“My only real trick for farmers’ markets is to make sure I don’t leave the calculator in the truck. I hate dealing with other people’s money. Griffin knows that, though. That’s why he’s sending you to the market with me. Because I don’t mind lifting crates, but I hate making change.”
“I don’t mind either of those jobs, honestly. Sounds like fun.”
When he smiled again, his cheeks pinked up a little. God, he was cute. I loved a man who blushed easily.
“So…” I cleared my throat. “I just wanted to apologize for waking you up last night.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, lowering the truck’s hood. “It happens.”
“Well…” I cleared my throat. “It happens to me a lot. Although I’m hoping to kick the habit. And I really don’t want May to worry about me. So I appreciate that you didn’t say anything at breakfast today.”
Zach studied me without comment, his head tipped slightly to the side. I’d never met anyone whose looks were so…golden. He almost shimmered with health. If that’s what a few years on a Vermont farm could do for a person, then sign me up.
I crossed my arms, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “If it happens again, I’ll buy everyone a pack of earplugs. And a case of beer.”
He chuckled, and the sound made me feel warm inside. “All right. No big deal.”
I grinned at him, because I just had to. All that male beauty, and it was smiling at me.
Zach stepped away from the truck, giving it an appraising glance and then a sort of slap on the flank, the way you might touch a horse. “Kept her running for another week. Isaac’s truck is held together by spit and duct tape, mostly. Someday I’m going to convince him to junk it.”
“It’s kind of cool, though.” It had a rounded, old-fashioned shape. “1950s, maybe?”
Zach’s eyebrows flew up. “1954. Good eye.”
“For a girl. I could hear you thinking it.”
He dropped his head and laughed again. “Busted.”
“I’ve seen a lot of farm machinery, big guy. Don’t underestimate me.” I followed the line of the truck around to the driver’s side where I found a logo and a name painted on the old metal panel. I pointed at it. “‘Apostate Farm’? That’s an odd name.”
Zach’s smile faded. “Isaac and Leah grew up in kind of a cultish religious sect out West. They ran away together with nothing when they were both seventeen, so buying the farm was a pretty big deal for them.”
Jesus. “What a story. That’s why they named their place Apostate Farm? How cheeky.”
“I guess,” he said, shifting his weight. “But they weren’t really trying to be funny. The point is that someone else might get out of that place alive. If a runaway figures out how to Google ‘Isaac and Leah Abraham in Vermont’ they’ll get web hits for Apostate Farm. Then they’ll know they’ve found the right place.”
I felt my jaw drop. “Wow. Does anyone ever show up on their doorstep?”
Zach jammed his hands in his pockets before saying, “I did.”
There was a moment of silence while I took that in. I saw his face close down, as if he were waiting for me to judge him. It had never occurred to me to shun someone for where they were born, but I could see where he might be sensitive about this. “Well, Zach,” I said softly. “You must have some great hitchhiking stories. We’ll have to compare notes some time.”
His pale eyes lifted to mine, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Remind me to tell you about the time I rode through Kentucky with a zebra.”
“A zebra?” He was openly smiling now.
“Yup.”
“Lark!” Griffin was calling me from across the lawn. “Zach!”
“In here!” I called.
“Let’s go,” Zach said. “Those apples aren’t going to pick themselves.” He gave me one more shy smile.
As we headed toward Griffin, I realized I was in the midst of the most pleasant morning I’d had in weeks.
* * *
“This will be our first weekend for pick-your-own,” Griffin said as we wandered through the orchard. “We don’t let the customers pick my cider apples, obviously. Daphne and Madelyn are busy making signs that say, ‘No Picking This Section.’ We put ropes up, too, but there’s always some asshole tourist who ducks under. Feel free to chase anyone out of there,” he said, pointing at a bunch of trees at the far end of the property.
“Gotcha,” I said. “No assholes allowed. Your signage is pretty clear, though.” We passed a sign with a big arrow reading: Pick Your Own. “Is it juvenile of me that I want to add the word ‘nose’ to that sign?”
Griffin chuckled. “Kyle would probably add ‘ass’ so I guess you’re not so bad.”
“Noted. Now what are we picking?”
“Paulas, of course.” We turned the corner to find Kyle and Kieran standing on ladders, plucking apples off the tree and tucking them into nylon bags hanging off their chests.
“First, we get you suited up in your own sexy picking bag.” Griffin plucked a blue sack off the grass. “These straps go—”
Kieran jumped in to finish Griffin’s sentence. “—criss-cross applesauce.”
“Every time he says that I vomit a little in my mouth,” Kyle muttered.
“Here,” he said, setting the bag against my chest. “And see how the bottom of the bag is folded up on itself? Don’t accidentally loosen this bit, or you’ll drop the whole harvest out of the bag before you’re ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
He chuckled. “You hear that boys? Lark doesn’t give me any lip.”
“She’ll learn.”
Griffin tightened the straps at my hips. “I find your lack of faith disturbing,” he said over his shoulder. And then to Zach, “Which Star Wars is that from?”
