the orchard and demand an explanation. I�m not sure you�ve really got one, yet, either. And I�m positive you won�t know what to say when he orders you to get back in the car and go home with him.�
�I know exactly what I�m going to say,� I announce, to my own surprise. �I�m going to tell him no.�
Joley slams on the brakes and I hear the thump of two chairs against the back wall of the cab. Rebecca says, Ow. �You�ve got a little girl back there who doesn�t know what�s going on in your head. Do you think it�s fair to waltz her out of her home and then spring on her the surprise that she�s not going back? Or that she�s not going to live with her father? Have you asked her what she thinks about all this?�
�In not so many words,� I say. �What would you do?�
Joley looks at me. �That�s not the issue. I know what you should do. Don�t get me wrong: I love having you here, and I can be all selfish about that, but you don�t belong in Massachusetts now. You should be back in San Diego, sitting at your kitchen table with Oliver, talking about what went wrong.�
�My brother the romantic,� I say dryly.
�The pragmatist,� Joley corrects. �I think fifteen years is a lot of time to chalk up to a mistake.�
Hadley informs Joley he�s just missed the turn. Joley backs up into a dirt driveway and turns the truck around. �Promise me you�ll think about it. Even if good ol� Oliver is standing on the porch when we get back, you won�t open your mouth until you hear what he has to say.�
�Hear what he has to say. Jesus, Joley, I�ve been doing that for a lifetime. When do I get to talk? When is it my turn?�
Joley smiles. �Let me tell you something I�ve learned from Sam.�
�Do you have to?�
�He�s a hell of a businessman. He�s not a man of many words, and just because of that he creates a presence for himself. He forces whomever he�s up against to do the speaking, to ta
lk in circles. And the whole time he just sits there and listens. It gives the appearance of absolute knowledge, of total control. I mean, I know Sam pretty well, so I can see that sometimes he�s scared shitless. But that�s not the point. The point is, he knows how to turn that to his advantage. He waits, and he absorbs the whole situation, and he�s so quiet that when he does open his mouth, you can be damn sure the whole world is listening.�
I loll my head against the side of the seat belt. �Thank you for sharing that tidbit of advice with me.�
�Pretend it has nothing to do with Sam,� Joley says, grinning. �It�s valuable, in spite of what you think of him.�
Before I know it we are speeding across a gravel area, kicking up a storm of dust. BUTTRICK�S, the hand-painted sign reads. The building is shaped like a T. A line of girls in yellow checked dairy outfits are waiting, pen and pad in hand, to take orders. On the roof, above the sign, is a big plastic cow.
�You like the cow?� Hadley says to Rebecca, helping her out of the truck.
She nods. �I�ve never seen anything like it.�
Hadley leads her over to a split-rail fence, with an extra layer of barbed wire running above the top rail. It encloses a large grassy meadow dotted with Holsteins. It looks like they have been arranged by a photographer, really. �This place reminds me of New Hampshire,� Hadley says. �That�s where my mom lives now.�
He hops over the fence, which almost grabs the attention of the lazy cows. One actually turns its head. He holds his hand out to Rebecca and helps her climb over the barbed wire so that she is in the field too. �When are you going to be back?� I ask my brother.
�Dinnertime,� Joley says, �with all the traffic.�
Hadley takes Rebecca by the hand and leads her up to a placid cow. It is sitting, its knees folded up underneath. Rebecca, guided by Hadley�s hand, holds her fingers out to the cow, which starts to lick them. Rebecca laughs and steps back. �You get many of these in San Diego?� he asks.
Rebecca shakes her head. �What do you think?�
�They have four stomachs. I don�t know what they do with each one, though.�
�Four stomachs,� Rebecca says, awed. �Wow.�
Hadley takes a step back; you can tell he isn�t used to being revered as an expert on much of anything. �And you can�t keep them in the same field as sheep, because the sheep eat the grass too low and then the cows can�t wrap their tongues around it to rip it up.� He is visibly enjoying this. �They only have one set of teeth, the bottom.� For a girl who never cared about livestock, Rebecca is hanging on his every word.
