Sour Apples (3 page)

“Does it make financial sense?”

“You and your numbers! It depends on your long-range goals. You know you’re going to lose some trees every year, but usually we replace those as needed. But a whole new batch? You want me to do a cost-benefit analysis?”

Meg laughed. “Since you asked, yes. Keep it simple, like one page. And tell me what you’d recommend we plant.”

“Will do. I can work on that while you’re out dancing.”

“What the heck am I supposed to wear to this thing?”

“Your overalls?”

Meg looked at Bree to make sure she was kidding. “So, jeans?”

“Yeah. Nobody dresses up around here. And comfortable shoes.”

“That I can handle. You going over to Michael’s later?”

“Maybe. Or if you’re going to be out, he might come here—his place is pretty cramped. And messy.”

“Fine with me. Okay, I’ve got some errands to run, and then I’d better allow time to primp, even if it is casual. Seth says there’s food there, so you’re on your own for dinner.”

“I won’t starve. Have fun at the party.”

As Meg drove from place to place, picking up groceries, prescriptions, tools, and whatnot, she found herself once again thinking of the changes in her life over the past year. She had no memory at all of any mention of the Spring Fling the prior year, but why would she? She had barely been in town a few weeks by then and had had no social life. But now—well, she was lucky to have found a group of people
here she liked spending time with. While she had never before thought of herself as a historian, she had found she enjoyed digging into the past in Granford, where it had some personal relevance. She felt connected to the people who had built her house and who had lived in it before her. Maybe that was one reason why the idea of planting heirloom apple varieties appealed to her: she wanted to see an orchard like the one her ancestors could’ve known.

She was back by five and took a leisurely bath, then found a clean and unshabby pair of jeans that fit well. Rifling through her half-empty closet, she realized that a lot of her clothes hung on her now—she had lost weight since she arrived the year before, or at least had transformed it into muscle in different places, but she hadn’t had the time or need to spruce up her wardrobe. She added a belt and a lightweight sweater, let her hair air-dry, then put on a bare minimum of makeup and was ready to go. She went down to the kitchen and fed her cat, Lolly, while she waited for Seth.

Seth was prompt, as usual. “Hey, you look nice.”

Meg felt flattered but said, “I wear this kind of thing every day, you know. Do we need tickets or anything?”

“We’ll get them at the door. They’re holding them for me.”

“What, they’re sold out?” When Seth nodded, she said, “Okay, and I’ll pay for the pizza.”

“Deal. Shall we?”

Seth drove to the high school, which lay just past the center of Granford on the main road through town. Meg had been there only once before, to vote in the fall elections, but the brick and cinder block building reminded her of her own high school. “Isn’t there anywhere else in town to hold an event like this?” she asked Seth.

“Not really. The church hall isn’t big enough. There’s nothing in town hall that would do. Ditto the Elks Club. We could go out of town, I guess, but that kind of defeats the purpose of the event. Not fancy enough for you?”

“I guess I feel kind of nervous, meeting half the town at once. I know they know
about
me, but they don’t know
me
.”

“Don’t worry. They’re good people, and they’ll be on good behavior tonight. And if they’re not, Art Preston and the rest of the police force will be on hand to keep them under control.”

“You know, if the entire police force is here, this would be a great night to rob the rest of Granford,” she pointed out.

“You worry about the strangest things! Anyway, it’s never happened.” Seth pulled into the high school parking lot, already close to filled. “Ready?”

“As ever I’ll be.”

Seth parked, and they walked together to one set of the double doors that led into the gymnasium. Even before Seth pulled open a door for her, Meg could hear the visceral thump of the bass; when the door opened, a wall of sound washed out into the night. Inside, the bleachers were folded against the walls, and in front of them were ranged six-foot rectangular tables with plastic tablecloths, flanked by folding chairs. Many of the chairs were occupied, and the coats thrown over the empty ones had to belong to the people crowding the dance floor, aka the basketball court, bobbing to an oldie that even Meg recognized.

