by Anna Kyss
As we step into the trees, each row hangs thick with various fruits, some familiar and others unrecognizable. I gently stroke a low-growing peach before following Sage into a grassy patch in the middle of the orchard.
Sage sits on the grass then pats the spot next to him. “You might be in for a surprise,” he whispers.
“Surprise?”
“You’ll see.” He continues to speak in a quiet voice. “Susan makes a hot breakfast and dinner each day, served in the covered dining area near her home, and she packs sack lunches for me—well, I guess that’s us now.”
“Oh?” I examine the food he hands me. A sandwich stuffed with vegetables between two thick slabs of bread, a juicy peach, and homemade-looking granola bars.
“Susan’s been making all the meals vegetarian, on account of me, but she’d be happy to cook up some dead animal, if you prefer.”
I bite into my sandwich. The vegetable-only concoction doesn’t taste terrible, but some thick slices of turkey would only make it better. “I prefer.”
“Ah, you’re a carnie.” Sage sits back and watches me chew. I try to swallow my mouthful gracefully, but end up gulping awkwardly.
“Have you always been vegetarian?” I ask.
“What an esoteric question.” Sage leans closer. “My follow-up question would be, in what life? Currently, I’m about to meet my two-month anniversary of veganism. But I imagine some of my past selves rejected meat entirely.”
I stare at him. His expression is one of complete and total sincerity. “Do you actually believe that nonsense?”
Before he can answer, a deer-sized animal hops into the clearing. That’s right. Hops. Two powerful back legs send it bounding underneath one of the plum trees. “Loo—”
Sage presses his soft, warm finger to my lips. I alternate between focusing on the brown critter nibbling at the fallen fruit in the orchard and his closeness.
He lowers his mouth to my ear and whispers, “They startle easily.”
They? I haven’t recovered from the tingle of his warm breath before I spot them. Four more animals, identical to the first, linger along the perimeter of the orchard.
“Wallabies,” I silently mouth.
He presses his mouth to my ear once more. “Most people would have guessed kangaroos.”
While they resemble kangaroos, they’re too small. If I were standing, they would rise only to my waist. Movement-wise, though, they hop around similarly to the kangaroo.
How cool. I never planned to see Australian wildlife on my trip. The pleasure of watching the animals and eating with Sage fades. Coming here was never for leisure or fun. How can I enjoy myself without Robbie?
I stand abruptly, sending the wallabies scattering in all directions. “Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you later.”
Ignoring Sage’s quizzical stare, I head back to the yurt. I need to lose myself in the relief of pen, paper, and purple envelopes.
I CAN barely keep my eyes open as the first bands of sunlight stream into our yurt. I tossed and turned most of the night, managing to fall asleep only a few hours ago. While I’d like to blame my insomnia on jetlag, if I’m honest, the time difference only figured in the smallest amount.
Sage, on the other hand…
I’ve never shared living space with a guy. Even Robbie. Despite all the countless hours I hung out with him, we never spent the entire night together. It would have been too awkward, since he still lived with his parents.
Throughout the night, I was drawn to Sage. The rustle of his sheets, the soft exhale and inhale of his breaths, his smell; fresh, with a hint of spice.
Now that it’s morning, I beat myself up over my attraction. If I were stronger—more loyal—I wouldn’t even notice how the beam of light shining through the window accentuates the bronze highlights of his tanned face. I wouldn’t pay any attention to the broad expanse of his shoulders as he stretches his muscular arms and yawns.
Groaning in frustration over these thoughts—unwanted, unbidden, yet irritatingly relentless—I hide my face in my pillow.
“Morning,” Sage says. “Sleep well?”
A bell tolling in the distance saves me from answering. Thankfully. I truly don’t know how I could have responded to that question.
“Breakfast’s served.” Sage pulls his shoes on. “Susan always rings the bell to let us know when meals are on the table. Ready?”
