Unfinished Business

by Inglath Cooper

  Addy nodded.

  “One of the proposed routes goes right through the orchard.”

  Addy stared at her mother in disbelief. “What?”

  “When it was announced a few weeks ago, a reporter called and asked me some questions about it. I said I had no intention of going anywhere, and since then I’ve been getting these calls trying to bully me into selling.”

  Stunned, Addy said, “You’re not going to, are you?”

  Claire looked at Addy, the lines around her mouth more pronounced. “It’s not what I want,” she said. “But I don’t know, honey. Things aren’t like they used to be. We’ve had a lot of changes in the industry. And George quit last week. So now I’m my only full-time help.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “You have your own life. I figure if I can’t make it work on my own, then I’ll just have to let it go. It’s not as if I haven’t been fighting it. I guess I’m just getting old.”

  “You’re not old.”

  Claire smiled a weak smile and squeezed Addy’s hand. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to sell the orchard. Maybe this little scare is what I needed to come to terms with that.”

  Claire went into the bathroom to dress. Addy sat in the chair by the window, her thoughts in a tangle.

  Dr. Moore’s warnings yesterday had been serious. If Addy had read him correctly, Claire had been lucky to this point. It sounded as if a stroke could be a very real threat if she didn’t make some changes in her life.

  Was the stress of trying to keep the orchard going taking its toll on her?

  Addy knew her mother worked hard. She’d done so her entire life. She hired seasonal help with one full-time employee. There was an enormous amount of continual work to be done. Trees to be pruned. Crates to be repaired. New trees to be planted. Mowing. Weed-eating. Spraying. The list was endless.

  But she could not imagine her mother living anywhere else. Claire had lived and breathed it for so long that to think of her without it was like trying to imagine her without some vital piece of herself. The orchard was part of who she was. She loved it as much as Addy had once resented how much she put into it.

  Growing up, Addy had wished her mother would come to classroom parties in crisp dresses with manicured nails like all the other mothers. More often than not, Claire would have a stray piece of straw in her hair and apple stains on the ends of her fingers.

  She’d been ten years old the day Claire came to the elementary school to serve as a homeroom mother. It was Halloween, and they’d stayed up late the night before icing sugar cookies they’d made using cutouts Claire had ordered from some mail-order cooking catalog. Ghosts and pumpkins and witches. They’d decorated them with orange and white frosting, using walnuts for the witch’s nose and raisins for the eyes.

  They’d just popped the last batch in the oven when Addy got up the courage to ask the question simmering inside her. “Could you wear a dress to school tomorrow, Mama?”

  Claire pulled the baking mitts from her hands and dropped them on the countertop. “If it’s important to you, honey.”

  “The other mothers do.”

  Addy recognized the flash of hurt in her mother’s eyes, but it was quickly gone. “All right, then. A dress it is.”

  The party was scheduled to start at two o’clock the next day. By two-fifteen, Claire still wasn’t there. The other homeroom mothers had arrived and laid out their cupcakes and cookies on the cloth-covered table in the back. Cherry Kool-Aid in Dixie cups stood next to paper napkins with pumpkins on them.

  When Mrs. English indicated they should start passing out the food, Addy asked if she could be excused to go to the rest room. She slipped out into the hallway and went to the front door of the school. Her mother was just pulling up in the old white farm truck. It backfired and a poof of smoke swirled out of the exhaust.

  Addy met Claire halfway down the sidewalk.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” she said, breathless, balancing the yellow Tupperware container of cookies in the crook of one arm.

  Addy glanced at her mother’s blue jeans. The knees had oil stains on them.

  Claire caught her gaze and said, “The tractor broke down on the south end of the orchard. I didn’t have time to change. I was afraid I’d be too late.”

  Addy looked down at her shoes, disappointment whirling around in her stomach and making her feel sick like the Easter Sunday she’d eaten an entire bag of jelly beans. “I don’t think they need any more help. The other mothers are already passing out everything.”

  She glanced up then and caught the surprise in her mother’s eyes.

  “Oh,” Claire said. “Do you want to take these back in with you?”

  “No,” Addy said. “There’s plenty.” She turned around and walked back to the classroom.

  They’d never since spoken of that day, but it had stood out in Addy’s memory as a turning point. Addy had been ashamed of her mother, and Claire had realized it.

  But now, with the memory, came an awful surge of shame directed at herself.

  To Addy, the orchard had always taken too much of her mother. Made her into someone different from what Addy had always imagined a mother should be. But now that Claire was ready to give it up, she couldn’t imagine such a thing actually coming to pass. Addy knew in her heart that without the place, life would simply ebb out of her mother until one day she would just fade away.

  And Addy couldn’t let that happen.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ADDY DROVE BACK to D.C. first thing the next morning. Claire had put up a good round of protest against her decision to move back for a while, insisting that she couldn’t ask her to do that.

  “You didn’t ask, Mama. And I want to,” Addy had said, sensing that beneath the protests, her mother was relieved.

  Ellen, however, clearly thought she’d lost her mind.

  “You’re what?”

  “Taking a leave of absence,” Addy repeated.

