The Apple Tree

by Kara Jimenez

  After they both buckled, she turned to him. “You must be a pretty successful photographer.”

  He chuckled and swung out of the parking space.

  The tires crunched over the gravel as he pulled into the parking lot on the south side of Avery Park. They stopped in front of the covered picnic area and she climbed out to meet him at the hood of the car.

  An auburn camera bag hung over his shoulder. He held out his hand and when their fingers touched, it sent tingles through her arm and down the rest of her body. He smiled. “Did I tell you, you look beautiful today?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Thank you. You look… great…too.” Great was too tame a word. More like sexy and alluring, but she’d never say that out loud.

  A smirk crossed his face and his fingers threaded through hers. They walked together into the grassy expanse. Old growth trees surrounded the area and dotted the inside, covering it in shade. In the distance, an old black steam engine stood on a bed of sawdust. Children used it as a climbing structure, including herself when she’d been small.

  She shivered, pulled her cardigan closed and wished she’d worn something warmer. When they reached the line of trees, Peter set his bag down and retrieved a large black camera. He pointed it at the sun streaming through the moss covered branches overhead, clicking away and then moving to a slightly different angle, where he took more. He showed her the digital images. They were stunning.

  “The cameras today are so much easier to use. I love being able to see the photograph right away. Much better than film.”

  She nodded. “You have such a fancy camera though. I bet any picture taken with that thing would turn out great.”

  He pulled the lens from his face and raised an eyebrow. “You think you can take one that looks as nice?”

  What had she just gotten herself into? She smiled.

  “Give me your cell phone,” he said. “I’ll take a photo with your phone’s camera and you can use my big fancy camera. We’ll see whose picture is better.”

  “You’re on.” She feigned confidence, pulled her phone out of her bag and tossed it to Peter.

  With a grin, he handed her his camera. It weighed more than she’d imagined.

  “Except, I have no idea how to use this thing.” She examined the screen, tapping the power switch by accident.

  He mock gasped at her mistake, chuckled and then gave her a quick lesson, showing her what each dial and button did. She was in over her head.

  Holding out her phone, he focused on a bird hopping along one of the picnic tables. She tried to do the same with his camera. They each took a few photos and then the bird flew away.

  “Okay, look through what you took and show me the best one.”

  She pushed the arrow button, flipping through the photos. They were pretty good. Selecting one, she held it out for him to see.

  He raised an eyebrow, smiled and seemed to be suppressing a laugh. “Not bad.” His arm extended, showing her the phone screen. “Here’s mine.”

  The sun filtered through the trees at exactly the right angle so it lit up the bird’s indigo feathers. It was an amazing photograph.

  “Fine, you win.”

  A pleasant chuckle broke through him. “Here, I’ll give you a really simple tip. Pay attention to the background.”

  She looked down at her photo and realized what he meant. Behind the bird she’d captured another picnic bench and a garbage can. “Wow, that’s a no brainer.”

  “So you admit it requires skill and not just expensive equipment?” He held out his hand for his camera.

  Passing it back, she took her cell phone in her other hand. “Yes, Mr. Amazing Photographer.” Her eyes rolled.

  He playfully shoved her shoulder and they both laughed.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked. “I’ve got a picnic lunch in the car.”

  She tossed her phone back in her bag. “That sounds great.”

  “Wait here, I’ll go get it.” He jogged to the car, while she sat on a bench and waited. A couple lay on a blanket a little ways away. She turned her head, as the woman giggled and rolled on top of the man. Bianca stood and found a better spot to have their picnic, away from the couple. It would be awkward to have that going on next to them when Peter returned.

  A few minutes later, he returned carrying a wicker picnic basket and the black leather jacket he’d worn at the bar. “You looked cold.” He handed her the jacket.

  “Thank you.” She smiled and wrapped it around her shoulders, grateful for the warmth it offered.

  He withdrew a green checkered blanket from the basket and spread it across the grass. Lying on his side, he patted the spot next to him. What could be more inviting than that?

