“Did you get him?” Bass said, his face coated in soot like her own.
Sanna could only nod. Her heart raced and her throat burned from the smoke. She couldn’t believe she’d done something so stupid—especially for a stuffed animal. Bass dumped out the bag, baseball cards, deodorant, and underwear forming a mountain. At the top sat the dragon, like Smaug on his treasure trove, along with some papers that must have been crushed at the bottom. He grabbed Snarf and hugged him tight.
She pulled her bandana from her back pocket and wiped the tears now streaming from her eyes—without the heat to dry them, they flowed unabated and she couldn’t stop coughing. The sun still shone, the grasshoppers still hopped, and a gentle breeze began to pull the papers, so Sanna caught them before they blew away. Her mind struggled to reconcile the black smoke and blistering heat with the beautiful day around her.
She looked at the papers in her hands. One was a letter from Bass to his mother that hadn’t made the journey home yet. The last, though, made her stomach drop. She covered her mouth with her sooty hand, adding this information to every conversation she’d had with Isaac over the past couple of months. Her heart broke for Bass.
“What is it?” he asked.
Her sadness was quickly replaced by anger at the man who could lie to this sweet little boy, clutching his stuffed dragon.
“I . . . You’ll have to ask your dad.”
Isaac and her dad arrived on the ATV. Isaac barely let the vehicle stop before running to Bass and pulling him into his arms. His normally heartwarming worry for Bass was tainted with the truth she now knew.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked when he finally let go, searching him for any signs of injury.
“I’m fine. But Sanna said I’m supposed to ask you about something in the duffel bag?”
Isaac looked up at Sanna, and she stiffly handed him the paper and saw his eyes light in recognition, then the light disappear as his lie died. He held the paper to his chest and closed his eyes. Would he try to get out of telling Bass the truth? But when he opened his eyes, Sanna saw his resolve. At least he was making the right choice now.
Isaac knelt in front of Bass, holding both of his shoulders.
“I haven’t told you everything that’s been going on with your mom, Bass. She . . . she . . .”
He looked up at her for support, but Sanna had none to give him. He’d created this mess, he could get himself out of it. Her only concern was for Bass. He continued.
“She died. Right before we left for our trip. That’s why we went on our trip, I—I didn’t know how to tell you. I wanted you to have one last summer being little. I didn’t want you to have to grow up so soon.”
He handed the paper—Paige’s death certificate—to Bass, who stood still, absorbing the words, clutching the paper. Sanna could see his world crumbling and readied herself to do whatever he needed, all concerns about her orchard or the fire didn’t matter—only this little boy did.
“Is Mom really dead?”
Isaac nodded. He sat back on his heels, and ash from the nearby flames lined the creases on his forehead, making him look older.
“But you said she was sick and trying to get better. You lied!” Tears trickled down Bass’s face, leaving trails through the ash. Isaac moved to pull him into a hug, and Bass stepped back.
“Don’t.” His voice cracked.
Einars limped next to Sanna and put his arm around her shoulder. “You okay?” She nodded. “I called the fire department, but I think it’s a lost cause. They’ll need to stay with us.” He pointed at Bass and Isaac.
She turned into her dad’s arms. “I can’t even look at him right now. Poor Bass.”
Einars watched her. She could feel him judging her—maybe amused that the self-proclaimed kid hater had developed a soft spot for Bass—and she didn’t care. She couldn’t stop thinking Bass never had a chance to say good-bye, never had a funeral for his mother. It had been months, and that little boy thought his mom was waiting for him to return. He had written her letters that would never be delivered. Sanna knew the pain of having a mom excised from your life without a chance to say good-bye. She knew it never went away.
“Parents sometimes make stupid choices. They make sense at the time, but in retrospect, they’re a bad idea. We can’t know why he made the decision,” Einars said.
“He lied to Bass.” And he had lied to her—or at least he’d implied his ex was still alive. If she looked back on what he said, his words were always so careful—he had said she was sick a lot, or had avoided commenting at all.
Bass still clutched Snarf to him and his voice raised over the sounds of the incoming sirens.
“You never think I’m old enough. But I am.”
Isaac reached for him, but Bass stepped farther back. He walked to Sanna, who put an arm around his shoulder. While furious at Isaac and heartbroken for Bass, she was still relieved she could be there for him. She wanted to keep him close. Isaac moved to stand in front of him. His shoulders slumped and his lips frowned.
“Minnow, I know you’re angry at me and sad about your mom, but I . . .”
Sanna didn’t want to hear his excuse, because there wasn’t one good enough to justify his actions.
“His mom died and you didn’t give him a chance to say good-bye. You had no right to do that to him.” She handed him the letter he never sent because there was no one to send it to, then looked down at Bass. “Want to head back to the house?”
Bass nodded, she took his free hand, and they walked back toward the farmhouse.
• • • • •
Isaac gathered their belongings from the ground and slowly packed them into the duffel, careful not to bend the baseball cards or lose a single toy. What had happened that his life now fit into one duffel bag, and even that seemed like too much? He’d pushed away the truth for so long, he’d even let a part of himself believe that Paige was still struggling to recover, not that it was over. Bass had already had one parent fail him—now he had two. He couldn’t even be mad that Sanna had taken his son back to the house without him. He deserved it.
