Summer at Orchard House: An utterly compelling and heart-warming summer romance (Blue Hills Book 1)

by Ellyn Oaksmith

  She waited for someone to say something, but they all found something terribly interesting on the linoleum floor. Carmen slid gracelessly into a hard chair, unable to avoid wincing in pain. She bent over to loosen the laces on her tennis shoes. It wouldn’t make any difference, but it gave her something to do. She sat up, waiting for someone to break the unbearable silence.

  “Well, this is awkward.”

  She was met by more silence. She crossed her arms, preparing to wait out whatever this was.

  Adella came over, kissing her on the head. “Bob’s got the kids.” When Carmen raised her eyebrows, Adella shrugged. “He’s trying to find a sitter. His boss Lorne offered up his eighty-five-year old mother. Can you imagine?” She shrugged. “Anyway, we’re waiting for Mike to come out and tell us the next steps. The APB is out all across the state and Idaho.”

  “Idaho?”

  Lola nodded. “It’s standard.”

  “Hey, what did you say to Evan? He seemed pretty upset,” Adella asked.

  Carmen’s eyes flashed. “I called him out on something and as usual, he blamed it on someone else. It’s a pattern with him.”

  Adella and Lola exchanged looks.

  “He said to get you off your feet,” Adella said. “He’s worried about your ankle.”

  “It seems like he really cares about you,” Lola said.

  “I know him better than both of you, and I can tell you the only thing Evan Hollister cares about is himself.” Even to herself, she sounded bitter. Nothing mattered when the most important person in the world was missing.

  Twenty-Six

  Wonderful Chaos

  Mike held the meeting in the conference room, temporarily vacated by the Forest Service people, who’d gone to find something to eat. He waited for everyone to be seated, removing his glasses to rub his red eyes. Clearly, the fire was taking its toll on everyone.

  Mike wanted a narrower timeline. Had anyone noticed breakfast dishes or a brewed pot of coffee that could be attributed to Juan? Had their father been at the house the night after the festival? Had anyone seen him before he went to sleep? Every little detail would help.

  Adella watched her sisters patiently answering Mike’s questions. They all knew that Papi needed more supervision. Their minds raced to the worst possible conclusions, blaming themselves for what they all should have known. Smoke always led to fires.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have better news. We’ve had every kind of call come in, but nothing about your father. The most likely scenario is that he’s with a friend, waiting out the fire, and his cell phone battery died. He’s probably not thinking contacting the police is the first step you’d take, so he isn’t taking any great measures at this point to get in touch. This happens more than you’d think. He might have been intending to get back by tonight and with the fire he just decided to stay hunkered down. This is likely. We’ve got people looking, getting the word out on social media. We can’t search door by door under these conditions, and also as you can imagine, our manpower is way down due to the fire. The best thing for you to do is go home and keep calling his friends. The more people who know the better. I’ll touch base with you later in the day but we’re going to have to call off the search when it gets dark.”

  Adella spoke for everyone. “What if we don’t find him by then? What if he’s out there on his own? Possibly disoriented?” Her eyes filled with tears.

  Mike nodded. “I understand. Believe me, I don’t like it either. I’ll call you later today and we’ll reconvene in the morning if we have to.”

  Paolo stood up. “He’s right.”

  The three sisters looked at one another. It didn’t look like they had any choice.

  Lola was crying. The sisters huddled in the reception area. Paolo and Stella waited discreetly by the door. Adella rubbed Lola’s back while Carmen clenched and unclenched her fist. “It feels wrong to go home. We can call people from the car. He would never give up looking for any one of us.”

  Adella shook her head. “No. But where else could we look? We’ve covered the town. Carmen and Evan drove all over the east side of the lake all the way up to Manson.”

  “Is there anyone else in the county that he’d check on?” Carmen asked. “Someone we haven’t thought of. I just don’t think he’d go that far.”

  Lola sniffed. “There’s that lady with the goats. She lives way out there by herself. Maybe he went out to see if she needed any help.”