�They have this ear language,� Hadley says, even more animated. �Two ears back is happy, two ears forward is mad. One forward and one back means, �What�s up?�� Hadley laughs. �If you lived here,� he says, dropping his voice a little, �if you lived here for real I�d get you a calf.� He holds Rebecca with his eyes for a few seconds, and then he turns away.
�I�d like that,� Rebecca says. �A calf. I�d call it Sparky.�
Hadley, who has been walking in a circle, stops in his tracks. �No kidding,� he says, his mouth dropping open. �I had a cow named Sparky as a kid.�
He stares at Rebecca with such curiosity she looks down at her hands. �So what are the spots for?� she asks, shy.
�Camouflage.�
�Really?� Rebecca traces the side of the cow, a blotch in the shape of a teapot.
�Actually, they never draft cows to the front line. Just bulls.� He waits until Rebecca laughs with him. Then he leans closer and whispers something to Rebecca I can�t hear.
Whatever it is, it gets Rebecca running. She steals a look at Hadley and then starts to chase him around the field, leaping over some of the rocks and dodging the cows, which have been frightened into standing. �Is this dangerous?� I ask.
�They move quicker than the cows,� Joley says. �I wouldn�t worry.�
It�s a game of tag. Hadley overcomes Rebecca-after all, he�s got much longer legs. He tosses her into the air. Rebecca, out of breath, tries to pull Hadley�s hair, beats her fists against his shoulders. �Put me down!� she yells, laughing. �I said, put me down!�
�He�s good with kids,� Joley says, finishing his cone.
Rebecca stops fighting Hadley so that he�s holding her in the air, his hands caught under her armpits, like a ballerina and her partner. Rebecca�s arms go limp and Hadley slowly lowers her down to the ground. Rebecca stops laughing. Hadley turns away from her. He rubs the back of his neck. Then he motions towards me and starts to walk back. �Wait!� Rebecca cries, running after him. Hadley doesn�t answer. �Wait for me!�
In the afternoon, when everyone is gone, I spend time walking around this rolling stretch of land and thinking about Oliver. It�s remarkably hot out; too hot really, to be outside, but there�s even less to do inside the Big House than there is to do out of it. The orchard is boring without Joley around; I haven�t seen Rebecca since we�ve come back from Buttrick�s, and I�m not about to spend time with the field hands. So I take off my shoes and walk around the land that borders the lake.
I start to think about Oliver only because my skirt is singing his name. With each step it swishes back and forth, catching in the air like a nursery rhyme: Ol-i-ver Jones. Ol-i-ver Jones.
What is the rule, anyway? Can two people change so much in fifteen years that a marriage can be past the point of no return? What is it called in divorce cases-irreconcilable differences. I wouldn�t say we have that. Sometimes, it�s true, Oliver can look at me and make me think I�m back on the pier at Woods Hole, watching him waist-deep in the water, arms covered in mud, tenderly holding a quahog. Sometimes when I look at Oliver, I can fall into those pale aqua eyes. But the truth is those times are few and far between. The truth is that when I do feel like that, I�m actually surprised.
Suddenly I realize Rebecca�s standing in front of me. I put my arm through her arm. �You can feel the heat just hanging here, can�t you,� I say. �It�s enough to make you want to go back to California.�
She�s knotted her T-shirt into a halter top and rolled the sleeves, and she�s still got a line of sweat running down her chest and her back. She�s braided her hair to get it out of her face, and wrapped it with a dandelion�s stem.
�Not much to do here, is there. I was off with Hadley but he�s ignoring me today.� She shrugs, as if she doesn�t really care-of course, I know better. I saw what happened at the ice cream place: Rebecca got too close, and Hadley, respectably, stepped back. She�s crazy about Hadley; a summer crush. And like Joley said, he�s good with her; brushing her off with an excuse about work hurts much less than saying she�s just a kid. Rebecca purses her lips. �He�s acting like a big shot with Sam gone.�
Sam. �Oh, please,� I say, hoping the story of this morning�s escapades in the bathroom will cheer up Rebecca.