“Episode four.”
“Well done, Padawan. Now let’s pick some fruit before the tourists trample the place tomorrow.”
We picked and picked. After an hour I became more comfortable on the ladder. And around one, May had arrived with a picnic basket and a blanket.
“The blanket is for you,” she’d said with a smile. “I usually let the guys just rough it on the grass.”
“I don’t mind roughing it,” I said quickly. I liked this job, and it was just what I needed. I didn’t want to be “The Girl” at work.
“I know you don’t,” she said. “That’s not the point. I’m just so happy you’re here that I brought a blanket. And lemonade, and also cookies.”
“Cookies!” Kyle hollered. “If I say I’m happy Lark is here, can I have some?”
“If you’re lucky,” May said, opening the basket. “The sandwiches are ham and brie today. Dig in.”
We had sandwiches, lemonade and oatmeal cookies in the orchard. Then we got up and picked another billion apples.
By four o’clock I was wonderfully tired. I’d plucked countless apples off the trees, collecting them in my sack before dumping them out carefully into the giant crate in the middle of the row. At the end of the day, Zach drove up on a tractor fitted with a forklift. He lifted the fruits of our labors off the grass, did a three-point turn and drove away.
“Now we all take a break,” Griffin said, his hand landing on my shoulder. “But dinner is at six sharp, and Mom gets pissed if people walk in late.”
“Gotcha,” I said as I dragged my tired body across the lawn.
I would finally sleep well tonight, right? I’d have to.
4
Lark
An hour or so later I got it. I finally understood why the men sort of lounged around in the dining room while Mrs. Shipley and her daughters put dinner on the table.
My limbs were heavy and tired, and I felt worthy of a big farmers’ meal. Like I’d truly earned it. I made a few half-assed deliveries of rolls and cloth napkins to the table before sinking into a chair and gulping down yet another glass of water.
“How was it?” May asked, plunking down in the chair b
eside me. I hadn’t seen her since lunch, after which, she’d been sent on a bunch of errands in preparation for the first U-pick day of the season.
“I feel great. I think I needed to spend some time in the sunshine, you know? Thank you for getting me out of Boston.” I wasn’t just saying that, either. If there was anything that could fix me up again, it was long days in an orchard. Shipley Farm was the least stressful place on earth, and I planned to exhaust myself on a daily basis.
“You are welcome!” May said, clapping her hands. “The only problem is that I thought I’d see more of you. Tomorrow Griffin has you working Norwich while I stay here.”
“But there’s tonight,” I argued. “We’re all going to the Goat, right?”
May put a hand on my arm. “Come with me to grab some stemware, would you?”
I stood and followed her into a pantry off the kitchen.
My best friend rose up on tiptoes and reached for the glasses on the top shelf. “I’m not going to the bar tonight. I’ve been meaning to tell you why.”
“Oh?” That was sort of an ominous introduction, and I squinted at May, trying to guess what she was about to say. She couldn’t go to the bar because she was…meeting a boyfriend? God, I hoped so. But if not that, she was…working a second job? Getting a giant tattoo on her butt?
Probably not that last one.
May set the glasses on a tray and then turned to me. “On Fridays I’ve been going to an AA meeting in Colebury,” she said. As the words knocked around in my brain, I saw her swallow roughly.
“Oh,” I said slowly. “Wait…for you?”
She nodded, her pretty hazel eyes as serious as I’d ever seen them. “It’s kind of a new thing. Last summer I took Jude to a bunch of NA meetings. So I heard a lot of what was said. And that really got me looking at my relationship to alcohol. And…I didn’t like what I saw.”
“Really? It can’t be that bad,” I blurted out. And, shit! That was exactly the wrong thing to say. “I mean…I’m sure you know exactly what you’re doing. And let me know how I can help.”
Her eyes watered. “I’d love to be someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. But I do know this—I was drinking every night because I liked to feel numb. And I don’t want to do that anymore.”
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.” I grabbed her into a hug, which was what I should have done in the first place. “You mean everything to me. I just had a little trouble understanding for a second there.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m sort of relieved that you didn’t say, ‘Oh thank God, finally.’”
“Well now I feel like a bigger jerk than ever,” I admitted. “Not for one minute did I ever think you had a problem. But it was college…”
May stepped back and squeezed both my shoulders. Hard. “I know. College was where I learned to love the buzz, but it didn’t become a problem until lately, okay? You are not allowed to feel bad about this.”
“Okay,” I said, studying the freckles on her nose. “Can you do that again, though? My shoulders are really stiff from picking.”
“You!” May blinked away her tears and rubbed my poor shoulders.
“Do you want me to go with you to your meeting?” I offered. “I mean, I don’t have to eavesdrop or anything, but I could ride with you.”
“Another time. Have a night out, okay? You told me you hadn’t done that in a long time.”
Not since before Guatemala. “I’ll give up drinking, too. In solidarity.”
