by Olivia Miles
He brushed a hand through the air, barely disguising his amusement. “Aw, loosen up, Britt. In the old days, they medicated people with stuff like this.”
“It’s the twenty-first century,” Britt said pertly. Then, because she couldn’t resist, she slid a glance at Candy and said, “And you have medical help tending to you.”
Tending to more than his broken bones, she was starting to think.
“Oh, now, I’m not a nurse in the medical sense,” Candy corrected, giving her a little wink. She arranged the pillow behind Dennis’s back and said, “But I do know how to make this man feel a little better. Don’t I, Denny?”
To her horror, her father winked up at Candy and whispered in a husky voice, “You certainly do, Candy.”
“I’m worried, Dad,” Britt blurted, before she could even process a polite reaction to this situation. Really, this was just all too much. Candy had to be a good ten years younger than her father. He was a weak man! He had broken two bones! Her heart was racing as she considered how to resolve this problem. “The orchard is fine. I stopped by on the way here. I think it’s better if I focus on taking care of you. The business can survive a few weeks without you.”
Especially with Robbie on staff, she thought bitterly.
“Oh, now, don’t you worry your pretty little head,” Candy said, giving her shoulders an affectionate squeeze. “You just leave your father’s care to me. Besides, he told me you had a brilliant mind for business.”
Britt felt her shoulders sink with shame. Brilliant enough to be cut in the first round of layoffs. She knew it was business, and that she suggested staff cuts all the time when she evaluated other companies, but she couldn’t help but wonder what she’d done wrong.
“He told you that?” she asked, weakly.
Candy grinned. “Oh, he’s told me everything about you.”
Britt looked wryly at the woman with the unnaturally blond hair that hung in bouncy curls at her shoulders, and down to the scoop-neck blouse, that revealed other potentially unnatural assets, and then slid her father a glance, pursing her lips at the boyish grin on his face.
“I’ll go say hello to Maddie,” she said, forcing a smile as she turned, only then allowing a look of wrath to fall on Cora and Amelia, who were all but cowering in the corner, wringing their hands.
They followed her quickly, seemingly as eager to get away from whatever that was as she was, and didn’t speak again until they were in the kitchen, where Maddie was standing at the stove top, her brown hair pulled into a loose bun, just like the way their mother used to style her hair.
Maddie turned, giving her a shy smile, and Britt felt another pang. Of all her sisters, Britt spoke to Maddie the least. She’d only been thirteen when Britt had left home, just a little girl really, who used to follow Britt around and ask her to braid her hair.
And at Brooke’s wedding, she’d still seemed young, still eager to share her news with Britt, still wanting to hear her advice.
But now…
“You’re all grown up,” Britt said, a little wistfully.
“We’ve all grown up,” Maddie pointed out, her mouth pinching a little as she motioned to Britt’s outfit. Gone were the cut-off shorts and tank tops. She was sensible now. Crisp, white linen pants that made for easy travel. A sensible cotton top that stopped at her elbows.
Britt waited, but Maddie made no show of coming forward with a hug, and Britt could only stand there in confusion. Was Maddie mad at her about something? Wasn’t she happy to have her back?
“I assume you’ve met the nurse?” Maddie asked as she opened the oven door and checked on something, before resetting the timer.
Britt’s mouth thinned as she glanced at Amelia and Cora. “Is that what you guys are calling her?”
“He’s a lonely man,” Cora urged, and Britt softened. Slightly. Since their mother had died, their father had never dated, never even expressed a desire to do so. He’d busied himself at work, and raising his girls. Aunt Miriam had helped out, of course, but for the most part, Dennis was on his own.
“I never thought that he might be lonely,” Britt said, saddened at the thought of it.
“Let him have a little fun,” Maddie said, turning back to the stove top, and Britt was surprised to realize that her baby sister was giving her advice for once. “It will be over soon enough, once he’s back on his feet.”
