by Toni Blake
And then—damn it—she got Chase’s voice mail. So much for hearing his voice—other than the message he left for callers.
“Hey, it’s Rachel,” she said, “and I’ve just had a great talk with Stan. He’s looking forward to seeing what we come up with and he sounds very positive. If we can put together a campaign that knocks his socks off, he’s ours.”
As Rachel disconnected, she felt energized by today’s work-related happenings. But…to her surprise, she realized she was eager to join Edna out in the orchard, too. The Jonathans and Red Delicious ripened at the same time, so they’d have their work cut out for them between now and the festival.
The Jonathan grove rested at the far end of the orchard, a considerable distance beyond the barn, and Rachel was glad to see Edna’s pickup gone, indicating she’d driven there rather than walked. Yet since the same bright, warm weather from the past weekend remained, Rachel didn’t mind the trek herself. And as was so often the case these days, simply meandering among the billowing trees amid a light autumn breeze lulled her into a pleasant relaxation. She remained ready for work, but she felt…well, as if Chicago was a world away. And she guessed it really was. She’d be back there soon, but she was beginning to see, despite herself, that this extended trip to Destiny was…refreshing her, reviving her, and forcing her to slow down, to stop and smell the roses—or maybe the apples—for a change.
Finally, she came upon a ladder—and two short legs in cotton pants extending from the greenery above. Just as she was pondering how to let Edna know she was there without scaring her to death, two words echoed down through the branches. “’Bout time.”
Rachel just shook her head, smiling to herself. “Yes, I had a nice lunch with my friends, thanks for asking.”
“Well, I had me a nice time with some Jonathan apples, and now you can, too. Second ladder’s in the truck.”
As Rachel retrieved the easel-style ladder and set it up near Edna’s, she said, “So, what happened after Giovanni went back to Italy?”
“Well, that,” Edna said with a sigh, “is where things get mighty complicated.”
Everything had changed for Edna since Giovanni’s departure in August. Everything.
Although she and Giovanni had picked the first ripe apples together before that fated telegram had arrived, the bulk of the autumn harvest had happened after he’d gone—and she, Wally, Dell, and Eddie had handled the whole thing, selling bushel upon bushel to markets and produce stands all over the area. Edna had also spent many an hour sitting out across the bridge, next to the road, selling apples and grapes to folks driving by. The rest of the apples, along with the farm’s crops—corn, taters, green beans, peas—they’d stored for winter. It had taken Edna a week to can the beans and peas.
They’d written their parents to explain they couldn’t come home yet—and they’d sent money, the better part of their wages. Still, they knew Daddy wasn’t happy their absence had stretched beyond summer. He’d counted on their help to get the hay in and do their fall harvest—and it meant the younger children had been put to more work than anyone had counted on.
But all three siblings agreed it was the only thing to do. Giovanni had been good to them, so they could hardly abandon his farm while he was away. Eddie had offered to oversee the place as best he could on his own, yet it was too much for one boy. They didn’t tell their folks about Edna’s engagement, but both of her brothers knew, and that was another big reason to care for the farm—Giovanni would soon be part of their family.
The good part about sitting out next to the mailbox those fall days had been being there when the mailman arrived. Edna had waited and watched for him to come rolling around the bend, just praying he carried a letter from Giovanni. And he had, three different times.
It had disappointed Edna that the letters were brief—that she’d waited so long to hear from him and yet saw all he had to say to her in only a few seconds. But she could forgive him. According to the letters, his mother’s illness was lingering, and he couldn’t leave. And in each, he’d told Edna he loved her and would be home to marry her soon. So even though the letters were short, she clung to those words, reading them over and over, even touching her fingertips to the page. It was as close as she could come to touching Giovanni.
Now, though, it was December, and the winter had brought illness—the worst of Edna’s life. The doctor feared it was a leftover case of the Asian flu that had come over the ocean and killed so many last winter.