  They all brightened at the thought.

  Adella nodded, patting Carmen on the back. “We’ll go there and then we’ll go home, make some more phone calls, update Facebook. Mike is right. We’d be wasting our time randomly driving around.”

  Carmen wiped her nose. “Okay.” Adella slipped an arm around her sister to help her limp out the door. “We should drop you at the house so you can get off your feet.”

  Carmen thought about arguing before realizing that her sister was right. Putting her swollen, throbbing ankle up to rest sounded wonderful.

  Half an hour later, she hobbled into the kitchen, switching on the lights. “Papi! Papi!” she yelled up the stairs, before opening the freezer to dig for an ice pack. Half-expecting to find her father asleep in the living room, she plopped down on the empty couch, thinking of all the times as a kid she complained about her noisy family, her singing father, her squabbling sisters. At this moment, she’d do anything to hear that kind of wonderful chaos.

  His living room was exactly sixty-five steps wide. He’d paced it enough times this afternoon to know exactly how many steps it took to cross from one side to the other. Evan was a counter. He knew exactly how many stairs were in every building he’d ever worked. How many steps it took from his parking spot at Microsoft to all three offices he’d worked in during his tenure. Someone told him once that counting was a way of framing the world down to size. Making sense of chaos. This was the most chaotic he’d felt in a long time.

  He thought of calling that idiot Jake and yelling at him, but decided it would be wasted breath. Jake was a college buddy who wasn’t someone he’d pick to be friends with now, but they’d been roommates freshman year and had been forever bonded by their mutual loathing of large crowds and love of Pop Tarts. Jake was the shaggy dog Evan couldn’t seem to shake. Except today, Jake had wreaked havoc that Evan didn’t think could be undone. It had come at a fragile time. Carmen would now always associate the search for her father with being called the crazy Latina. Nothing like being called a stereotype at the lowest point of your life. For turning a point of pride into a caricature.

  Thanks, Jake.

  Evan considered pouring himself a drink, but after filling the glass with ice, opted for water. There might be more he could do before night fell. The idea of the old man on his own was unsettling. Sure, he was a tough old buzzard, but nobody should be out of touch right now.

  Maybe he should walk around the Alvarez property one more time? Had they covered every inch of the field? What if Juan had gone out to check on the irrigation and succumbed to the smoke? It wasn’t a half-bad theory.

  Evan switched his flip-flops for tennis shoes, donning a baseball cap. Low flying bats scared him a little bit. He was always worried they’d hit his head. That, he thought, would make Carmen laugh.

  He’d have to stop thinking like this. Give up on Carmen. She’d given up on him.

  In the kitchen, he called Barry, patting the dog’s soft fur.

  “Come on, boy. Time to earn your keep.” He wished he had something that Juan had worn in case Jake could act as a search dog. He briefly entertained the idea of asking at the house, but thought better of it. He couldn’t face Carmen.

  Besides, Barry wouldn’t know what to do with a T-shirt except rip it to shreds. He was a rescue mutt, not a search dog.

  The walk through the fields wasn’t yielding anything, but both Evan and his dog needed the escape. The smell of the freshly watered leaves and loamy soil coursed through his system like a calming sedative. As the late afternoon
sun had slipped below the hills, streaking the smoky sky with deep pinks and vivid tangerine, Evan’s mind went back to earlier that day. He thought of what Carmen had said about him not belonging.

  What had he been wanting, moving here in the first place? Chelan was undoubtedly beautiful, but Washington State was bursting with beautiful locations. If he went back in his mind, Evan could recall one of the best family memories he had in Chelan. His parents had rented the same cabin a few years in a row. The place had golf carts that drove people down to the lake. There was a sandy beach where families camped out under umbrellas. Children played in the sand and splashed in the water. Red-faced adults blew up inflatables that were carried, with much hilarity, off the back of the golf carts at the end of the day. At night they’d reconvene, showered and fed, for bonfires with s’mores. There were loads of kids the same age to play with. The parents chatted, drank wine.