The firefighters did their best to stop the blaze from spreading into the orchard. Two men pointed the hose, blasting water at the ravaging red flames, which hissed as it hit the heat. Siding melted off exposing blackened wood beams. As the firefighters moved around the building, the hose knocked one of the geranium pots into the muddy puddles forming from all the water.
Einars stood next to Isaac.
“The firefighters said there’s no reason to watch them play with their hoses,” he said. “Let’s head back.”
Isaac struggled to his feet, then rubbed his hands on his face, trying to erase the events of the past few minutes.
“They’ll forgive you.”
“They shouldn’t.”
“They don’t understand. Sanna’s sensitive to absent moms.”
Isaac zipped the duffel and put it in the back of the ATV, making sure Einars safely eased into the vehicle.
“Yeah, she mentioned that.”
“Sanna’s mom left when she was young, without any explanation—though I had my highly educated guesses, she hadn’t exactly been subtle about her unhappiness. Sanna was stuck with me and Anders.” He rubbed his jaw and looked at the dark smoke still twirling in the blue sky as they turned the ATV toward the house. “Her teenage years were not fun.”
He knew Einars was trying to make him feel better, but he didn’t want to feel better. Bass had never rejected him before. They’d always gotten along, always been buddies. But then again, he’d always told him the truth before. He’d planned for months to throw the death certificate away—he could always get another one—but a part of him was glad the truth was out. Now he had nothing to hide. If Sanna didn’t want him anymore, at least it was over. One less complication. His chest twisted at the thought.
“Maybe Bass and I should head home. We’ve taken up enough of your time, and it appears we’ve managed to burn down
part of your property.”
Einars waved his hand.
“Don’t be absurd. Bass needs time before being trapped in a cross-country road trip with you.” He looked over his shoulder at the smoldering trailer. “And something tells me you had nothing to do with that fire. Between the picked green apples, the girdling, and this—there have been too many weird things happening around here for it to be a coincidence.”
They rode in silence, Isaac dreading yet eager to see the two people he cared most about. Idun’s Orchard had been his escape from his poor decisions, and now he didn’t want to leave. More than California, where he’d spent so many years, this place felt like home. Sanna felt like home.
Maybe Einars was right and they needed some space. He’d made a mistake—he wasn’t arguing that. By the time they arrived at the farmhouse, Isaac had convinced himself he’d be forgiven and all could return to normal.
When he entered the kitchen, Bass and Sanna sat at the counter, drinking grape soda out of glass bottles, their hair wet and in fresh clothes. Bass wore an oversize white T-shirt, which must have been Sanna’s as it almost reached his calves. Neither looked up at him.
“Bass, we should get set up in one of the spare rooms.” Bass didn’t move. “Bass.”
Instead of his child hopping off the stool and running to his side, he remained seated, slurping his drink.
“Pa, can you please tell Mr. Banks that Bass will be sleeping on the floor in my room? And that he can get his own room ready.”
Einars paused, looking back at Isaac to see if he really needed to convey the message.
“Bass, this isn’t a joke. I’m still your father, and you still need to listen to me.”
Sanna whispered in Bass’s ear, and he hopped off the stool.
“Pa, let him know that Bass isn’t joking. He needs some space.”
Sanna went to a closet and pulled out a pile of blankets and pillows, then disappeared into her room, presumably to make up Bass’s bed. Isaac dumped the duffel on the table and sat with his head in his hands. Einars sat in the chair next to him.
“He’s never going to forgive me. He’s been through so much with his mom. Seeing her sick, seeing her high—though he didn’t understand what was happening. She’d been an addict for years—fentanyl.” Einars made an O with his mouth, now understanding Isaac’s concern about leaving his pill bottles lying around. “She was in her fourth rehab facility and had paid an orderly to sneak her some drugs. She finally ODed. When I got the call, I finished up my current job, packed the car, and we left. I couldn’t tell him. I just couldn’t tell him that his mom chose drugs over him. How can you tell a child that?”
He looked up to see Sanna standing in her doorway. Without a word, she closed the door.
Einars got up, pulled a bottle from the back of a cabinet, grabbed two glasses, and returned to Isaac. He poured a finger of the amber liquid into each glass and held his up to clink glasses.
“To doing your best,” Einars said.
Isaac copied his movements and drank the liquor in one quick gulp. It burned going down, nearly singeing his nose hairs, but with a hint of apple at the finish.
“Apple brandy. I made it years ago. A very small batch—I don’t have Sanna’s gift. I pull it out when something stronger than cider is needed.”
“Now is definitely one of those times.” Isaac had taken another measure, wanting to feel the pain every second it went down his throat, and settled into the chair when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Einars shouted.
Two firefighters walked into the great room. They had taken off their heavy coats and hats, but still wore the pants with suspenders over T-shirts soaked with sweat from working in the heat under so much equipment.
“Hey, Einars,” the older of the two said. “We’ve got some news.”
