The Orchard at the Edge of Town

by Shirlee McCoy

  Apricot supposed that from a kid’s point of view, the darkness of the orchard might be sinister. “They’re apple trees. Farther in, there are pear trees and some cherry trees. They just need a little attention and love and they’ll be beautiful.”

  “I don’t think so,” Evie said, but she walked to the fence and stood on the lowest cross rail. “What kind of apples do they grow?”

  “All different kinds. The ones closest to us are Red Delicious. Three rows in are some Granny Smith.”

  “Granny Smith?” Evie giggled. “Why do they call them that?”

  “I’d say it’s because a granny named Smith grew them first, but I don’t know for sure. I do know they’re green and very crisp. I thought we could pick a few and make them into cobbler for your dad.”

  She hadn’t really been thinking that. The apples weren’t quite ripe, and she’d have to add a boatload of honey to her grandmother’s cobbler recipe to sweeten them up. What she’d been thinking about was getting the girls outside, letting them run through the trees and explore the orchard while the sun was setting. She’d been hoping to get a few minutes of quiet. Since that obviously wasn’t going to happen, they’d make cobbler.

  “Charlotte makes the best apple cobbler in the world. We could just buy some from her,” Rori offered, her gaze glued to the gnarled trees and the dark shadows beneath them.

  “You’re scared. She’s scared.” Evie jumped off the fence and hugged Rori. “She doesn’t want to go in the creepy trees, and I don’t either.”

  “You don’t want to sit on the bench under the grape arbor and listen to the animals tuck themselves in for the night?” Apricot asked. It was the kind of thing Rose or Lilac would have said, but the words were foreign on Apricot’s tongue. She was more a fact kind of gal. She was all about numbers and stats and building things up with good information and realistic goals. It had been a lot of years since she’d thought about hiking through the Pennsylvania woods with her mother, listening as she told stories about the flora and fauna there. Lilac was a born storyteller, and she made a good living off of it, traveling to schools and fairs and even colleges to retell stories she’d learned while traveling through South and Central America. She had a doctorate in anthropology. Not that anyone who met her would ever know it.

  “Where’s the grape arbor?” Evie asked. “Because I want to hear animals putting themselves to bed. You do too, right, Rori?”

  Rori didn’t look enthusiastic, but she nodded, her eyes big with worry.

  “Let’s go then.” Apricot took Rori’s hand and opened the gate. Evie grabbed her free hand, and they walked into the orchard together.

  The girls didn’t say a word as Apricot led them through the trees. They didn’t speak as she pushed through brambles and into a small clearing she’d found a few days before. A grape arbor stretched several feet across overgrown grass, a wrought-iron bench beneath it. She sat on the cool metal and patted the seat on either side of her.

  “We can’t sit there,” Rori whispered.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s for old man Shaffer’s wife. Andrew says he put a bench right in the middle of the orchard so his dead wife could always sit in her favorite spot.”

  “Let’s not worry about what Andrew says.”

  “But—”

  “If Mr. Shaffer put the bench here, it’s because his wife loved this spot. I’ve heard she was a very nice woman, and I think that a very nice woman would want other people to enjoy what she loved so much.” She thought the girls must have heard the weariness in her voice, because they plopped down beside her without another sound.

  She thought they’d pick up the conversation again, but the quiet evening must have woven its spell. Grape and apple filled the air with the sweet scent of summer growth and a hint of fall harvest. Leaves rustled and a bird called a quiet good-night. Still, the girls didn’t say a word.

  A small, dark shadow slipped from between the trees, and the girls scooted closer.

  “It’s just Handsome,” Apricot whispered, almost afraid to break the silence. It seemed filled with something lovely and light. Something that defied the darkness and the old gnarled trees that stood watch. Maybe it was the blazing sunset just visible through the canopy of trees. Maybe it was the two girls pressed close to her sides. Maybe it was just that Lionel had moved on, and she had no choice but to move on as well. All the lectures she’d given herself, all the assurances that she would never take him back, that she was better off without him, hadn’t eased the sting of waking up alone in the morning and going to bed alone at night.