  Had he been trying to go back to those happy memories? To reconnect with the place he’d felt a part of a happy family? Evan turned down another row of grapevines, smiling at his pop psychology.

  Maybe he had.

  Maybe it was a mistake.

  Maybe he’d made too much of a mess of things with the neighbors. Truth be told, old man Alvarez was the person whose trust he’d really wanted to earn. When he’d met Carmen, his need to impress the old man had doubled. He stopped walking, shaking his head, looking across the lake.

  Where was Juan?

  The lake was shot through with color, reflecting the sunset. Those colors would leach from the sky as night fell with the old man still unaccounted for. He felt helpless, wracked by guilt that he’d aggressively pursued the business of a man suffering from Alzheimer’s.

  Movement, he decided, was the answer.

  As Evan walked across the packed dirt, he saw something ahead of him on the ground. A small piece of paper. A card. He picked it up and flipped it over. It was illustration of a saint holding up his hand, wearing red robes and a golden halo. Saint Xavier. He tried to read what it said, before realizing it was in Spanish. Probably one of the ladies in the prayer group had dropped it. He tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans before stopping cold.

  The prayer group.

  Why had no one thought of this before?

  It seemed so obvious. Had one of the girls already looked?

  Evan started running down the field, heading at first to Orchard House and then, changing his mind, to his home. Barry followed, deliriously happy that Evan was running, racing ahead like a puppy. Evan didn’t want to get the sisters’ hopes up. He’d go by himself.

  Dashing into his house to grab his keys, Evan noticed Barry panting beside him. He quickly filled the dog’s bowl. Barry lapped it greedily as Evan left, closing the kitchen door.

  A second later he reopened the door, looking at his hopeful dog. “Come on. Maybe we can do this together.”

  Man and dog climbed into the car and sped down the driveway into the thickening dusk.

  Twenty-Seven

  What Evan Found

  Adella and Lola found Crystal Huttinger in the narrow kitchen of her ancient Airstream trailer, drinking coffee. It helped her sleep, she said. She’d turned on the generator to power an old TV for a goat that was nestled onto a dog bed on the couch. Papi had insisted his little girls call Crystal “Mrs. Huttinger”. Behind Papi’s back, she’d always been the Goat Lady.

  “He likes PBS.” Crystal’s Airstream was on five rocky acres with a serene view of the lake, surrounded by flowering beds of hydrangeas and lavender. “Only flowers goats won’t eat,” Crystal had explained.

  The goat, named Spright, did seem to be watching TV. He was the sole casualty from the wildfire smoke and was inside recuperating from smoke inhalation and catching up on Downton Abbey reruns.

  “Your father was here,” said Crystal, nodding vigorously. “Early this morning. He helped me get the generator going. It’s old.” She laughed. “Everything around here is old, right Spright?”

  The goat kept his eyes on the TV, where Lady Mary was giving a suitor a dressing-down.

  Adella glanced out at the lake through the Airstream’s foggy windows at the dusky sky over the lake. “Did he say anything about where he might have been going?”

  Crystal shook her head. Her long gray braids snaked across her back. “No. He said they’d recommended people our age evacuating, so I assumed he was going home to pack up. I’m sorry he’s missing, but your dad is very resourceful. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” She seemed convinced, which made sense. Crystal, older than Juan by at least a decade, was used to getting by on her own.

  Adella smiled wanly. “Thank you. If you think of anything, I’ll write down my number.” She found a piece of paper by the landline.

  “I definitely will. Call me when you find him, would you? I’m going to worry about him until he makes it home.”

  Adella nodded. “We will.” The old woman’s certainty was reassuring. She didn’t have the same anxiety they did, but then again, Juan wasn’t her father. She lived way out here with nobody for company but a couple dozen goats. Glancing at the old goat curled up on the plaid couch, Adella thought maybe that wasn’t such a bad way to live. Goats had to be easier than children.