Now Edna floated in and out of her head due to the fever—she’d never felt so lost or helpless. All she wanted was Giovanni, and at moments she grew aware that she was saying his name again and again. And then she would hear Eddie’s voice—not one of her brother’s, but Eddie’s—saying, “He’ll be home soon, Edna, but I’m here for ya now. Don’t you worry none—you’re gonna be right as rain real soon, I promise.”
It was hard to understand why Eddie was at her bedside, but he was, almost constantly as far as she could tell. When the fever was especially rough with chills and sweating, there he’d be, stroking her hair, and even singing to her real quietly—that Everly Brothers song about dreaming. His voice wafted over her, soft and deep.
He brought her what little bit of food she could eat. And he crushed up ice and poured Coke over it, the same way her mama always did, promising it would settle the sickness in her stomach. He delivered cool washcloths, pressing them across her forehead, her neck, gliding them down her arms. Sometimes she’d burst out of some confusing fever-induced vision in the middle of the night, and there Eddie would be, sitting in a chair next to her bed, slumped over asleep.
“Am I gonna die?” she asked him one day. Even in lucid moments, she felt so weak, like she was slipping deeper and deeper into some invisible hole she couldn’t crawl out of.
“Shhh—no such thing, Edna. You think I’d let you die? No ma’am.”
And she wondered where her family was. The fact that her brothers weren’t there, nor her mother, frightened her all the more. “Where’s Wally and Dell? I miss ’em.”
“Doc told ’em they best stay away, honey, ’til you get over this thing.”
It made her all the more confused, because…“Well, what about you? Can’t you catch it, too?”
He simply shook his head and appeared…sure, strong. Stronger than she’d realized Eddie could be. “Not me, no sir. I’m tougher than I look.” And then he winked, and she felt it somewhere deep within. She understood he was there, risking himself, for her. And…he was the only person in the world at her side right now.
The realization startled her all the more and, in her depleted state, she couldn’t hold in her fears. “Don’t leave me, Eddie. Don’t leave me alone. I’m scared.”
And then Eddie squeezed her hand in his and leaned down over her, kissing her on the forehead. “Don’t worry, honey. I wouldn’t leave you for nothin’, and that’s a promise.”
They were the darkest days of Edna’s life. Time moved so slowly and she drifted in and out of sleep, barely able to make sense of what was happening around her. She felt that darkness closing in, stealing more and more of the light inside her, and she knew in her heart she wasn’t getting better.
Through tears one day, she asked Eddie, “Is Mama comin’?”
And he said yes. That Dell had driven down to Kentucky through a snowstorm to fetch her folks. And as much as it relieved her to hear her mother was on the way—she also knew she was right; she was dying.
“I don’t wanna die, Eddie.” She was so young. There was so much in life to see, to do. There was Giovanni. Although, now…well, sometimes he seemed almost like no more than a nice dream she’d had. She hadn’t seen him in so long.
Eddie just kept telling her she wasn’t going to die, that he wouldn’t let her.
“Ain’t nothin’ you can do to stop it if the Lord wills it,” she informed him weakly.
But, above her, he shook his head, looking almost angry. “The Lord ain’t gonna take you
yet, Edna. I won’t let Him.”
And then…Eddie slowly drew back the blanket that covered her. And he gently climbed into bed, stretching out alongside her.
Edna was too ill to even think about how little separated their bodies, just vaguely aware that she wore only a thin white nightgown, damp with sweat. All she knew in those moments was the warmth of another human being. All she knew was the strong arms that wrapped around her, the tender kisses that rained gently across her cheek. All she knew was the sense of being cared for, loved.
And when she awoke the next morning, she felt…different. More…normal. Eddie was no longer beside her and she wondered if it had been just one more fever dream. Yet what seemed more important just then was that she felt…alive. More alive, more in her right mind, than she’d felt for…she didn’t know how long.
“I feel better,” she whispered up into the air, to no one in particular.
But, of course, Eddie was right there with her—as always. A few seconds later, his sweet face smiled down on her. He looked exhausted, wrung out, but happy. “Fever broke,” he told her.