  Handsome jumped into her lap, butting his head against her stomach as he made himself comfortable.

  Every morning, she told herself she was going to take him to the animal shelter, and every evening, he was still happily ensconced in her life.

  A twig snapped. A branch broke. The girls tensed, but Apricot pulled them closer.

  “Shhhh,” she breathed. “Just watch.”

  Seconds later, a doe meandered through the clearing, picking her way through the grass, a fawn following along behind. The girls didn’t move. Apricot didn’t think they even breathed as the doe and fawn slipped back into the trees and disappeared into the shadowy orchard.

  “Where are they going?” Rori asked so quietly Apricot barely heard.

  “To find something to eat.”

  “There’s lots of things right here. Apples and grapes and grass.”

  “They want their privacy.”

  “Shouldn’t the baby be sleeping?”

  “She probably already slept.”

  “Can we follow them?” Evie jumped up. “Maybe we can find lots more deer. Maybe I can get close enough to touch one, and you can take a picture of me on your phone and we can show Daddy.”

  “Not tonight.” Apricot stood and stretched. The quiet was over. No doubt about that. “Let’s pick some apples before it gets too dark to see. Then you girls can help me cut and core them and put them in a cobbler.”

  “I still think we should just buy one from Charlotte,” Evie muttered. “Plus, we don’t even have a basket or a box or anything to put the apples in.”

  “We’ll just use our shirts to hold them. I’ll use my skirt.” She set Handsome on the ground. The cat could find his way home, no problem. He’d proven that over and over again the past few days. Right then, he was more interested in pouncing on apples and chasing them when they rolled away.

  “These are the ones we want.” She pulled one from a tree and handed it to Rori.

  Rori lifted it to her nose and inhaled. “It smells like apple and happiness.”

  “That’s silly,” Evie scoffed. “You can’t smell happiness.”

  “You can if you’re a poet.” Apricot picked another apple and handed it to Evie. “Take a sniff and see for yourself.”

  Evie inhaled deeply, a tiny frown line between her brows. If she didn’t smell what her sister had, she didn’t let on. “Do you think Daddy will pick us up soon? Tomorrow is church, and we always have to take showers before bed and Aunt Daisy braids our hair so it will be curly.”

  “I’m sure he will be,” she lied. She wasn’t sure. She was shocked that she hadn’t heard from Simon and concerned about what that might mean. She was trying to play it cool though, trying to pretend that she and the girls did this every Saturday night.

  “How can you be sure? Maybe I should call him,” Evie insisted. Obviously the excitement of being in a new environment was wearing thin.

  “Let’s pick our apples and make the cobbler. If he hasn’t come for you by then, you can give him a call.” She picked another apple, using the hem of her shirt to hold it as she reached for another.

  The girls looked at each other.

  Were they about to stage a mutiny? Scream their heads off? Run back to the house?

  They stepped forward in unison, reaching for a branch filled with apples. It drooped close to the ground with the weight of its fruit, and the girls were able to reac
h it easily. They snapped underripe apples from the branches, dropping fruit and leaves into shirts held out like nets. It reminded Apricot of fall harvest in Happy Dale, little kids working alongside adults to pick fruit and vegetables that would be canned and stored.

  There was something cathartic about the process, something wholly healing about working out in nature. She’d forgotten that, but working beside the girls brought the memories back. She reached for apples higher in the tree, and let the memories wash over her and drive away some of the emptiness that she’d been living with since she’d left LA.

  Simon sped along the country road that led to Apricot’s house, the darkness outside Henry’s windows mocking his urgency. It was already ten. Way past the twins’ bedtime. He should have had them home hours ago, tucked in and sleeping soundly. Racing to get them now was like trying to plug a black hole with a cotton ball.