  Addy was sitting in the chair across from Ellen’s desk late Monday afternoon. She’d already cleared her decision with the senior partner, and although he would have preferred that she give him an exact date of return, he had been understanding enough of the fact that it depended on her mother’s health.

  Ellen was less than diplomatic in her disapproval. “Who’s going to drag my butt out to run every day?”

  “Your vanity will do a fine job,” Addy said, smiling.

  “True.” Ellen tipped her head to one side. “But I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you, too. You can always drive out to Harper’s Mill for a visit.”

  “Any good bars there?”

  Addy laughed. “You’re hopeless.”

  * * *

  CULLEY PULLED INTO Smith’s Exxon just after three on Saturday afternoon, wishing he could have delayed the stop, but the gas gauge was already leaning left of empty. He’d promised Madeline they’d spend the afternoon together. But they’d had a couple of last-minute walk-in appointments at the office, and he hadn’t been able to leave at noon as he’d planned. Days like this made him far too aware of his shortcomings as a single parent. There just weren’t enough hours in the day.

  The only good thing about working late was that it kept him from thinking about Addy. His mom had told him she’d left last Sunday. And he’d spent the past few days feeling a loss that had no rational basis.

  Johnny Smith limped out of the service station, his blue coveralls spotted with grease, one hand raised in greeting. “Hey, Culley. Fill her up?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said. Johnny insisted on pumping the gas himself. He’d never been a believer in letting the customer pump his own, and the whole town knew he’d be insulted if they tried. “Staying busy?”

  “Busier than I’d like to be.” Johnny set the pump on automatic and started cleaning the windshield.

  Culley leaned forward on the steering wheel and pointed north of town. “What’s all the smoke?”

  “Just he
ard on the scanner there’s a fire out at the foot of Taylor Mountain.”

  Culley frowned. “What about the Taylor place?”

  “Not sure how close the fire is to the house.”

  Culley pulled some cash from his wallet and paid Johnny for the gas. “I think I’ll run by and make sure Claire’s all right,” he said, glancing at his watch, and then picking up his cell phone to call his mother and tell her he’d just be a few minutes longer.

  * * *

  ADDY SAW THE SMOKE as soon as she made the turn off 220 onto the narrow road that wound its way up Taylor Mountain. Panic hit her, and she punched the accelerator of her Volvo sedan, taking the winding curves faster than she should have.

  She pulled into the driveway just as Claire came running out of the house, pointing at the mountain.

  Addy heard the blare of sirens and glanced back at the road. Three big fire trucks rounded the bend at the bottom of the driveway, heading up toward the orchard, lights blazing.

  Addy got out of the car and ran after Claire who was already racing for the farm truck parked nearby.

  Claire jumped in the driver’s side. Addy yanked open the passenger door and slid in. The truck sputtered and coughed, then finally lumbered to life after Claire frantically pumped the gas and banged the dashboard.

  “What happened?” Addy asked.

  “I don’t know. I just saw the smoke,” Claire said, her voice heavy with concern.

  They caught up with the fire trucks. The smoke rolled up toward the clouds, thicker now, and through the open truck windows, Addy could hear the cackle of flames as they consumed a stretch of the orchard’s oldest trees.

  One of the trucks stopped on the closest side of the fire. The other two went on toward the bottom of the mountain, and then split directions.

  Claire screeched to a stop, and they both jumped out.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Claire called to one of the firefighters, anxiety clear in her voice.

  “Not right now, ma’am. We’ll do all we can.”

  “Please hurry,” Claire urged, one hand cupping her cheek. “These were our best trees—”

  Addy pulled Claire back from the choking smoke. “They’ll get it under control.”

  “But the orchard—”

  “I know,” Addy whispered, staring at the disintegrating limbs of the old trees. “I know.”

  * * *

  CULLEY COULD SMELL the smoke through the crack in his window. At the Taylor Orchards sign, he turned left, throwing dust up the gravel road. A Volvo sedan was parked in Claire’s driveway, but the old farm truck wasn’t there, so he headed toward the orchard. The smoke was thicker now, and he turned off the fan to keep it from pulling in the choking air.

  A quarter of a mile up the hill, he spotted volunteer firefighters spewing water at the raging fire. Culley jumped out of the Explorer and jogged over to the group of people standing back from the flames. Claire stood at the front, arms folded.

  “Claire?”

  She turned, her eyes drawn, her face too pale. “Hi, Culley.”

  “Would you like to sit down for a minute?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said, leaning forward and searching the crowd of faces. “I’m looking for Addy though. She heard something at the edge of the woods over there. She’d just gotten back when we saw the fire.”

  Addy was back? Before he had time to take stock of his feelings on that, she appeared out of the growing number of onlookers, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, her cheeks flushed with color.

  At the sight of him, she came to an abrupt stop, brushed her palms against her jeans. “Hi,” she said.

  “Hey. Claire said you were back.”

  She nodded. “I’m going to help out around here for a while.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Yeah.” She hitched a thumb in the direction she’d just come from. “I heard a noise near the edge of the trees and thought I saw something. There’s so much smoke I figured it would be better to have someone with me before I went in to see what it was.”

  “What did it sound like?”