Not really. I wish I could have remained hidden away in my dorm at Erie University, northwest Ohio’s most lackluster university. I had been lucky enough to get one of the new dorms, a single with an en-suite bathroom. With my mini-fridge, microwave, and coffee maker, I could hermit away as much as I liked.
Until they figured out I wasn’t attending class or turning in assignments. Getting kicked out sucked. Surprisingly, I didn’t miss the learning or my major or any of that. I yearned for the solitude, though.
“Well? Are you ready?” Sage holds the door open.
“Go ahead. I’ll meet you there.” I take a few moments to collect myself before grabbing my toiletry bag and heading to the bathroom.
When I heard about the composting toilet and well-fed sink and shower, I was nervous, but the bathroom’s nicer than I anticipated. A large, glass-walled shower sits in one corner, and it even has one of those rainfall showerheads. The toilet looks pretty normal, until you notice that it isn’t water-filled like the ones back home. Like the yurt, Susan’s made the bathroom homey with a large bowl of flower and fruit potpourri.
After freshening up, I head down to the picnic tables. The covered eating area is just a short walk from Susan’s home. Sage’s voice and Susan’s responding laughter grow louder as I walk. Great. More conversation and interaction, when all I want is to hide away from everybody. It’s as if the world is conspiring against my isolation.
“Sage will show you the drill,” Susan explains as we finish the last bites of waffles and fresh fruit. “I ask for five hours of labor a day, but you can divide the time up however you’d like.”
“Susan’s very flexible. A bloody brilliant hostess.” He pronounces the last sentence with a terrible Australian accent.
She smiles and shakes her head. “Sage always takes a post-lunch break before finishing his last two hours. I know it’s lonely in the gardens by yourself, so feel free to join him.”
Lonely sounds lovely. “Actually—”
Sage blurts out, “I can’t have people butting in on my practice time. How will I focus?”
We look at one another. My cheeks warm, and he stares down, looking absolutely chagrined.
He runs one hand through his shoulder-length hair. “I’m sorry for being so rude. My practice time’s the one time of the day—the only time, actually—that I need to be sort-of selfish.”
“I don’t mind. Being alone in the gardens sounds pretty nice, actually.” I glance at Sage again. “So, what exactly do you practice?”
Susan clears our plates. “I’ll let you finish this conversation as you head to the gardens. And Abby, it’s so nice to have you with us.”
Zachary peeks his head out from behind her and makes some of his cute baby noises. I hadn’t even noticed him throughout breakfast.
“Finally awake? We need to change your nappy.” She removes her wrap, skillfully bringing him from her back to her arms. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you dry.”
“Ready? I’ll show you the way to the gardens from here.” Sage holds out his hand to help me up. I ignore it, standing myself. When I peek at him, I can’t miss the disappointment that flashes across his face. He hides it as soon as he notices me looking. I’m doing it again, spreading my misery to all those around me. It’s how I ended up friendless and alone at school. Pushing everyone away.
The last fight I had with my parents focused on this issue. My mother’s reprimand echoes through my memories. Your misery doesn’t give you license to make everyone around you miserable.
“Is this the first time you’ve done this?” I force myself to smile.
He glances back, probably surprised by the brightness in my tone. “Done what? WWOOFing or traveling across the world?”
I shrug. “Either one. They’re both firsts for me.”
“Yeah, I’ve never done either before. I wish—” His voice falters, and he looks away. “I wish I had done more during high school. They offered a foreign exchange program where you could live in Europe for the semester, but I was too busy hanging with my buddies.”
“Well, you’re what—only twenty?”
“Twenty-one,” he says.
“There’s plenty of time still to see the world.” I gesture around the farm. “This could be your first trip of hundreds.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He doesn’t meet my eyes. “The gardens are just up ahead.”
Large, raised beds fill the front half of the gardens, while neatly cultivated rows line the back. When I finally enter, climbing, spreading, growing things of all kinds surround me. I spend the first fifteen minutes wandering around and exploring each bed.