  He’d have to apologize to Apricot. He hadn’t meant to leave the girls with her for so long. He should have called to let her know what was going on and give her some indication of when he’d be home, but he’d been busy dealing with Daisy. It had taken most of the late afternoon and evening to get her calm enough for coherency. Even then she’d been short on details and long on drama. Once he’d finally gotten as much of the story as she seemed able to give, he’d driven her to his place, asked the neighbor to keep an eye on her while he went to the crime scene. Max and Cade had already been there collecting what little evidence there was. Daisy’s purse—empty of her smartphone and wallet. A candy bar wrapper. A cigarette butt. They planned to send the wrapper and cigarette butt to the state forensic team. It was possible they could pull DNA from one or the other.

  Possible but doubtful.

  He pulled up in front of Rose’s house, parked Henry, and jogged to the front door. It swung open before he could ring the bell.

  “Finally!” Apricot admonished as she took his arm and dragged him through the doorway. “I’ve been worried sick.”

  “Sorry. I meant to call, but I got caught up in things.”

  “What happened? Was Daisy in an accident? Is she hurt?”

  “She was mugged. Someone grabbed her purse and pushed her to the ground.”

  “Is she okay?” She’d changed into pale blue sweatpants that had seen better days and a tight-fitting white T-shirt. Three colorful barrettes held her hair away from her face. He thought they were probably the girls’ doing. Same for the bright purple polish on her nails.

  “I’d say more scared than anything. The doctor couldn’t find more than a scraped knee.”

  “Poor Daisy. She doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d handle something like this well.” She ran a hand over her hair and rubbed the back of her neck. “Not that it would be easy on anyone.” The last few words tumbled out as if she were afraid of offending him.

  “Daisy doesn’t handle stress well, and she’s not handling being mugged at all. One of the reasons I didn’t call was because I couldn’t get her calmed down enough to get the story out of her.”

  “It sounds like you could use a cup of tea. The girls are sleeping in the guest room. I don’t suppose it would hurt them at all to rest for a little longer.”

  He hated tea, but her arm slid around his waist and he found himself walking into the kitchen. It smelled like apple and cinnamon with just a hint of the flowery scent that always seemed to cling to Apricot. The place had changed. The walls had been painted a buttery yellow, the old linoleum floor ripped up to reveal thick-planked wood nicked and gouged with time. It had been polished to a dull shine, a few stains near the counter and table so deeply embedded they seemed part of the pattern of the floor. “The place looks good.”

  “Thanks.” She filled a kettle and set it on the stove, her scapula jutting against white cotton, the column of her neck delicate and vulnerable-looking. “It’s a labor of love.”

  “On a house that isn’t yours,” he pointed out.

  She shrugged, opening a cupboard and taking out what looked like a jar of tea leaves. “I spent time here when I was a kid. I feel some obligation to the place.” She spooned the leaves into a small metal basket that hooked over the edge of a mug. “Besides, if I let things go the way they are, in a decade the place will be falling apart.”

  “I doubt Dusty would let that happen. He loves the place.”

  “It’s more likely he loves my aunt,” she said with a smile that put a little color in her pale cheeks. “He’s stopped by more than once to ask if she’s planning a visit.”

  “Is she?”

  “God, I hope not! If she comes, the rest of my wacky family will. I’ll have a boatload of hippies camped in trailers on the front yard. Can you imagine what Maura would say then?”

  “The girls have been talking, haven’t they?” He could imagine every word they’d been saying because he’d heard versions of the gossip all over town.

  “By nine, I was trying to find their off switch. Apparently, twin girls don’t come with one.”

  “And there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t ask the good Lord why not,” he responded drily. He’d have to talk to the girls about spreading gossip. Again.

  Apricot laughed, snagging the kettle from the stove and pouring hot water over the tea leaves. “This is going to be a very mild cup of tea. I don’t want to steep the leaves, just get some of the flavor and health benefits into the water.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask what’s in those leaves.”

  “I wouldn’t dare poison an officer of the law.” She lifted the basket and set it in the sink, then handed him the mug, her smile as warm and inviting as sunrise. He wanted to set the mug down, tug her close, and study that smile, her face, the vivid blue of her eyes. Heck with the tea, he wanted to drink Apricot in.

