The Orchard at the Edge of Town (12 page)

She laughed, and he wanted to capture the sound on her lips, savor the taste of her happiness. He might have done it if his cell phone hadn't rung. He still might have if Apricot hadn't stepped away.

“Are you going to answer that?” she asked.

“Sure.” He pressed the phone to his ear, his gaze still on Apricot. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed, her hair brushing against her nape as she turned to watch the girls.

“Simon, here. What's up?” he asked, distracted by the deep red and bold gold streaks in Apricot's hair.

“It's Max. We've got a problem.” Stanford's gruff voice was the splash of ice water Simon needed. He turned toward the entrance of the park, watching as a couple walked toward the pond.

“What kind of problem?”

“Daisy has been robbed.”

“What?!” His blood ran cold, adrenaline pumping through his veins. “Where and when?”

“Near as we can tell, it happened in that little alley between the bank and the diner. I'm trying to get the details, but Daisy is in hysterics. It might be best if you come to the hospital.”

“She's hurt?”

“A torn skirt and maybe a scratch on her arm. Can't really tell on account of the woman is screaming her head off and won't let anyone near her. Cade is here, and he told me to call you. He thought you might be able to calm her down enough that we could get the full story. Until we do, we can't look for a suspect.”

“I'll be there in ten.” He shoved the phone in his pocket and ran toward the girls. “Girls! Come on! We've got to leave!”

“What's going on?” Apricot asked as he grabbed Rori and lifted her off the slide.

“Daisy—” He looked at the girls, who were watching him with wide-eyed curiosity. “I need to get them home and ask the neighbor to watch them. God! I hope she's home. If she's not—”

“I'll take care of them. You go do what you need to do.”

Any other time, any other circumstances, and he would have refused the offer, but as big a pain in the butt as Daisy had become, she was family. If she needed him, he wanted to be there. Now. Not ten minutes from now.

“Are you sure? I could be a while.”

“As long as you don't mind me bringing the girls to my place, I'm fine with it. I told Jet that I'd—”

“You're going to need booster seats for the girls,” he said, cutting her off. “I don't think your truck has shoulder belts. You take my SUV. I'll take the truck.”

She didn't ask questions, just took his keys and gave him hers. “Henry is fickle. Give him a little grace and don't expect him to accelerate too quickly.”

He nodded. “Thanks. Be good, girls!” He dropped a kiss on each girl's head, his heart beating the passing seconds, his stomach hollow with worry and anger. Apple Valley wasn't the kind of place where people were robbed in the middle of the day. The crime rate was so low that most people in town left their doors unlocked. The thought of Daisy being robbed was almost inconceivable. The thought of her being hurt made him want to hunt down the perpetrator and teach him a lesson he wouldn't forget.

He raced toward the park entrance, his heart pounding a million miles an hour. He'd failed Megan, and he'd never forgiven himself for that. There was no way in hell he was going to fail Daisy. Apricot's truck was parked right where she'd left it, the blue paint gleaming in brilliant sunlight. The interior smelled like her—flowers and sunshine with just a hint of summer rain. He filed the information away as he pulled onto Main Street and raced toward the hospital.

 

 

“Daddy sure can run fast,” Rori commented as Apricot led the girls along the path Simon had taken. “Do you think something horrible happened? Do you think there's a bad guy that he has to catch?”

What she thought was that something had happened to Daisy. She wasn't going to tell the girls that. “Whatever is going on, I'm sure he'll handle it just fine.”

“Daddy can handle anything,” Evie said with a full measure of pride in her voice. “He helped a girl have a baby at the grocery store last year.”

“Did he?” Apricot responded, her focus only half on the conversation. Whatever had happened to Daisy, it couldn't be good. Simon's expression had said the things he hadn't—he was worried and angry.

“Yep. Andrew Danner's mom was right there when it happened. Eliza Jane is only fifteen years old, and she hadn't even told anyone she was going to have a baby. That's probably why she had it right in the middle of aisle six. Thank goodness Daddy was there. He knew what to do. He helped his dad birth like a million calves and it's almost the same thing.”

