“At least he didn’t sing the Farts and Butts chant.”
“Chant?”
“Oh yes, it’s as repetitive and earwormy as you’d imagine. I’ll spare you.”
This time she chuckled a little as she replied.
“I appreciate it. I never cared for an earworm.”
They emerged from the trees, and Sanna slowed the truck behind the barn, killing the engine and giving the truck a gentle pat before getting out. Isaac felt like he was making some progress, he just wasn’t sure toward what.
• • • • •
As the sun began to set behind the trees, Isaac and Bass returned to the trailer, showered, and changed clothes before dinner at the Lunds’ house. Wanting to show they cleaned up well, they both wore khaki shorts and polos, trying to dress the best they could with the clothes they had packed. Bass even stayed clean all the way across the orchard—a minor miracle Isaac knew enough to savor while it lasted.
They knocked on the door, and in moments Sanna swung it open wearing a simple blue, button-front dress, collared and tied at the waist, in which her figure—he noticed immediately—appeared more curvy than in her normal jeans and flannel work shirt. Her short hair, still damp from her shower, had a few new curls, softening her face, and her lips shone with a gentle sheen of gloss. Isaac nudged Bass.
“You look pretty, Miss Lund,” he said, giving her the flowers they had brought. Just wildflowers—weeds really—from near the trailer, but it was the best he could do.
Sanna’s mouth opened to respond, but had no words at the ready. She stepped back to let them in.
“Thank you,” she said. A smile finally broke her daze, and she pointed up the steps.
In the kitchen, Einars was setting out bowls full of food, plates, and silverware on a long wooden table that echoed the equally long counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the high-ceilinged room. The two-story ceiling reminded him of his grandparents’ barn.
“There’s the young man, all spiffed up,” Einars said. “Come help me finish dessert so it can bake while we eat.”
Bass went to help him while Sanna put the flowers in water. Isaac studied the huge, airy room and went to stand in front of a wall of watercolor apples—each one was set off by a colored background ranging from deep blue to fluorescent green to soft pink. He turned to ask Sanna about it, but she was still in the kitchen, pulling salt-crusted baked potatoes from the oven.
Bass kneeled on a bar stool and stirred sliced apples with cinnamon and sugar. On the counter were the fixings for a baked potato bar, with cheese, bacon, broccoli, sour cream, and minced chives.
“Are the apples above the fireplace meaningful?”
Einars bent lower to talk to Bass, as they layered the apples into a dish, forcing Sanna to answer the question.
“Those are all the apples we grow in our orchard.”
There were at least thirty. He hadn’t even known there were that many varieties of apple in the world.
“Did you paint them?”
“Some of them. Most were done by much older relatives.”
Sanna assembled her potato, piling it with cheese, bacon, and broccoli, then set the potato on a baking sheet. Isaac followed her lead, making one for himself and Bass—adding extra cheese to Bass’s—and setting them next to Sanna’s potato. Once all four potatoes were ready, she slid them into the oven to melt the cheese. While they waited, Einars ushered them to the huge table where he sat at the head with Sanna to his right, Isaac to his left, and Bass next to Isaac. Einars pulled their gooey dinners from the oven and served them onto waiting plates.
“Where’s your mom, Miss Lund?” Bass asked, a string of cheese dangling from his mouth. Isaac reached out to pull it from his lip. He looked to Sanna, curious about her response. But her lovely face was granite.
“We don’t talk about her.”
Bass looked down at his lap, and Einars coughed but didn’t acknowledge her terse response.
“It’s just a question, Sanna. He’s a curious boy, not a criminal,” Isaac said. He put his arm around Bass.
“Sorry.” Sanna said it, then quickly stuffed a huge bite into her mouth, eager to move past the question. Isaac kept his eyes on her, waiting for more. He didn’t like the way she brushed off Bass, especially if he was to spend so much time with her. She kept her eyes away from his. After their afternoon together, Isaac was starting to understand a bit more about her. She liked to keep people at arm’s length—shying away from his touch, smiling then shutting down. She could do that with him, but not with Bass.