“Doug.” Einars nodded in greeting. “Should we go look at it?”
“Nah. I knew you weren’t moving around too good, so I have pictures. Everything is already packed up as evidence.” He pulled a digital camera to show the pictures. “Who’d you piss off? This is pretty clearly arson, unless your guests have a habit of lighting gasoline-filled bottles under the trailer.”
“Not recently,” Isaac said.
Einars and Isaac looked at the broken-glass pictures, squinting to make out the label, and Isaac’s stomach dropped even more. It looked like one of his labels he’d made for Sanna. Another smack in the face.
“That looks like one of mine.” Sanna’s voice came from over their shoulders, then she walked out of the house, leaving her rosy scent behind. She returned in a few minutes, carrying an unburnt version of the bottle in the photo. “Someone took some bottles out of one of the crates in the barn. I wouldn’t have noticed except I recently had to count to make sure I had enough.”
Her voice rasped from the smoke.
“Why did you go into the trailer?” Isaac asked before remembering she wasn’t speaking to him. He braced for her silence, but instead she looked at him with her cornflower-blue eyes and answered.
“Bass kept trying to run in for Snarf. I couldn’t let him do that. I saw the duffel under the bed when I crawled into the bedroom, then filled it with whatever I could grab.”
“Thank you. Losing Snarf would have devastated him.”
“I think he’s devastated anyway.”
Bass emerged from Sanna’s room. She grabbed a pack of Oreos and the milk from the fridge and spoke as the two of them went down the stairs and out the door.
“We’re going back to harvesting. No need to join us.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Eva walked into one of the many small restaurants lining the main street of Fish Creek. She’d been to this one enough times that the waitstaff knew her order as soon as she walked in. Outside the window, the sidewalks teemed with strollers and older couples walking hand in hand. When she first arrived in Door County, the leisurely pace and pastoral scenes had made her antsy, but now she found it hopeful and reassuring—that there might be a different way to live.
By now Patrick had probably spilled the beans about her new plans, but she was hoping to beat him to it—too bad she was on hold with her own damn company. She hated the instrumental versions of eighties pop songs. She had heard them too many times while waiting for her father to answer his phone.
She slid into a booth with a smile and a wave from the hostess. Before she finished settling the tube containing the new drawings on the bench next to her, the waitress, Ann, set her black coffee down in front of her.
“Your egg whites will be out in a minute, Eva.”
“Thanks, Ann.”
During her last visit, she’d found out Ann had lived here her entire life. She went to college but found it didn’t suit her. She came back and married her high school sweetheart, who was taking over the family’s company, which rented watercraft to tourists. She and her husband had two kids under five and the grandparents helped watch them while Ann and her husband worked. They weren’t rich, but they didn’t need to be. Eva had always been rich—she worked to please her father, not for the money.
Eva envied Ann.
“This is Mr. Drake.” Her father had finally picked up.
“It’s Eva.”
“Wonderful, the papers are signed then.” There was an edge to his voice. Patrick had already told him, and he was baiting a trap.
“I’ve revised the original plan to make it more amenable to the sellers, but I expect they’ll agree soon.”
“I heard.” The words contained even less warmth than usual. “So the papers aren’t signed yet. I told you not to call until it was done.”
“Dad . . .” She hated the begging tone in her voice.
“You know not to call me that at work.”
“Sorry, sir. Money alone won’t convince them. I’ve adjusted accordingly.”
Her eggs arrived, and she gave Ann a thumbs-up.
“The clock is ticking. Do what needs to be done.
Prove you can make the tough decisions. You’re the one who wanted this deal. It has already taken much too long. Don’t call again until it’s done.”
The phone went quiet. She set it next to her coffee cup. She’d get this damn deal done. She’d show them she was better than all of them combined and earn her spot at WWW. She sipped her coffee, letting the bitter liquid singe her throat as she swallowed—savoring the burn.
The door opened and in walked Anders, tall and handsome in the morning sun. She waved for him to join her. She started speaking before he even got settled, eager to show him the revisions.
“Thank you for meeting me. I wanted to show you the new plans I had drawn up. I’m hoping the designs are more amenable to you and your sister.” She pushed aside her eggs and pulled the plans out of the canister, unrolling them over the table so Anders could see them. She ignored the uninterested expression on his face. “As you can see, I’ve kept a portion of the Looms and designed around them. I’m envisioning all sorts of ways we can incorporate them into our property—harvest fests, apple blossom balls, even stringing lights on them for the holidays.”
She especially liked the idea of creating events around them—it was something that would be unique to the property. Anders held up his hand and looked over the drawings.
“These are impressive, but I’m not sure you understand my sister. I don’t think I did until recently, either. It isn’t just dirt and trees. She just spent thirty-six hours trying to save trees from something that is nearly always terminal. She’d have an easier time living without air than she would Idun’s.”
The unmistakable chill of failure spread from Eva’s core. This couldn’t be the end—not after everything she’d risked. Her father would send her to the mail room once he found out. Patrick would gloat for a year. Desperation sent tremors to her hands.
The Simplicity of Cider Page 22