  The sisters walked across a rocky field to their truck, parked next to the weather-worn barn, listening to the soft bleating of the goats settling down for the night. Adella drove back to Orchard House in silence, hoping that by some miracle they’d open the door and find Papi, waiting to tell them how silly they were to be worried.

  Evan drove fast, wondering vaguely if there were any police around to give him a ticket. He was driving the Lamborghini. The hell with what people thought. The expensive car comforted him. The speed, the solidness, the way it hugged the curves of the lakeside road. He was a cop magnet in this flaming yellow car. It didn’t matter. He’d take the ticket if he could find the old man. It had become imperative that he be the one to find him. To be the hero. To rectify everything with Carmen. It could have been the fatigue messing with his brain, but it felt like his entire future in Chelan hinged on bringing back Juan. If anything bad happened, he’d feel guilty for the rest of his life, wondering if he’d made the old man feel incompetent as a businessman by trying to buy his land. He shut that particular line of thought off, thinking only of the road ahead. He found the sign he was looking for and headed up the hill, west of Main Street. The smoke had cleared to a thin layer, leaving Chelan looking hazy.

  The Lamborghini climbed the hill as he turned at a copse of trees. The houses here were older, smaller. Built when Chelan was primarily a farming town. Wooden bungalows with wraparound porches to capture the breeze. They’d been spared the fires of two years ago by a surprise change in winds. This was their second lease at life; the changing winds had once again granted them more time. The front yards were profuse with hollyhocks, lilacs and dinner plate-sized dahlias. Off to the sides, many of them had gardens. Evan thought if he stayed here, he’d put in a garden. Grow flowers himself instead of leaving it all to a landscaper. He laughed at himself, thinking of becoming the kind of man who grew flowers and talked about his zucchini. He could grow into that kind of man. His father hadn’t, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t.

  The longer he lived in Chelan, the more he wanted to become that man. Less ambitious, more in touch with the land. He’d learn about wine, instead of just using the vineyard as another form of competition. He’d spend time with Juan. Learn how to live.

  Juan.

  Evan reached the parking lot and jumped out of his car, letting Barry out of the back seat. “Find Juan!” he said pointedly, like he’d seen in movies. The dog looked at him plaintively, as if to say, “I’m a house dog,” before wandering off on his own to explore.

  Evan walked to the neat square inside a white picket fence. Most of the tombstones were basic marble, but a few had statues of angels. Where was her grave? The cemetery was small, but it was growing dark and hard to see the grave sites without s
treetlights. The closest house was a half mile away. Evan turned on the flashlight on his phone to read the gravestones. The last streaks of sunset were obscured by a cloud which promised rain. Evan hadn’t looked at the weather app for the first time in days. Was there rain forecast? Wouldn’t that be the answer to a million prayers?

  “Juan!” he called into twilight, walking quickly into the heart of the cemetery, wondering which way to start looking, feeling a sudden urgency. “Juan! It’s Evan. Evan Hollister. Your neighbor!”

  For a second Evan felt silly, calling into the empty cemetery, wishing he hadn’t let himself get so excited about the playing the hero. Barry sniffed nearby. Evan headed to what he hoped was the middle of the graveyard. Juan would surely be able to hear him from here. There couldn’t have been more than forty grave sites in this whole place. No wonder Juan had buried his wife here. The graveyard had a panoramic view of the narrow lake twisting through the purple hills, vanishing into the craggy peaks of the North Cascade mountains. Stunning.

  Evan called out one more time, letting his voice get whipped into the density of the smoky air.

  Nothing.

  So.

  This was it.

  No Juan.

  An immense sadness pushed down upon Evan. He collapsed on a stone bench, burying his head in his hands. He wasn’t going to make it in Chelan. Carmen would find her father, and Evan would be the one who’d disappointed her when she needed him the most. He’d wanted to be there for her. Be the hero. Right now, all he wanted was to find Juan. Not for himself.