“Tell me more about what you did in California,” Einars said.
Isaac pulled his eyes from Sanna to look at Einars. Bass, resilient, was back to devouring his dinner like nothing had happened.
“I work with companies to develop their online presence. Sometimes that means social media, sometimes that means a website, sometimes that means all of the above. I’ll learn about their business and customers, then develop a plan for them. I work with contractors to set up the websites and accounts they need and train their employees to use them.”
“Very interesting.” Einars chewed his food and nodded. “Social media, huh?”
He saw Sanna roll her eyes.
“Stuff like Facebook, Pa. Where Anders posts pictures of the girls.”
He nodded.
“Oh yah. We don’t use that.”
“And that’s why I get paid to do what I do. A lot of small businesses can’t be bothered to learn how to do it on their own, but it can make a huge difference in driving customers to your website and the brick-and-mortar business.” As he spoke, he started moving his arms. “For example, you cater to tourists. A lot of them like to take pictures and share them on Instagram or Facebook—so those are great places to have your business, especially so they can tag your orchard in their pictures and then other people can learn about you. And you could post photos of the apples as they grow. Customers love to see behind the scenes.”
“What do you think, Sanna?” Einars asked.
Isaac turned to face her and caught her eyes following his hands with every excited gesture.
“It could work. Anything is better than what we have—our website is ancient. Only Anders knows how to update it, and we haven’t put anything on our Facebook page since we posted the closing date last fall.”
“I could fix it. It really isn’t difficult. And I could teach you how to maintain it.”
Einars chewed his food, his eyes moving from Sanna to Isaac and back. Truthfully, Isaac really wanted to redo their website. He had been horrified when he’d come across it while researching the orchard before he took the job. The site was created in FrontPage and completely unusable on a smartphone. When he viewed it from his laptop, half the photos didn’t load and most of the links were broken. At least the address and phone number were easy to find, but that was the only positive. On principle, he couldn’t let them continue like this.
“I’ll do it for free as part of my employment—it won’t cost you anything. It pains me that much to let you continue as it is.”
A timer dinged before Einars could respond. Isaac noticed the other three had finished eating while he’d been talking business. Isaac looked into Sanna’s bold blue eyes and before she could look away, he said, “Please. Please let me do this for you.” He paused. “And your dad.”
She looked at her plate.
“I think it’s a good idea, Pa.”
From behind him, Isaac could hear Einars pull the dessert from the oven, flooding the room with the mouthwatering scent of warm cinnamon and apples. Isaac shoveled in the last few bites of potato, then helped Sanna collect the dinner plates, following her into the kitchen.
“Well, then I guess you’ll be fixing it—but orchard work needs to come first,” Einars said.
“Agreed.” Elated, Isaac thrust out his hand to shake on it.
In his pocket, his phone buzzed. Against his better judgment, he looked at it.
CALL ME NOW OR I’M TELLING THE POLICE TO TRACK YOUR PHONE!
He really needed to show his mom how to text without all caps.
“Can you all excuse me for a minute, I need to make a quick call.”
“You can use my room,” Einars said, pointing to the far right door on the wall.
Which meant Sanna’s bedroom was the room on the left. Isaac tried to look in, wondering what her room might reveal about her. Did she have a stuffed bear collection, cover her bed in pillows, or leave her dirty clothes strewn on the floor? He caught a glimpse of green and blue before he had to face forward or risk being obvious. Einars’s room was painted a soft gray with a cushy bed. Hand drawings of the orchard hung on the wall, intermingled with photos of Sanna with a tall blond man about the same age—that must be Anders. The room contained a bed, dresser, a side table, and a blue-gray rug covering the plank floors.
Once he closed the door, he made the call he’d been dreading for days.
“It’s about damn time,” his mom said with a huff.