Tall green plants spill out of their wire cages. Their pencil-thin stems brim with bright, red tomatoes. Fragrant plants, short and leafy, fill in the tomato bed. When I place my nose to one, the aromatic scent brings to mind pesto. Basil. I pass fragile-looking vines laden with green beans, squat spreading vines with bright yellow flowers, and thick, flowering broccoli.
Sage kneels to examine a mystery bed filled with plants with wide green leaves and red stems. I can’t figure out what they could be. “What do you think?”
“Amazing. Why don’t more people have gardens back home?” I spin around. “Seeing so much growth and life everywhere feels healing.”
Sage stares at me intensely. “I know just what you mean.”
“I think I’m going to like volunteering here.” I can’t remember the last time I’ve thought in terms of looking forward to something. For so long, I only had things to dread.
Sage spends the next hour teaching me about each of the plants. Most of the plants I know, but I don’t always recognize them in their natural form. By the time he finishes his tour, I can identify many of the plants in the garden, although I still have no idea how to care for any of them. Finally, he leads me to a bed of wispy-topped plants. Carrots.
“Carrots are a root vegetable. When their orange tops begin to poke out, they’re ready to harvest.” He guides my hands to a bit of orange peeking out of the soil then hand-over-hand shows me how to dig the carrots up.
I can barely concentrate on his words. The warmth of his hands against mine steals my focus. The rough callus on his thumb brushes over the top of my fingers. When I glance at Sage, he stares at me intensely. I didn’t even notice when he stopped talking.
I jerk my hands away. Our awkward silence fills the gardens.
After a moment, Sage clears his throat. “I usually take my break just about now. Could you finish harvesting the carrots? Once you’ve finished this row, bring the basket to Susan.”
He walks out of the gardens, leaving me with an empty wicker basket and a mind full of worries. As I free each carrot, I can’t help but think about what just happened. My body betrayed me. How could I be so drawn to someone I just met?
I came here to escape the memories that plague me, not to carve out new layers of guilt. If this across-the-world trip is going to help, I need to stay away from Sage.
I SET the basket of carrots on the floor of the yurt. I should have brought the produce directly to Susan, but I couldn’t wait another minute to write to Robbie.
I’m so confused. My heart’s telling me to stay loyal, but my body is not in agreement. Having Sage live so close is like setting a chocolate cake, dripping with caramel and fudge frosting, on the table, but never taking a bite.
When I finally put pen to paper, my head clears and my mind calms. These letters help me keep control when I’m at my worst. Before I left school, my advisor recommended finding a good therapist. Therapy has always had such a bad stigma in my family, though.
I can imagine my dad’s response. A Bentley should be mentally strong enough to deal with any challenge. Not one of my siblings ever needed extra help or mental health support. The very fact that I’m in Australia shows I would rather hide all the way round the world than bear disappointing my father.
But my feelings pour out through my pen, and despite Robbie’s absence, it feels like he’s listening when I seal my thoughts into his purple envelopes.
I tuck the envelope with all the others and pick up the basket of carrots. I can’t delay delivering them any longer.
As I hike to Susan’s house, I try to think of a plan. If I can avoid Sage, the issue will resolve itself. There have to be enough tasks on this farm that we can work separately. The bigger problem is our living situation. If only we had our own yurts.
I walk up the steps to Susan’s deck and knock at her open back door. “I brought the carrots. Where would you like them?”
“You can leave them next to the door,” Susan calls. “If you can wait a few minutes, I’ll be along soon.”
Susan’s place differs from the cookie-cutter houses back home. Rather than the identical aluminum siding that covers entire neighborhoods in the Midwest, her house has sides formed from rough-sawn wood. The deck and wrap-around porch feature a hand-carved railing.