  She sat, caressing the soft fibers of the blanket and wondering how it compared to his skin. Her cheeks grew warm.

  His gaze ran over her face and he winked. Had he noticed her blush? Her unfortunate reaction was to blush even harder.

  The basket contained a tray of fruit, cheese and crackers and a bottle of white wine. Obviously, he’d picked the tray up at a fancy deli. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who did a lot of cooking. He held up the wine. “Sorry, I forgot glasses. We’ll have to just drink from the bottle.”

  “You know, it’s barely noon. Isn’t it a little early for drinking?”

  He used a corkscrew from the basket. “It’s only wine. I’m not making you take shots.”

  The wine did sound good, refreshing. She gathered a cluster of grapes from the tray and popped one in her mouth. It tasted perfectly sweet and crisp.

  “I hope you don’t mind coming here,” he said. “I could have taken you to some posh restaurant, but honestly, I’m bored with those places. This is more fun.” He took a swig from the bottle and passed it to her.

  She took a sip. “I always feel out of place in fancy restaurants anyway. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly as loaded as you seem to be.”

  A grin crossed his lips and he ran his hand through his shaggy black hair. “Rich people can be snobby, but you shouldn’t feel out of place. I can tell you have class, even if you don’t have a lot of money.”

  This guy was smooth, but she had to admit, she liked the flattery. She lifted a slice of cheese. “So, did you really make your fortune with just photography or do you have some sort of scandalous secret business?”

  He laughed. “You’re right. I have a few other things up my sleeve.”

  “But you’re not going to tell me about them?”

  His head tilted back and forth as if considering. “Maybe another time.”

  When they finished the food, she helped him pack the basket. A slightly fuzzy feeling filled her head from the wine.

  “Let’s walk over to the train,” Peter suggested. They left their belongings on the grass and strolled through the park until they reached the antique steam engine. The cars had all been removed long ago and all that remained was the engine, cleaned up and placed there by the city to add interest to the park. He took her hand and pulled her around to face him. “Stand next to the locomotive. I’d like to take a picture of you.”

  She stood in front of the white letters that read Georgia Pacific and smiled, hoping she didn’t look ridiculous.

  He held his camera out, clicking a few times.

  “Set the timer so we can take one together,” she suggested.

  “No, I like to take the photos, not be in them.” He jogged to where she stood and took her hand, pulling her up the metal steps that led to the engine cab. Inside, the old firebox had been sealed shut, but the valves and knobs still turned. She wiggled a knob. There were no children inside playing. They were alone.

  Setting his camera on the floor, he leaned back against the black steel wall. His hands circled her waist and tugged her close.

  She pressed against his lean frame, hyper-aware of every point their bodies met. Taking a deep breath, she basked in the aroma of cedar and jasmine. What would Levi smell like? She quickly pushed the thought
aside.

  Peter’s azure eyes smoldered as they gazed into hers. “I’m really glad you came out with me today,” he said, his voice a deep breathy whisper.

  “So am I.”

  He tilted his head, lowering it to her level.

  A decision needed to be made. His lips were about to touch hers, and she wanted it, she really wanted it, but she barely knew him.

  His fingers brushed along her jawline, sending a thrill through her body.

  She took a step back. In her experience, moving too fast only led to heartbreak and she’d promised herself she’d act more responsibly. “Peter, I think we should slow down.” Her gaze shifted to the steel floor. “I barely know you.”

  He studied her expression and seemed taken aback for a moment. Then, letting out a long slow breath, he nodded and dropped his hands.

  As soon as his arms left her body, she regretted it.

  After taking Bianca home, Peter unlocked the door of his condo and stepped inside. His photographs filled the slate colored walls in orderly arrangements and he smiled every time he saw them.