Rebecca�s face lights up. �Did he see you?�
�Of course he saw me.�
Rebecca shakes her head and leans closer, staring at me knowingly. �No,� she says, �did he see you?�
At least I�ve piqued her interest. �How should I know? And why should I care?�
She goes on to tell me the same old blah-blah story I�ve heard from Joley already: how Sam is God�s gift to business, how he built up this orchard from nothing, how he�s the exemplary benchmark of success for the community. I�m sure she can tell I�m not listening. So she tries to grab my attention. �Why do you and Sam hate each other so much? You don�t know him well enough for that.�
I laugh, but it comes out a snort. �Oh yes I do. Sam and I grew up with these stereotypes, you know?� I tell her about what Newton girls thought of the guys at Minuteman Tech-how absolutely wrapped up they were in their vocational schooling, when we all knew the value of a truly good education. �There�s no denying that Sam Hansen is an intelligent man,� I tell her, �but don�t you think he could do better than this?� I gesture with my arm, but when I really start to look at what I�m pointing to I stop. Even I have to admit it is lovely, spattered with the colors of the season. It may not be for me, but that doesn�t mean it isn�t worth something.
>
Rebecca starts to pick at the grass. �I don�t think that�s why you hate Sam. My theory is you hate him because he�s so unbelievably happy.�
I listen to her go on and on about simpler things in life, and achieving all your goals, and then I raise my eyebrows. �Thank you Dr. Freud.� I tell her that I�m not here because of Sam, anyway; I�m here because of Joley.
That�s when she catches me off guard: she asks me what we are going to do next. I hem and I haw, telling her that we�ll just stay a while until we come to some decisions, and then she rolls up on one elbow. �In other words,� she says, �you have absolutely no idea.�
I lean towards her. �What is this all about, Rebecca? Do you miss your father?� She is the one thing I haven�t really considered when it comes to Oliver and me. Where does she fit in?-half me, half him. �You can tell me if you do,� I say. �He is your father. It�s natural.� I try to remain as nonjudgmental as I can, for her sake.
Rebecca looks up at the sky. �I don�t miss Daddy,� she says. �I don�t.� Then the tears start to roll down her face. I pull her closer and hold her to me. That�s when I remember her the day we left California. She was the one who was sitting in the car. She was the one who had packed a bag. Long before I had realized I was trying to leave, she�d been planning.
At some point when I was growing up I realized that I had no love left for my father. It was as if each time he hit me, or came into my room at night, he�d draw a little of it out of me, like blood.
It didn�t hurt to feel nothing for him. I assumed, as I grew up, that he had done this to himself. I had to become desensitized; if I had continued to feel as strongly as I had when I was little, I would have surely died that first time he came to my room.
I can tell from Rebecca�s face, and even from the temperature of her skin, that she is thinking about what it means to love your father, and whether or not he is worth it. Because once you get to that point, I am not sure you can return.
�Sssh,� I say, cradling her head. I�d do anything to keep her from having to get there. I�d go back to Oliver. I�d make myself love him.
In the distance a Jeep drives up. I can just see it, a dot far off by the barn. I see Joley get out of the car; the other person I know must be Sam. Even from this far away, my eyes connect with Sam�s. Although I cannot tell what is going through his mind, I find myself trapped, entirely unable to turn away.
52 SAM
For the past two days, I�ve had a headache. Not a normal headache, either- but one that starts back by my ears and works its way across my eyes, over the bridge of my nose. I�ve never had a headache this bad, not in twentyfive years. Which makes me believe it�s all on account of Jane Jones.
This morning I walked in on her in the shower, and she took it all the wrong way. I had an appointment to get to, and when I�m running late and Joley or Hadley is showering, they don�t care much if I come in and do my business. Maybe I�m just not used to having ladies in the house. But anyway, this one happens to keep getting underfoot.