“He’s happy, and he really does need the extra set of hands,” Amelia urged, and then, after a brief hesitation, she added, “I mean, someone has to help him in and out of the shower.”
Britt blinked at her sister as the entire room fell silent, and then, at once, they all burst into laughter.
*
The conversation stayed on safe topics (the upcoming Cherry Festival which was considered Conway Farms’ biggest event of the year, the weather, business at Amelia’s café, and Uncle Steve’s upcoming vacation) until the plates were cleared.
By Candy. Who seemed to have made herself right at home.
“That was delicious, Amelia,” Britt said, meeting her sister’s eye.
“Oh, this isn’t from the café,” Amelia said nervously. “Candy made tonight’s dinner.”
Did she now? Britt was suddenly angry at herself for clearing her plate, and not just because of the calorie consumption. Everyone knew that mac and cheese was her favorite meal as a kid, but she wasn’t a young girl anymore, or even a teenager. But somehow, in this house, she was frozen in time.
“Maddie helped while I was busy tending to Denny, of course. But I wanted to do something special for all of you girls for making me feel so at home,” Candy said with a smile. “And when your father mentioned to me that macaroni and cheese was your favorite, Britt, I simply couldn’t resist.”
“That was very thoughtful of you,” Britt managed. She met Cora’s eye, who gave her a pleading look, the same look their mother had once given when they were still at that age of feeling the need to bicker over trivial things like who had the biggest slice of cake and who got more marshmallows in their hot cocoa. The look said be nice, and Britt was nice.
But she didn’t like having things sprung on her. First Robbie. And now, Candy.
“I made dessert,” Maddie said, disappearing into the kitchen.
From the open door at the end of the dining room, Britt could hear Candy and Maddie chatting while dishes clanked and drawers were opened. She sighed, thinking of Cora’s words. Their father was a lonely man. It hurt her heart to think that he had been so strong for all of them, that she hadn’t even picked up on the fact that he was still suffering too.
She turned to him now, and reached out for his hand that was poking out of his arm cast. “I missed you, Dad.”
“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he said, his eyes kind and so familiar, that Britt felt a lump rise in her throat. “I can’t thank you enough for taking time away to come help out like this. I know how busy you are with your big job.”
She released his hand and folded and unfolded her napkin. “It’s not a big job,” she huffed. It was no job at all, in fact. She took a sip of her water to settle her nerves.
“Big enough to keep you too busy to visit more often,” a voice cut in, and Britt looked up to see Maddie giving her a hard look.
Candy stood in the doorway beside her, wagging her finger in Britt’s direction as if she were a child who had just tried to get an early taste of dessert. She smoothed over any confusion with a big smile. “Your father talks all about you girls. I swear, this past week, I feel like I’ve come to know you as my own.”
Cora cleared her throat. Amelia lowered her eyes.
Britt pulled in a calming breath as Maddie set a pie in the center of the table. A pie that looked exactly like the ones that their mother used to make for them, every Sunday night for dinner. Most were sold at the market, but she always kept one tucked away, just for the family.
Britt felt her eyes well, and forced herself to think of other things.
“So, um
, Candace—”
“Candy. Please.” Again a giggle. Again a snort.
Britt swallowed hard, and, with all her will power, managed to say, “Candy. Do you have any children of your own?”
“I haven’t been blessed in that department,” Candy said as she slid back into her seat on the opposite side of Dennis. She gave him a suggestive smile. “Yet.”
Britt met Amelia’s eyes across the table and she knew from the look in them that she was dangerously close to one of those giggling fits she would get as a child at the most inappropriate times, like when Maddie had accidentally burped at Grandpa’s funeral. But she’d only been four then. It was excusable.
Britt watched her go through all the emotions, the internal struggle, the will to fight through it, to not even question the most obvious matter. Just how old was Candy?
From the looks of her, she was right around fifty. In other words: too young for Dad.