  “Maybe an animal of some kind. I think it might be hurt.”

  “I’ll go with you,” he said, touching a hand to her shoulder.

  She took a quick step back. “Thanks.”

  He dropped his hand to his side as if it had committed some unforgivable wrong. He followed her along the edge of the crowd, hit with knee-weakening gladness that she was here. He determined then and there that they were going to deal with what had happened between them in New York. Deal with it like two adults who had once been friends. And could be so again.

  * * *

  ADDY RETRACED HER steps to the edge of the woods where she’d heard the sound, trying at the same time to ignore the tingle in her shoulder from Culley’s touch.

  She stomped her way through the crab grass, coughing against the smoke, sweat beading on her forehead and upper lip. She swiped at her face with her sleeve, stopping at the place she’d marked with a pile of sticks. “This is where I heard it.”

  “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared into the smoke, and she began counting. When she reached sixty, and he still hadn’t returned, she started to worry. “Culley?”

  No answer.

  She edged forward along the same path he’d taken. Footsteps cracked against the underbrush, and suddenly he was there, holding something she couldn’t yet see.

  “Come on,” he said, and they stumbled out of the dense smoke, both coughing as they headed across the field.

  Once they were far enough from the choking smoke, Culley squatted and placed a small fawn in the grass. “I’m not sure if she’s going to make it,” he said.

  Addy put a hand to her mouth. “She’s so small. No sign of the mother?”

  “She was dead. The little one was lying beside her.”

  Addy swallowed hard, tears leaping to her eyes. The fawn’s right front hoof appeared badly burned, its fur singed in several places. She bent down and smoothed her hand across the animal’s face.

  “I can take her over to Doc Nolen’s,” he said. “But I could use some help in case she revives in the car.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Addy said. “Let me just make sure Mama’s okay.”

  * * *

  A FEW MINUTES LATER they were bumping along the gravel road leading out of the orchard.

  Culley handed her a cell phone and said, “Call Doc Nolen and let him know we’re coming. Since it’s Saturday, I’m sure they’ve already closed.”

  “Does he still live in the house by the clinic?”

  “He does.”

  Addy dialed 4-1-1 and got the number, then spoke with a woman who said for them to come to the front door and ring the bell.

  She clicked off the cell phone, glanced at the back seat. The fawn was still. Too still. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

  “I hope so.”

  They were silent the remainder of the ten-minute drive to Doc Nolen’s clinic, Addy’s heart thudding.

  Culley pulled into the parking lot and jumped out, opening the back door and easing the deer into his arms. Addy ran to the clinic door and pushed the buzzer.

  A dark-haired young woman with friendly eyes stuck her head out. “This way,” she said.

  Inside, she directed Culley to the closest examining room and helped him ease the small animal onto the table.

  Clayton Nolen appeared in the doorway just then, barely changed since Addy had last seen him. He had a young man’s head of hair, thick and wiry, above a broad forehead and intelligent brown eyes.

  “Addy Taylor,” he said with a smile. “I see you and Culley are still out rescuing things.”

  “Maybe we can afford to pay you this time,” Addy said.

  “I don’t know. The lemonade stand out front got me some good publicity, as I recall. You two were regular entrepreneurs.”

  Addy smiled. Growing up, the two of them had appeare
d at Doc Nolen’s door countless times with something that needed fixing. Kittens they’d found in a local Dumpster. A dog that had been hit by a car and left on the side of the road. A baby rabbit Culley’s cat had proudly dropped at their feet one summer morning.

  “So what have we got here?” Doc asked.

  “There’s a fire out at the orchard,” Culley said. “We found the fawn with the mother. She didn’t make it.”

  Doc Nolen frowned. “How big is the fire?”

  “They were getting it under control when we left, but we lost a lot of trees,” Addy said.

  Doc Nolen opened a cabinet, pulled out a few things. “Your mama okay?”

  “Yes,” Addy said.

  “Good. Fine woman, your mama.”

  “Thank you,” Addy said, wondering at the different note in his voice.

  He moved to the table and began examining the deer with gentle fingers. She struggled once to get up, but he spoke softly to her and rubbed her neck until she lay back, clearly too exhausted to fight.

  When Doc Nolen was done, he turned and said, “We’ll get her front leg fixed up. And she’ll need to be bottle fed. I’ve got some formula you can try if you’re willing.”

  “Sure,” Addy said.

  “Couple other things. Don’t let her socialize with any household pets. She’ll need to stay afraid of dogs so she’ll be okay when you release her.”

  “When should that be?”

  “They need to be three months old before they’re released back into the wild. Looks like she was born early in the season. She might be a month now.”

  Addy nodded, glanced at Culley. He was looking at her, and they held each other’s gaze for a moment, something old and familiar settling between them. Something from before Mark, before they’d grown into adults and their relationship had been reshaped by caution and reserve. He felt it, too. Nothing needed to be said. She simply knew it was true.

  “I can fix a place for her in the old hay barn,” she said.

  Doc nodded. “That ought to be fine.”

  “We’ll forgo the lemonade stand today,” Culley said.

  Doc Nolen chuckled. “Well, a few things do change then, hmm?”

  * * *