“Mom, I’m—”
“You can’t disappear like that.” So it was going to be one of those calls where she talked and he listened. He deserved it. “I’ve been worried sick about you and Bass. People are asking when the funeral will be, what we should do with the remains? Where they should send memorial checks? We need to pick a cause. There are things that need to be done. Where are you?”
As her words rushed over him, all the distance he’d put between himself and the mess back at home shrunk to nothing. He’d run away, but reality could still find him here. He needed to get off the phone, and quick.
“You don’t need to worry. We’re fine—”
“How can you be fine? Bass must be devastated.” There was only one thing to do when she got like this. Talk louder.
“We’re fine and safe. We’re going to spend the rest of the summer in Wisconsin.”
“What’s in Wisconsin?”
“What we need. We’ll be back when we get back. Please cremate her. We’ll deal with the rest when we get home. I have to go. Love you.”
He hung up before she could say anything else. He took a few breaths to ease his nerves. He wanted to find that energized place he had been a few minutes ago, but the moment was gone. Before he had even left the room, his mom texted again.
DON’T HANG UP ON ME. I’D CALL BACK BUT I KNOW YOU WON’T PICK UP. NEXT TIME I WANT REAL ANSWERS. LOVE.
He shoved the phone back in his pocket and returned to the table as they were sitting down to warm plates of dessert.
“Sanna,” Einars was saying, “you won’t believe who I caught sneaking over the border and taking clippings from our trees early yesterday morning.”
Sanna shook her head. “Was it Mrs. Rundstrom? Again?”
Einars chuckled. “I was surprised she could move that fast in her fuzzy slippers and housecoat.”
“I’ll talk to Thad. They only need to ask.”
Isaac wasn’t following the conversation, still torn between the responsibilities back home and the bucolic peace he needed here. He took a breath, hoping no one had noticed, but of course Sanna had—her head tilted slightly to the left as she watched him. He forced a smile and hoped she bought it.
“This looks amazing, what is it?”
He was surprised when Bass answered instead of Einars.
“It’s caramel apple bread pudding with a cider sauce.”
Bass looked at Einars as he spoke and smiled when Einars nodded that he’d gotten it correct, Bass’s pride obvious on his glowing face. See? He wouldn’t have had this moment in San Jose—this was what they were here for—new experiences and new memories away from the complicated heartache. Some of Isaac’s guilt eased the more Bass’s smile widened.
“You helped make this?” Isaac said. He scooped up a large bite and his taste buds exploded with joy. Cinnamon apples and custardy bread pudding melded together with the creamy caramel sauce spiked with cider. It might be the perfect dessert. “Good job, Sharky.”
Sanna leaned toward Bass across the table and whispered loudly, “You did a better job than my dad normally does.”
She didn’t smile or wink to undermine the verity of her words or dumb it down, just issued the straight compliment. Isaac’s heart melted as Bass sat up taller in his chair. Maybe that wasn’t the only reason Isaac’s heart melted.
CHAPTER NINE
Eva Drake covered her left ear with her hand and with her right pressed the phone tighter to her head to hear better. Her sensible black Birkin hung in the crook of her elbow, swinging against her torso each time she moved. The wind pulled at her short blond hair. Annoyed, she tucked the longer strands in the front behind her ears as best she could. She looked at the huge sailboats and small yachts that filled the marina around her. She hadn’t expected such visible wealth in the middle of nowhere, but as she read the names of the boats, it became clear many were owned by Illinois people. No Wisconsinite would name their boat Ditka’s Dinghy or Cubbie #1. At least that’s what her market research had told her. She was in one of the small towns that made up the heart of Door County—Efrom or Eframe or Egads . . . something with an E.
“It’s under control,” she said, her voice tight with frustration. “I’ve given him all the paperwork and he sees the logic. The other contract will be signed in a few days—they’re having their lawyer read it over. They’ve also given me insight I hadn’t expected. We’re in a very good position.”
“You said that last time.”