“Except a baby is a lot smaller than a calf,” Rori broke in.

“Doesn't matter,” Evie responded. “Andrew said that his mom said Eliza screamed so loud a bottle of pickles shattered into a million pieces. Do you think that's true, Apricot? Do you think having a baby hurts so bad a woman could break a pickle jar from screaming so loud?”

Dear God in heaven! What was she supposed to say to that? “Well—”

“Don't be silly, Evie! Her scream didn't make the jar break. She kicked the shelf with her foot on account of she was basically trying to push a watermelon-sized head out her—”

“It would take some really powerful lungs to break a jar,” Apricot cut in, hoping to heaven that the girls would drop the subject.

“Or a big sledgehammer. One time a bunch of kids broke the school windows, and that's what Daddy said they used. Sledgehammers.” Evie skipped ahead, her blue tutu swishing around scrawny legs. She had bruises and scratches on her calves and a few bruises on her arms.

“Have you been climbing trees, Evie?” Apricot hurried to catch up, dragging the slower-moving Rori along beside her.

“How'd you know? Magic? Because Andrew says that you're a witch. I told him he was wrong, but it would be kind of cool if you were.”

“She's not a witch!” Rori exclaimed, her cheeks pink with indignation. “You're not. Are you?”

“No.” Apricot laughed. “I'm an herbalist.”

“What's that?” the girls asked in unison. “Jinx!” they both cried.

Silence followed. Blessed, wonderful, joyous silence. Silence that was not filled with questions about childbirth and women's screams or about their father and where he'd gone.

Hopefully there hadn't been an accident. Hopefully Daisy was just fine. Apricot had a bad feeling about things, though, and Sapphire had always said a person couldn't go wrong trusting her gut.

“Say my name,” Evie whispered, her lips barely moving.

“Pardon me?”

“My name. You have to say it so that I can talk.”

“You're already talking,” she pointed out.

“Because she's a cheater,” Rori whispered so softly Apricot barely heard her.

“I am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Girls!” She shouted so loudly an older woman across Main Street turned to frown in her direction.

“No bickering,” Apricot added more quietly.

“You have to say our names,” Evie whispered.

“Right. Okay. Evie and Rori, no bickering.”

“You did cheat,” Rori said immediately. “And I'm going to tell Daddy. You know what he says about cheaters.”

“Well, you cheated too! You talked before she said your name!” Evie shot back, her blond hair shaking with the force of her rage. Apricot hadn't been around kids in more years than she wanted to admit to, but dealing with childish squabbles had been part and parcel of growing up in Happy Dale. She might have been away for a long time, but she hadn't forgotten the skills she'd learned there.

“If you two keep it up,” she said quietly, “I'm not going to let you help me paint my living room.”

They fell silent, both of them eyeing her with suspicion. “Daisy never lets us help paint,” Rori said.

“Maybe Daisy doesn't have a lot of painting that needs to be done. I do. An entire house. Today, I'm starting the living room.”

“You could paint it pink,” Rori suggested.

“Or blue and pink stripes. That would be really cool. Don't you think it would be cool, Rori?”

“Yes! And you could get pink couches, Apricot. And blue curtains and a blue rug. We could even help you pick them out.”

“As nice as that sounds, I can't do it. The house doesn't belong to me. It belongs to my aunt.”

“You have an Aunt Daisy?” Evie asked.

“I have an Aunt Rose. She owns the house, and she likes the furniture in it, so I can't change that. Pink and blue walls just won't look right with the furniture she has.” Apricot unlocked Simon's SUV and opened the door for the girls.

“It isn't brown furniture, is it?” Evie wrinkled her nose as she climbed in. “Because I think brown would be an ugly color for the wall.”

“No brown. I bought a pretty cream.”

“Cream is boring. You should pick something else so people don't think you're boring too.” Evie buckled herself into a child's booster seat.

“That's not nice,” Rori responded. “If she likes boring old cream, she should paint the walls with it. I still won't think she's boring.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” Apricot chucked her under the chin and closed the door. The girls were cute as could be, precocious and just a little naughty. Which she absolutely loved. But she already had a headache, and their chatter wasn't helping it go away.