  Throwing his keys into the antique bowl by the door, he walked to the bar counter. A variety of glass liquor bottles stood on the chestnut wood in a neat row. He selected an ornate rectangular one and poured its amber liquid into a glass. Closing his eyes, he brought the drink to his nose, inhaling the oak scent. Why had Bianca pushed him away? He wasn’t used to rejection. And the few that turned him down usually weren’t worth the chase. He tipped the glass toward his mouth and the burn slid down his throat.

  But Bianca…had Clara’s honey brown eyes.

  He shook his head, pushing the painful thought away and placed the whiskey bottle back in line with the others. The only reason he’d introduced himself was to use her against Levi. That was it. Not her goddamn… beautiful eyes and sweet smile. Swallowing the remaining contents of his glass, he set it back on the counter with a clink.

  A huge window filled the entire east wall and the sun streamed through the condo highlighting the dust specks in the air. The maid was due the next day, she better take care of that. He walked to the window and looked down upon the Willamette River and the landscaped Waterfront Park. Yesterday, he’d seen Bianca riding her bike along the path below, her ginger ponytail swinging as she pedaled. Now, there was only a plain brunette pushing a stroller.

  He glanced at the clock. His father was in Miami and expected him to call him via Skype in just a few minutes. Groaning, he leaned his forehead against the glass. Should he mention Bianca? There was no doubt what his father would do if he found something Levi cared about. The man could be ruthless and wouldn’t care one lick for Bianca’s safety if it meant he could figure out the curse.

  At exactly one o’clock, he sat down at the table in the kitchen he rarely used, and opened his laptop. When the call connected, his father appeared on screen, wearing a business suit and reclining in a leather armchair. Gray hair covered his round head and the sharp blue eyes matched his own.

  “Peter, have you learned anything new?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Levi does the same thing he’s always done.” His voice sounded bored.

  “And you told him we upped the offer to six million?”

  “Yes. He wasn’t interested.”

  His father slammed his fist on the armrest. “Then make him interested,” he yelled. “Dammit Peter! Isn’t that obvious? Forget your whores for one night and get something done.”

  Peter set his mouth in a hard line. He didn’t see whores. He’d never pay for what was thrown at him for free.

  “If George was here, we’d already have the information we need,” his father said.

  Peter flinched at the mention of his older brother. George had been the golden child, constantly hoarding their father’s approval and leaving Peter to pick at scraps. “But he isn’t here. He’s dead…and all you have is me.”

  “Ahh.” He threw up his hands. “Don’t remind me.”

  Peter took a long, slow breath. “I’ll talk to Levi again, tomorrow. Maybe poke around his place. I’ll figure something out.”

  “Good. Now let me get back to my damn drink.” He lifted the glass in his hand and ended the call.

  Bianca slipped off her boots and placed them in the wicker basket as she stepped inside the apartment. Her head was still slightly dizzy, although she wasn’t sure if it was from the wine or Peter’s touch.

  Her mother sauntered downstairs, dressed in her uniform and ready for her shift at the grocery store. Puffy skin and inflamed blood vessels consumed her eyes.

  “Aww, Mom, come here.” Bianca raised her arms to give her a hug.

  “I’m fine.” Her mother brushed past her. “It surprised me that your father was starting a new family with that little girl, but I’m over it now. I’m going to work. See you later.” She stepped out and closed the door a little too hard behind her.

  Hopefully, this wouldn’t send her mother into another tail spin. Bianca sighed and went to find Owen. It was strangely quiet and that always meant trouble. She found him in the bathroom upstairs, next to the toilet. Fluffy white paper covered the entire floor like layers of fog. She grumbled and folded the toilet paper back onto the roll.

  A light splashing sound made her turn. Owen had opened the toilet and swished his hand in the water.

  “Owen! Yucky! The toilet is for poop and pee, not hands.” She groaned, picked him up and washed him, then set him outside the door so she could finish cleaning up the mess.