Oh. Oh Lord! The fever had broken. She was going to live. She was going to get well. Tears filled her eyes at the news, and when she met Eddie’s, his glistened with wetness, too.
“Your mama oughta get here today,” he said.
But she couldn’t even think about that right now. All she could think about was, “Why?”
“Well, we thought it was best to send for her—but she’ll be real relieved you’ve took a turn for the better.”
It required effort, but Edna shook her head softly against her pillow. “No—I mean why…did you stay with me? Why did you stay—when no one else would?”
For the first time since she’d gotten ill, Eddie looked a little shy. Yet then his expression changed, into something stronger, more stalwart, and she realized the boy she’d met last summer had somewhere along the way turned into a man. “Dell and Wally were both willin’—but…I said I’d do it.
She simply blinked at him, and asked again. “Why?”
“Edna,” he said softly, leaning down to cup her cheek in his hand, “I know you love Giovanni…and that I don’t stand a chance against a fella like him. But I reckon I stayed…’cause I’m in love with you.”
“You’re stopping there?” Rachel asked, gaping at Edna from her ladder.
“Gotta stop somewhere. And besides, you don’t pick apples as fast when I’m tellin’ stories.” Edna didn’t even look over from her work.
“You’re evil, old woman.”
“And you’re impatient.”
Well, that much was true—always had been. But as she’d acknowledged to herself earlier, something about picking apples, and just being in the orchard with Edna, did more to relax her than most things. For a moment, she considered telling Edna the good news she’d gotten about her job, simply to make conversation, but just as quickly she decided against it. Since, again, out here in the trees, that stuff didn’t seem to matter as much. At least not as much as stories about Edna and Giovanni and Eddie.
And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit her. “Wait—Eddie’s going to turn out to be Grandpa Farris, isn’t he?” She’d never heard her late grandfather referred to as Eddie, only Edward—but it only made sense.
In response, though, Edna simply rolled her eyes. “Impatient as the day is long.”
So Rachel said nothing more and got back to work. Yet she couldn’t quit thinking about the thickening plot of Edna’s youth. Was she going to eventually find out Edna had cheated on Giovanni? And maybe this meant Giovanni did come back for Edna as promised? How could she not be impatient?
“So about you and Mike,” Edna said a few minutes later.
Atop her ladder, Rachel just sighed. Edna and Giovanni seemed like much safer subjects. “What about us?”
“Have ya figured out yet that ya care for that fella?”
This time she let out an irritated huff. “No. In fact, I barely know him.”
“Sometimes it don’t take long,” Edna mused, sounding suddenly light and merry, like a woman with a secret.
“You were right the first time, Edna,” Rachel informed her. “With me and Mike, it’s all about sex.” There, that should shut her up.
And it did—but it also made her smile.
Mike sat in his cruiser, just off Meadowview Highway, monitoring the road for speeders. It was a quiet afternoon, though—just the way he liked them—so maybe he wouldn’t have to pull anybody over.
He’d been thinking a lot about his conversation with Chief Tolliver a couple days ago. Mainly because…well, other than with Logan, he guessed he thought he kept his troubles pretty well hidden; he didn’t think other people realized he’d never gotten over Anna. It was only a picture on a desk, after all.
But if Walter knew—well, maybe it was more obvious than he thought.
And besides that…he knew Walter was right in a lot of ways.
And he knew Anna was dead. Whether she’d drowned or been grabbed by some scumball pedophile—it only made sense that she was dead, that she’d been dead for twenty-three years now.
But he’d hit upon another big difference between Walter’s situation and his. Besides the fact that Walter knew where Judy was, Walter also knew…it wasn’t his fault she was gone. Mike didn’t have that luxury.
Just as that sobering thought settled around him, he raised his gaze to see—shit—that goddamn purple Mustang racing over the horizon! Just as fast as before. Mike hit the trigger on his radar gun—eighty-eight. Son of a bitch.