Seth collected their tickets at the table just inside the door and drew Meg into the room. He seemed to be headed for the other side of the gym, but every few feet he stopped to talk to someone. He addressed everyone by name; everyone seemed glad to see him, although from what she could hear—which wasn’t much, since the thumping bass was even louder inside, bouncing off the polished floor and cinder block walls—they all segued quickly into some sort of town-related question. Seth managed to extricate himself politely in each case, and he finally reached his goal: his mother, Lydia, who was sitting at one of the tables farthest from the band on the makeshift stage. She waved, and when
they came nearer she pointed to two additional chairs at the table. Meg saw that Nicky and Brian Czarnecki, the young owners of the local restaurant Gran’s, sat at the other end of the table. Meg smiled and nodded at the others, knowing conversation was futile over the music.

“I saved places for you,” Lydia yelled. “I had to fight for them. Great turnout!”

Meg sat in the chair closest to Lydia. “Good to see you! This is amazing!”

“It is, isn’t it? Seth, you going to get two thirsty women something to drink?”

“Sure. What do you want?”

“I’ll take a rum and Coke,” Lydia said, and Meg nodded in agreement. “Keep an eye on Joe, though—he’s bartending, and he doesn’t hold back on the rum.”

“Got it. I’ll be back…whenever I can.” Seth turned and waded back into the crowd, toward the bar.

Just then the band opted to take a break, and relative quiet fell over the room. People drifted toward the tables, laughing and panting.

Lydia beamed at everyone and waved occasionally. She turned to Meg. “How are you doing? How’s everything going?”

“Good, I think. The orchard’s cleaned up and ready to go, almost. Now we just have to wait for Mother Nature to do her thing.”

“Are you working on anything in the house?”

“Not right now. It’s kind of nice, taking a break. At least nothing has broken down or blown up lately, knock on wood.”

Seth returned, carefully carrying two plastic cups and a bottle of beer. “Here you go, ladies. Talking about me?” He sat down next to Meg.

Lydia reached across to swat him. “Nope, we were talking about Meg’s house. How’s business? I don’t see much of you these days, and I haven’t had a chance to ask.”

“Good. Now that it’s spring, people are taking a hard look at their houses and realizing how much needs to be done. And since most people can’t afford to move at the moment, they’re doing more with what they’ve got. I’ve got a nice list of contracts—mostly small projects, but they add up.”

“Have you talked to your sister lately, Seth?” Lydia asked innocently, although clearly she knew the answer. “Rachel says she hasn’t seen you for weeks. I was hoping she and Noah would be here tonight, but one of the kids has a bug. We should make plans to get all of us together again—the last time was Thanksgiving, wasn’t it?”

“No, Christmas Day,” Seth said, “but you’re right—it’s been a while.”

Meg could see the band members, all men, reassembling on the stage. Keyboard, drums, and a couple of guitars. They looked closer to Lydia’s age than hers: their hair, though worn long, was distinctly grizzled. They spent a few minutes tuning up, while bantering with the familiarity of old friends, before they hit a chord that most of the audience recognized. There was a surge of bodies toward the dance floor.

Meg noticed that Seth was still scanning the room. She nudged his side. “Looking for someone?”

He turned back to her and smiled. “I was hoping that Joyce and Ethan Truesdell would make it tonight, but I guess they decided not to come. They’ve lived in Granford for a couple of years now, but they rarely show up at any community functions.”

“Maybe trying to run a dairy farm doesn’t give them much time for socializing,” Meg suggested.

“That’s true, but I’d like them to make some more friends in town—it might be useful to them. Well, it’s their loss. Would you care to dance, ma’am?”

Meg looked at the crowd—whose average age was closer to sixty than to thirty—and said, “Why not?” She drained her glass and stood up. “Let’s go.”

They hit the dance floor, and Meg lost count of the songs, one segueing into the next, until she finally told Seth, “I need a breather. And something more to drink. You’re wearing me out! By the way, you’re a great dancer.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” They made their way back to the table, where Lydia was deep in conversation with another couple, so Meg and Seth dropped into the closest chairs. “Having fun?” Seth asked.

“Do you know, I am! I get it now. You’re right—I think we all need something like this once winter’s over. We get the kinks out of our muscles, and we get in shape for the season. It’s great.”

“Thought you’d like it. Let me get you that drink,” he said. He checked to see if his mother needed a refill, but she waved him away and went on talking, so he headed toward the bar.