She glanced in the review mirror as she pulled onto Main. The girls had settled into silence, both of them looking out the windows, their arms stretched across the emptiness between them, their fingers entwined.

They looked like angels, sweet and innocent as could be, so she kept driving down Main Street and out of town, the afternoon sun shimmering in the cloudless sky as she made her way back to Rose's place.

Chapter Nine

In the six hours she'd had the girls, Apricot had learned several things. First, eight-year-olds couldn't be counted on to keep paint off the floors or the furniture. She'd assumed that before they'd begun the project, but the extent of paint splatter was confounding. She'd spent more time wiping up drips and spatter than she had painting cream over the dingy white walls. Somehow, though, they'd managed to finish the living room with impressive enthusiasm.

The second thing Apricot had learned was the girls didn't like artichoke hearts. They weren't keen on whole grain pasta with fresh pesto, either. She'd discovered that right around the time Rori started gagging on the dinner Apricot had presented to them. Both girls had been polite, but it was obvious neither was going to be able to choke down the food.

She'd finally given in and ordered pizza. Extra cheese for the girls and sausage and mushroom for Jet. He'd worked until the sun had nearly set, then taken the pizza and headed home.

Which had led Apricot to her third discovery—the girls asked a lot of questions. A
lot
of questions. Most of which she didn't want to answer.

“You know what Andrew said?” Evie asked as Apricot led them into the backyard.

“I'm not sure I want to,” she murmured, but Evie didn't seem to hear.

“He said your boyfriend dumped you. He said it was because you spent too much money on fancy wedding stuff and not enough money on your boyfriend.”

“That's nice,” she responded, because there was no way in the world she was going to discuss Lionel with an eight-year-old.

“No, it's not.” Rori grabbed her hand, tugging her down so that they were eye to eye. “It isn't nice at all, and I know it isn't true. You probably spent lots and lots of money on your boyfriend, and he didn't appreciate you.”

Evie nodded solemnly. “Just like with Aunt Daisy and Dennis. He didn't know what he had until he lost it.”

Apricot held back a chuckle. Barely. “I take it Dennis was your aunt's boyfriend?”

“They were supposed to get married, but he ran off with that no-good hussy from Spokane.”

“Evie!” Rori gasped. “You know Daddy said you're not supposed to use that word!”

“I didn't use it. Daisy used it. She said that hussy used her feminine wiles to steal Dennis away. Is that what happened to your boyfriend, Apricot? Did someone steal him away?”

Apricot wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry, so she took the girls by the hands and walked toward the orchard.

“You made her sad,” Rori whispered loudly enough to drive a family of quail from the undergrowth. “She probably thought her boyfriend just got icy feet. Now she thinks a hussy stole him away.”

“Cold feet, sweetie,” she corrected. “And I was the one who walked out of the church.”

“Your feet got cold?” Evie eyed her doubtfully. “Aunt Daisy says it's always the men who get nerves on account of they want to sow wild oats.”

“You can't believe everything you hear. Plenty of women get cold feet.” She wouldn't touch the sowing wild oats thing with a twenty-foot pole. She didn't want to discuss relationships either. The more she listened, the more she agreed with Simon. The girls were too young to have their heads filled with the kind of stuff Daisy was spouting off.

Speaking of Daisy . . .

Apricot glanced at her watch. She hadn't heard from Simon, and that worried her. In her experience, the longer it took to deal with a crisis, the worse the crisis was. Hopefully that wasn't the case this time, because whatever was going on, it was taking eons.

“Where are we going?” Rori's grip on Apricot's hand tightened, her footsteps slowing as they approached the fence that separated the yard from the orchard.

“To the orchard.”

“You mean those creepy old trees?” Rori stopped in her tracks. The descending sun had set fire to the distant sky, painting pink and orange streaks across the horizon. Mountains jutted up against the colorful display, casting deep shadows across the yard and house.

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 reach 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.