  “Go on,” she urged, and for a split-second worth of insanity he actually thought she’d read his mind.

  “It’s just green tea,” she continued. “With a little dandelion root and leaves mixed in. It won’t hurt you.”

  “Dandelion?” The liquid was pale and innocuous-looking, but he was more a steak-and-potatoes kind of guy, and he wasn’t sure about eating the weed Daisy spent every spring and summer trying to eradicate from his lawn.

  “It’s chock-full of vitamins and minerals and promotes good liver function. With all the stress you’re under, a boost to your immune system isn’t a bad thing.”

  “I’m healthy as a horse, so I’m not all that worried about immunity boosting.” He took a sip of the tea anyway. Grassy with a slightly bitter edge, it had a mild flavor that washed down his throat and warmed his stomach.

  “Well?” she demanded. “What do you think?”

  “It’s better than horrible,” he responded.

  “I think I’ll put that on the package. ‘Dandelion green tea—it’s better than horrible,’” she said with a soft chuckle that warmed him up a thousand times better than the tea had.

  “You sell a lot of that stuff?”

  “A boatload of it.” She leaned against the counter, the oversized sweats bagging around her ankles, her arms crossed over her chest. “We live in a culture obsessed with good health and excess. People want to drink themselves into a stupor and then flush the toxins from their bodies so they can do it all again the next night. They want to eat fast food every afternoon for lunch and then run off the calories in the gym every night. My products can at least help with detoxing bodies taxed by the chemicals in processed food, the poison in alcohol and cigarettes. I don’t promise miracles. I’m not claiming a few sips of my tea will cure cancer or prevent it, but the products I sell are a first step to good health.” She ran out of steam, her cheeks flushed.

  He couldn’t say he was all that interested in herbs and teas and whatever else Apricot sold, but he was sure as heck interested in her.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, the color in her cheeks deepening. “I get a little nuts when I start talking business.”

  “Get me started talking about law enforcement
or my girls, and all bets are off for how long I can talk before taking a breath, so you’ve got no need to apologize.”

  “Lionel always said . . .” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

  “I think I will mind.” He took both her hands, tugged her in close. “So, how about you tell me what good old Lionel had to say about you talking business?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters.” He slid his hands to her wrists, his fingers curving around slender bones and silky skin. “How about I guess? He said that business was business and you shouldn’t let your heart get involved. He said that you let your emotions rule, and that you needed him to keep you on track. He said that without him, the business would go belly up.”

  “He wasn’t that bad,” she protested, but he knew there was some truth in what he’d said.

  “Which means he wasn’t that good either.”

  “He thought the details of what I sold were boring. He was more a facts-and-figures kind of guy.”

  “That’s a poor excuse for being an asshole,” he responded.

  Her lips twitched, and he was sure there was a smile in her eyes. “Where have you been all my life, Simon?” she asked.

  It was supposed to be a joke. He knew that, and his head was telling him to laugh and walk away. It was hollering loud and clear that he’d better hightail it up the stairs, grab the girls, and get out while the getting was good.

  Only problem was, he didn’t want to make light of things. He didn’t want to walk away.

  His hands moved of their own accord, sliding up slender arms and resting on shoulders that were thin and muscular. “Raising a couple of precocious girls and waiting for you to come along.”

  “You really are full of Southern charm, and I really do need you to cut it out.” She didn’t step away though. Just looked up into his eyes as if she could find the mysteries of the universe in his gaze.

  He wanted to tell her to forget it.

  He wanted to say that he didn’t have any answers. That he wasn’t a hero, a savior, someone who could lift her up and carry her through life.

  He wanted to say that he’d already failed once, and he didn’t want to fail again, but Apricot levered up on her toes and her lips brushed his cheek. He forgot everything then. Everything but the woman standing in front of him. The one who liked old trucks and ugly cats and who seemed to care about everyone who crossed her path.