“Last time I had an inferior partner undermining my decisions. This time that isn’t happening.”
“That’s not the version I heard.” He paused to slurp liquid, probably the cold, black coffee that sat on his desk all day. “I don’t care how it happens. I expect to have signed papers by the end of the month. Otherwise, I’ll send Patrick to take care of it.”
The line clicked off, but Eva checked the phone’s screen to be sure.
“Dick!” she said. Her dad never said good-bye when he ended a call, so she could never finish telling him everything completely. She’d bet anything that he didn’t hang up on her brother like that. But she’d be damned if she allowed Patrick to touch this project after roadblocking her at every turn on their last one. Besides, if and when it succeeded, and she knew it would, he’d just take all the credit—just like he’d been doing since she started at the company a year after he did. It was her idea to bring WWW to this area, and she’d make it a success without Patrick.
Her dad had founded Wild Water Works fifteen years ago, realizing the opportunity—and waterfalls of money—to be made building hotels and water parks together. He hadn’t been wrong and they were growing faster than industry predictions. Now, she and her brother jockeyed for who would take it over when he retired. Her father played them against each other, and she hated them all—including herself—for buying into the competition. That’s why she’d been scouting territories on her own that hadn’t been touched by the water-park craze yet. Door County, with its abundance of family visitors and quiet winters, would definitely benefit from a cold-weather destination like an indoor water park. She could almost smell the over-chlorinated water now.
And she would make it happen.
The person she was negotiating with had said to meet here at two, and it was one forty-five. In Eva’s book, fifteen minutes early was nearly late. She stepped with purpose on the wooden dock, careful not to get her four-inch black pumps stuck in a crack. The sun turned her black suit into an oven, forcing a trail of sweat down her spine, so she slipped the tailored coat off her arms and pulled the shirt away from her skin to let the breeze cool her down. Her father insisted she always be the most professionally dressed person in the room—even without her blazer, that wasn’t a problem here.
She studied the shoreline, where small galleries and shops fringed the streets as tourists weaved in and out of them. This whole town just looked like a lot of money to be made. Families by the hundreds, acc
ording to her research, looked to entertain kids in a safe, controlled environment where they could read a book and sip cocktails. She looked at her hands in the sun and picked at a chip in her French manicure. With any luck, she could have the deal wrapped up in a week, because she really needed a manicure—and it was impossible to find a place in this whole county that made a decent cold-pressed green juice. The continental breakfast from her hotel consisted entirely of carbs and butter.
She meandered her way to the end of the dock, where a bench overlooked the water. The afternoon sun filtered through to the rock-speckled bottom. Instead of a Caribbean blue, the bay waters looked algae green. She’d already been isolated here for a week, and who knew how much longer it would be before she could return to her condo in Chicago. They may share the same lake and time zone, but Door County and Chicago were worlds apart. At home, they’d never leave all this gorgeous real estate for cottages and farms.
Her intuition had her smiling and reaching out a hand, even before her appointment could identify himself. Everything was on track, or would be soon.
CHAPTER TEN
Sanna woke before the sun. She slipped on her work clothes and snuck into the barn. Yesterday, she had pulled out of the freezer a few special juices from the Looms that she had frozen last fall and set them in the cooler to thaw. When she had pressed them last October, they hadn’t produced as much juice as the apples from younger trees, but even the raw juices by themselves were interesting and complex, layers of apple and honey and something earthier. At the time, she’d decided to save them for inspiration to strike. As she had lain in bed, though, waiting for the first rays of light, a color blossomed. A rosy pink, with a hint of coral, bold and opaque. It didn’t have any sharp edges. She knew instantly it required juice from one of the Looms.
She measured and blended, noting each of the juices she used and in what combination. Two parts Rambo, one part Winesap, a half part Britegold. She sipped it, but the color was too red, almost searing. She needed something to mute it. She walked into the large freezer where she had stored some of the frozen juices and even a few bushels of frozen apples she was experimenting with.
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