  As she worked, Peter’s image appeared in her mind. Should she have kissed him? Maybe lived in the moment for once, instead of being so cautious and constantly afraid of being hurt. She closed her eyes, remembering his hands on the small of her back. Would Levi’s touch feel the same? She shook her head. Why did that creep keep working his way into her thoughts?

  She headed downstairs and into the kitchen, where she peeked into the bowl she’d placed next to the oven two days ago. The gooey mess of flour and water still lay flat. She was waiting for bubbles so she could make her first loaf of sourdough bread. How much longer would it take? A tutorial on sourdough bread would really add to her blog, but she had to figure out how to do it first.

  Remembering her blog, she ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, and retrieved her laptop. Back in the kitchen, she flipped it open at the table, so she could keep an eye on Owen. She wasn’t going to take any chances leaving him unsupervised again.

  He hid underneath the chairs and played with a little toy car, making vrooming noises.

  The computer screen lit up. Holy moly. Her blog had a thrown party. Ten thousand new hits this morning. The granola bar recipe had gone viral.

  The next day, Peter drove out to Levi’s cabin. When he turned the corner, Levi’s truck was gone. He smiled at his luck. This would be easy. The Ferrari slid to a stop and he climbed out. Aldo barked and watched him from the window. Stupid dog.

  He tried the handle. Locked. Pulling a pin from his pocket, he slid it into the lock and jiggled until it clicked.

  “Hey, buddy.” He ruffled the dog’s fur. “Want some dinner? Huh? Want some food?” The dog followed, wagging his tail as Peter walked to the kitchen. Opening the cupboards, he found the dog food and poured it into Aldo’s bowl.

  Peter opened the refrigerator and took out a beer. He found a bottle opener in a kitchen drawer, and then walked back into the living room, drinking the cool liquid.

  He glanced around the room. Wood paneled walls surrounded clean, but worn, plaid furniture. There were few decorations, except for a canvas hung over the fireplace, painted with a deer in the woods. He snorted. The guy lived like some kind of hermit mountain man.

  In the corner, a small table stood with several drawers. Pulling them open, he rifled through the contents and found an old, worn Bible. The inside flap said Elwood Family History and listed several births, marriages and deaths. He sighed.

  The problem was he had no idea what he looked for. The curse had come on
suddenly with no known cause. He closed his eyes, remembering the day he discovered his immortality.

  In the fall of 1857, a strange illness had struck the people of the small, Oregon Territory town of Corvallis. The young formed wrinkles and their hair turned gray. They complained of aches and pains throughout their bodies and a few lost their eyesight. Within two weeks, six people were dead. Including his Clara.

  Peter’s neighbors, a young couple named Wiley and Margaret, lost both their children to the illness. Word spread that the children were left lying in the back room. Their parents refused to bury them.

  Peter and his father knocked on the door of the simple two room house to see if they could help. Wiley answered the door. Puffy blue skin surrounded his bloodshot eyes. His arms hung lifeless by his side. A putrid smell drifted out of the house. Peter and his father pulled out their handkerchiefs to cover their noses.

  “Wiley, let us help you carry the children out,” Peter’s father said, his voice kind and full of sympathy.

  Wiley’s mouth set in a hard line. “No, they stay here with us. They’ll be scared without us. They’re only children.”

  “You can’t keep them here, they’ll rot. They’ll bring more disease.”

  “Let disease come. Let it take me.” Wiley started to shut the door.

  Peter stuck his foot inside. “We’ve all lost someone we love. Let us help you.”

  Wiley reached his arm behind the door frame. He pulled out a rifle and pointed it toward them. “Leave us alone!”

  “Put the gun down, Wiley,” Peter’s father said. “We only want to help.”

  The rifle fired. A booming sound filled the air and Peter dropped to the dusty ground. A searing pain strained his chest, followed by numbing warmness. “Clara,” he whispered. “I’m coming for you.” He closed his eyes, waiting for blackness to take over.

  Instead of the comfort of death, the pain returned, covering his entire body at first, but shrinking toward a smaller point in his chest.