But he had a few more seconds’ warning this time, so he dropped the gun, flipped on his lights and siren, and hit the gas pedal. He got his cruiser onto the road just after the bastard blew past him.
Feeling less caught off guard this time, Mike floored it and got on the asshole’s bumper. The siren wailed and there was no way the guy didn’t know he was being pursued, yet he didn’t slow down a bit—in fact, he picked up speed! Of course, given that it was likely a stolen car, what else did Mike expect?
He stayed with him, but driving this fast on winding country roads was dangerous as hell and took every ounce of focus—he couldn’t even free a hand to call for backup. When he dropped his gaze to the license plate—shit—it was mostly obscured with dried mud. Of course, if the vehicle was stolen, the plates had surely been changed or altered by now anyway. With each curve, Mike’s stomach lurched and his heart beat faster—but he wasn’t going to back down and let this idiot keep terrorizing Destiny’s roads.
Then they hit a straight stretch and—holy shit—Mike spotted a loaded hay wagon up ahead in the same lane, undoubtedly pulled by a tractor, just creeping along. It was a common sight around here, and the tractor couldn’t be going more than fifteen miles an hour—but the Mustang wasn’t slowing down. Mike realized the idiot was planning to pass the tractor—at the precise moment he spied a car coming in the opposite direction.
When the Mustang gunned into the left lane and went flying toward the oncoming car, Mike’s heart rose to his throat. It was close—way too fucking close—and Mike slammed on his brakes, hard, just in time to watch the Mustang whip back over in front of the tractor as the other car veered to miss him, two tires hitting the gravel shoulder. Before Mike knew it, the oncoming car, a late-model mid-size, was off the road, careening through a fence into a recently mowed cornfield.
The Mustang was gone—long gone—yet Mike had no choice but to let it go as he brought his vehicle to a halt and jumped out. The tractor and wagon in front of him had stopped, as well. A second later, Johnny Fulks, head of the Destiny City Council, got out of the damaged car—but he didn’t look to be injured, thank God.
“You okay, Johnny?” Mike called as he sprinted toward him.
“I think so. What the hell was that?” The middle-aged man appeared understandably ruffled.
“I’m pretty sure it was a stolen car, actually. Going upwards of ninety at times.” Mike just shook his
head, disgusted.
Johnny peered back at his own car. “Looks like I’m gonna have to be towed.”
“Well, I’m just glad you’re okay.”
As Mike reached the other man, Fulks nodded. “You’re right—coulda been a lot worse.”
But talk about understatements. The Mustang could have easily killed Fulks, or the farmer pulling that hay wagon.
Despite the fact that there was no way to cite the other driver, Johnny filled out an accident report—and Mike hung around until a tow truck arrived and pulled the car from the meadow. Then he set off to the nearest house with the unpleasant task of letting them know about the damage to their fence and cornfield.
By the end of the day, he felt…pretty damn inept. He knew it wasn’t his fault, but why was he wearing this uniform if not to prevent bad shit from happening? And what the hell was the deal with that stolen Mustang? Mike was convinced, more and more now, that it was indeed the missing car from the northern part of the state. So why was someone in a stolen vehicle using Destiny-area highways for a goddamn racetrack?
Back at the station, Mike checked the database again to see that, sure enough, the hot Mustang was still missing. Of course, few stolen cars were ever recovered—but for him and his gut feeling, it was almost confirmation that the Cleveland car was this one.
Now that the sighting was no longer an isolated, one-time incident, Mike decided to fill Chief Tolliver in on the situation—and even though he knew no one could blame him, as he did so, he somehow felt all the more useless and angry.
And apparently it showed, since Walter said, “You did what you could, Mike. And at least you were there to help Johnny out.” Walter then reached up to twist his gray mustache, a gesture he often made when thinking things through. “We’d best alert the police in the surroundin’ areas. He might go ninety, but he has to stop sometime, somewhere, and a car like that’s bound to stand out.”