And wrong. All wrong. But then, was anyone right? He was their father. Their mother’s husband. Their wedding photo still hung on the gallery wall going up the stairs. They had been the perfect couple.
“Modern medicine is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” Candy was saying now, and before Britt could even respond, Amelia was muttering something under her breath as her chair squeaked against the floorboards and then she was gone, through the door, leaving the rest of them hanging.
Maddie quickly cut the pie, handing out plates to everyone who held their hand out. Britt looked down at hers with a heavy heart. If she stayed like that, she could almost believe that when she looked up, she might see her mother sitting across from her, her blonde hair coming loose from her bun in wisps, her cheeks flushed from standing in a hot kitchen for so long, making her blue eyes shine extra brightly.
Instead, she looked up and saw Candy, digging in to her slice, groaning with each chew. “This pie is worth breaking my diet for,” she declared, patting her curvy figure.
“Just like Mom used to make,” Britt said sadly, as she picked up her fork. She hovered the tines over the crust, almost afraid to cut into it, for fear that it wouldn’t taste the same, that it would be different.
Just like everything else.
But Maddie had learned from the best. Stayed by their mother’s side in the kitchen for hours every weekend and after school, too.
And thank God for that, Britt thought, giving her sister a little smile, even if it wasn’t returned.
Something had remained the same in this house after all. Even if everything—and everyone, it would seem—had changed.
3
Britt awoke to a noise that was foreign to her, and not because she was in her childhood, twin-size bed in Blue Harbor, rather than her more comfortable queen back in her apartment in Chicago. She blinked against the sunlight that was pouring in through the parted pink-striped curtains that framed her window, trying to place the sound. Birds didn’t make that sort of call, and she didn’t think her father had gotten any cats or other pets since she’d been away.
Though given everything else he had forgotten to mention, she supposed it was entirely possible.
She tossed off the floral-printed quilt and reached for her old, grey sweatshirt—with a small tear in the sleeve and threadbare in the elbows, it was the one article of clothing that she’d kept from her high school days and brought with her to Chicago, and she still took comfort in wearing it when she was hanging out at home, or in lonely hotels on her frequent business trips.
The digital alarm clock that had sat on her white bedside table for as long as she could remember flicked over to another minute. It was early, even for her, and she usually rose at six to hit the gym before showering and grabbing a coffee to go before settling into her office by eight. Or, when she was on the road, which was more often than she was in Chicago, she was the first person in the hotel exercise room or indoor swimming pool, doing laps.
Even after she’d lost her job last month, she stuck to her routine, altering it to a run along the lakefront, and a coffee and shower at home, before settling into a long day of job searching. She approached her job search as one would a job. She didn’t leave her desk aside from lunch, and she applied to at least four jobs a day, even if it sometimes took all day to find four worth applying to.
But now it was so early that the sun hadn’t even come up. Early enough for her to hopefully have a nice coffee with her father and catch up before she left for work—and figure out why in hell he had hired Robbie Bradford as the manager of their family business. Their history was hardly a secret. But then, nothing in Blue Harbor was, and that was half the problem.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as she walked down the stairs. Her father had been set up in his study, and she supposed it was a blessing that many of these old homes had full bathrooms on the first floor of the house, even though they’d only ever used that particular tub to hose off after playing outside when they were kids.
Still, it was convenient now, given that her father couldn’t exactly make it up and down the stairs in his condition. She was impressed he was even able to get into his wheelchair on his own, much less start the coffee, until she walked into the kitchen and saw Candy standing at the stovetop, singing.
The woman couldn’t sing, but it didn’t seem to stop her. She reached for every note, dragging out the syllables as if she were holding a microphone, not a spatula. Her hair was already styled into curls that bounced at her shoulders. Eggs and bacon sizzled in the frying pan, and despite herself, Britt’s stomach rumbled.