Flowerbeds surround the house, with some of the blooms growing higher than the railing. The house blends in perfectly with the picturesque backdrop of farm and wilderness, its tin roof being only a slightly lighter shade of green than the surrounding vegetation.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Susan steps onto the deck. “My grandfather built the house himself. It was his wedding present for my mother.”
“Did he give her the land as well?”
“No, Nana and Pop lived in the city. When my mother fell in love with a farmer, they wanted her to have a comfortable life out here.” Susan runs her hand along the railing. “Mum told me that my grandfather spent every weekend for six straight months working on his gift.”
What would it be like to have such a supportive father? He couldn’t have been happy that his daughter was moving away from him, but he gave up six months of his life to help her settle. I can’t even tell my dad that I flunked out of school. He would never understand.
He didn’t understand about Robbie, after all.
“What an amazing gift. I bet your family will treasure it for generations.”
Susan’s smile disappears. “I hope so. I really hope so.”
I help Susan carry the baskets of carrots into her kitchen. She rests them on the floor then returns to the deck. Susan sits on a hanging porch swing then pats the seat next to her. “How have your first few days gone?”
“Okay. I’m still getting used to everything.” I settle onto the swaying bench. “I was going to ask…”
I don’t want to be too forward, but I need more space. I will never be able to escape my temptation if I remain in the yurt, so close to Sage.
“What is it, Abby?”
“Do you have an extra bedroom in your house?” My cheeks warm as I avoid Susan’s questioning gaze. “Could I—?”
She rests her weathered hand on my knee. “I only have the two rooms, my bedroom and Zachary’s nursery. You’re uncomfortable living in the yurt?”
“The yurt’s fine. Nicer than I expected. But…” I build up my courage and finally whisper, “I’m not used to sharing my living space with anyone.”
“Oh, you’re having a hard time living with Sage.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I—”
“No worries. It’s good feedback. Obviously, I need to make the shared accommodations clearer for future volunteers,” Susan says. “Has he done anything—”
“No!” I blurt. “He’s been friendly and welcoming. This is all about me.”
I hope she believes me. I would hate for Susan to think poorly of Sage, when I’m the one who’s so messed up. Obviously most volunteers co-reside without difficu
lty. Why do I have to make everything so hard?
“If you ever want to talk…” Susan takes my hand. “Well, I’m always here. One of the benefits of being water-bound.”
I’m so ready for this awkward conversation to be done. Maybe if the focus isn’t on me, I can slip away soon. “I was wondering about the water transportation. Since this isn’t an island, why all the water taxis?”
“It’s the cheapest and quickest transportation option.” Susan gestures to the thick forest behind the farmland. “The land beyond my property belongs to the national park. It would be a long hike to reach the nearest road.”
That gives me an idea. “Do any of the trails reach the farm?”
“My father carved his own trail so we could easily go on bushwalks.” Susan quickly explains the directions to the trailhead. “Be careful. You could lose yourself in that wilderness.”
Losing myself among the endless acres is exactly what I need.
Two hours later, I’m standing high above the farm. From my vantage point, the green hillside slopes toward the bay. When the land flattens, near the boundaries of Susan’s farm, the overgrown wilds turn into the carefully manicured rectangles of the gardens.
From up so high, I can spot the exact point where chaos transforms to neat and tidy order. I relate more to the chaos. Ever since Robbie went away, my life has been nothing but a muddled bundle of disarray.
Susan was wrong. I don’t have to worry about losing myself in the wilderness. I’m already lost.
A small part of me yearns for normality, though.
Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to Sage.
I hiked so high to escape my attraction and embrace isolation. But on top of this hilltop, I’m still thinking of Sage. The seclusion is no longer comforting, as it had been. Being by myself only highlights my loneliness.
THE BREAKFAST bell’s soft chime wakes me. As I rub the sleep from my eyes, I glance over at Sage. He sits propped against the wall, reading a book about meditation. When he notices I’m awake, he quickly closes the book and places it on a small shelf, next to another text on Buddhism.