Meg pushed her sweaty hair off her face and watched the remaining dancers on the floor. She dredged up a memory of the one and only high school dance she had attended, and even now she flinched from her overwhelming self-consciousness then. Here, nobody cared if she made a fool of herself; nobody even noticed.

She saw that Nicky was trying to get her attention. “Hey, Nicky. What’s up?”

Nicky leaned forward and shouted over the din. “I haven’t seen you much lately. Everything all right?”

“Fine,” Meg shouted back. “We’ve been getting the orchard ready for spring—thank goodness the weather has been cooperating. Have you seen Joyce Truesdell tonight?”

Nicky shook her head. “I don’t think so. Have you met her and her husband?”

“Only briefly. Joyce stopped by to talk to Seth the other day, and introduced herself. I’ve never met Ethan.”

“Oh, you should get to know them! They’re really nice. Joyce makes terrific cheese, and I’ve been trying to come
up with some apple varieties that would pair up well. You’ll have to come by and do a tasting with us, okay?”

“I’d like that. I’ve got some good keepers in the storage chambers, so we could do it anytime. I’m always happy to have an excuse to eat at your restaurant!”

As the music swelled again, Meg turned back to watch the room. As she scanned the gym, she noticed a man and woman walk in. Both looked out of place: the man was fortyish and wore a respectable suit; his only concession to the casual event was a loosening of his red tie. His companion was about the same age and wore a simple black dress that Meg read quickly as expensive, accompanied by black pumps with three-inch heels. And yet they seemed to know people in the room—a lot of people. As Meg watched, the couple began to work the room, or at least she would define it that way, and she had seen plenty of it in her earlier banking days. The two looked perfectly at ease, yet purposeful, as they walked from table to table. At each, the man would stop and greet people by name, shaking hands, his smile fixed in place; about half the time the woman would smile and add a comment, her hand on his arm. They’d traveled about a quarter of the way around the perimeter when a new song started up, one they both recognized. The two exchanged a look, then moved out onto the dance floor and joined the throng, somehow managing to maintain their dignified manner while dancing with some enthusiasm. Meg couldn’t help wondering who they were and what they were doing here.

Seth returned with the drinks and fell back into his chair. Meg nudged him. “Who are those two?” She nodded toward the couple. “They just came in.”

Seth followed her gaze, and his expression became wary. “That’s Rick Sainsbury. We went to high school together. Haven’t seen him around here for years. That must be his wife—I haven’t met her. They don’t live in Granford.” He didn’t elaborate.

Meg was surprised by Seth’s curt response about the newcomers. He was usually so genial. She watched with mild curiosity as the pair went back to making their way around the room, gradually approaching their table. She could sense Seth’s tension as the Sainsburys neared, although he made no move to leave.

When Rick approached, he stopped and cocked his head at Seth. “Seth Chapin. How long has it been?” He held out his hand, which Seth shook politely.

“Going on twenty years, I’d guess. High school.”

“Good times. May I introduce my wife? This is Miranda—I’m showing her my old stomping grounds.”

“Miranda,” Seth shook again.

Miranda gave him a somewhat plastic smile. “Seth, it’s nice to meet you. Rick has mentioned you. And this is?” She turned to Meg, who was suddenly conscious of her rather downscale clothes. Up close, Miranda’s dress looked even more expensive.

“I’m Meg Corey. I own an orchard that abuts Seth’s land.”

“You run it yourself?” Miranda said.

“Along with a few other people. I used to work in banking in Boston, but you know how that market is these days.”

“Only too well. It’s nice that you had something to fall back on.”

“Rick Sainsbury, Meg.” Her husband thrust out a hand and shook with a carefully calculated grip—not too strong, not too limp. “Good to meet you. Nice to see some new blood in this old town. Seth, what’re you up to these days?”

“Building renovation,” he said tersely. Again Meg wondered why Seth wasn’t his usual friendly self.

“Not your dad’s business?” Sainsbury asked.

“He’s gone now, and I’ve taken it in a different direction.”

Sainsbury seemed to gather himself together. “I’d love to talk more with you about it. We’ll be in the area for a few days at least. Maybe we can get together sometime.”