“Oh.” She stopped short of the doorway to the kitchen, uncomfortable with being alone with this eccentric woman, and then quickly walked to the cabinet next to the window and reached for a mug. She busied herself with preparing a cup of coffee just the way she liked it: with a splash of fresh cream from the dairy farm at the edge of town. It beat any national coffee shop chain.
“I didn’t realize you’d be here so early,” she said, taking a sip. After all, Candy had still been here last night, when Britt had retired to bed shortly after her sisters had left, exhausted from the long drive, and so much to absorb in one day. Seeing Robbie. Meeting Candy. Knowing that everyone had moved on. Everyone except for her.
“I’m staying here,” Candy said with a smile she threw over her shoulder. Already, her lips were painted a bright red color. “Your father needs round-the-clock care.”
She turned to face Britt head-on and it was only then that Britt noticed that over her low-cut, skin-tight blue cotton shirt, Candy was wearing her mother’s apron. The apron that should have been hanging from the hook, where it always hung when her mother wasn’t wearing it. The apron that never should have been worn again.
That did it. Britt left the kitchen and went down the hall to the study, not sure if her father was even awake, but assuming he must be. No one could have slept through that noise.
Sure enough, she found him on the pullout couch, propped up on pillows, a glass of orange juice within reach on his good side, the Harbor Herald unfolded on his lap. The curtains to the wall of windows looking facing the lake had been pulled back, filling the room with light.
She scanned the room quickly, even though she wasn’t sure what she was looking for exactly. Red lace lingerie? A silk robe? There was no evidence that Candy had slept in here last night. Really, she needed to calm down. And looking at her father, so content and happy, she knew that she should.
“I didn’t realize that Candace was staying here,” she said in what she tried to pass off as a light, chatty tone. Still, she gave him a long look. Please, Dad, say it isn’t true. Say you aren’t falling for this woman. Say that you still love Mom. That you haven’t moved on. That you haven’t forgotten her.
That she isn’t gone.
“Candy is staying in the old sewing room. She didn’t want to mess up any of the rooms upstairs, and she said it was better for her to stay close.”
The sewing room had been her mother’s little hideaway in a house t
hat was otherwise overtaken by the four girls and their endless mess. Britt prickled at this and said, “I hope she didn’t rearrange anything in there.”
Her father’s eyes drooped a bit. “She’s gone out of her way to be considerate. She’s a great woman once you give her a chance.”
Britt pursed her lips, forcing a nod. “She’s certainly friendly.”
“Isn’t she?” Dennis leaned forward eagerly, his smile so wide that Britt decided to drop it. Even if Candy was wearing her mother’s apron. And sleeping in her mother’s sewing room, which wasn’t so much of a sewing room at all, but more of a study space, a little nook of the house where she had a pin board full of pie recipes tucked amongst photos of the girls at various ages. Where she used to wrap their Christmas gifts and stow them under a blanket, long after they’d all stopped believing in Santa.
She walked over to her father’s desk and dropped down onto his leather swivel chair. She’d spent many afternoons in this room as a child, doing her homework at the big wooden desk, far away from the commotion from the rest of the house, but close enough to still feel a part of it.
She picked up the framed photo of her parents on their honeymoon and studied it, even though she had it memorized by now. Now, though, she was amazed by how young her parents looked in the photo. Younger than she was now. Their entire lives were spread out before them. None of this—this house, her sisters or her—was part of their lives then. All they had was each other. And the orchard.
She set the photo back with a frown, noticing that her father’s expression had sobered.
“Dad,” she said, giving him a frank look. “Why didn’t you tell me that you hired Robbie?”
“I knew this was coming,” Dennis said with a sigh. He folded his paper as best he could with one arm, giving her his full attention. “We all know what a sore subject he was. Sore enough to keep you away all those years.”
That wasn’t why she’d stayed away, not really, but somehow it didn’t feel fair of her to tell her father that the real reason she stayed away was because it hurt too much to come back. That it wasn’t home anymore without her mother.