“No! Seriously. I’m working through some of my issues, but I’m in a good place. I mean it.”
“May!” Ruth called from the kitchen. “Is the table ready?”
She gave my shoulders one final squeeze. “Go on. Sit. Eat like a farmer. We’ll talk later.”
Sitting back down at the table, I felt unsettled. If one of my friends was having trouble, the least I could do was notice. But I was too swamped with my own issues to do even that.
Zach gave me an appraising glance across the table. “Holding up okay?”
“Fine,” I said once I realized he wasn’t asking about my psyche, only about my muscles. “Nothing a little rest and a couple of aspirin can’t cure.”
And now I knew how Zach had such a fabulous physique and sun-kissed hair. He’d quietly picked about twice as many apples as I had today, unloading his bag again and again all afternoon long.
“And a beer, later!” Griffin said. “At the Goat.”
“Not the Goat,” Kyle groaned. “We haven’t been to the Gin Mill in a month. Let’s vote.”
“Sure,” Griff said. “As long as you vote for the Goat.”
“He’s a poet and he didn’t know it,” Dylan put in.
“Audrey wants to hang out with Zara tonight,” Griff said.
“Actually…” Audrey put a platter of fried chicken onto the table. “I’m going over there by myself on the early side. You guys can go to the Gin Mill without me if you want. You’ll all fit in the truck that way.”
“Yes!” Kyle shouted.
“Et tu, Audrey?” Griff hung his head in a gesture of defeat. “I thought you loved me.”
“You’ll know I do when you taste this buttermilk chicken. Don’t mope. And say hi to Alec for me.”
* * *
Two hours later, I stood outside the bunkhouse door with Griff and the others, waiting for the last person to emerge so we could head for the Gin Mill.
“Kyle, hurry up!” Griffin called through the window. “Swear to God you take longer in front of a mirror than my sisters. Zach takes like two seconds to get ready.”
“And that is why Zach is a virgin,” Kyle called from the building.
What?
Before I could think better of the impulse, I glanced in Zach’s direction. And then I wished I hadn’t, because he was staring at his boots. It was too dark to see if his neck and cheeks were a ruddy, embarrassed red. But I’d bet they were.
The bunkhouse door flew open. “Let’s go!” Kyle strode out toward Griffin’s truck. “I call shotgun.”
“After making us wait?” his brother Kieran complained. “You dick. We’d be in the truck if we weren’t waiting on your ass.”
“Not my problem.”
I followed the boys to Griffin’s truck and climbed into the back seat, taking the middle seat because I was the smallest. That put me beside Zach, who was staring out the window.
It was hard to say whether he was embarrassed or just lost in thought. But I guess I no longer needed to ask why Kyle called him “choir boy.”
Twenty-five minutes later we pulled up outside an attractive brick building with “The Gin Mill” illuminated in neon above the door. Griffin killed the engine. “Good thing I went for the crew cab,” he said, cocking the door open.
“Good thing,” I agreed. Zach hopped out first, then turned around and offered me a hand when it was time to leap down.
I wasn’t used to chivalrous men, and I didn’t really need the help. And there had been times in my life when I would have been offended by the implication that I couldn’t exit a truck without assistance from someone with a Y chromosome. But that’s not where my head was tonight. So I grasped his warm, callused hand in my own. And, after I jumped down onto the gravel, I released him reluctantly.
When I was clear of it, he closed the door for me. I had no idea why Zach had never had a sexual relationship. But it sure wasn’t for lack of manners.
Music and laughter escaped the building when Kyle opened the door. Damn it. Maybe I should have pretended exhaustion and stayed home. “Is this place crowded?” My chest felt a little tight at the idea of walking into a loud, packed room.
“It’s usually not bad,” Zach said, his voice low and soft. “I don’t like crowds, either.”
We went inside and I saw that he was right. The place was pretty large, so there was plenty of room to breathe.
Griffin pointed at one of the old wooden booths that lined a wall on the right. It barely fit all five of us, but that didn?
??t matter much because Kyle and Kieran got busy right away hitting on women at the bar. Zach and I stayed at the table while Griffin fetched us beers from the bar. He slid them onto the table in frosted mugs, and I felt a little ripple of familiarity run through my chest. Friday nights in college. Beers at a bar. The only pressing concerns were which class assignment to work on next, and whether or not we’d freeze to death at the football game tomorrow.
Those were the days.
Griffin held up his mug and I lifted mine to meet his in a toast. “Glad to have you up here, Wild Child,” he said.
“Glad to be here,” I answered truthfully, going for my first sip of cold beer.
See? I could do this. I could go out to a bar on a Friday like normal people. It was progress.
The owner of the bar came over to shake hands with Griffin. He was introduced to me as Alec. He had a firm handshake, and two sleeves of tattoos that probably drove the girls wild.
“Where’s your better half?” he asked Griffin.
“With your sister. I’m pretty sure they’re plotting something.”
Alec grinned. “I’ll bet I can guess what it is. Care to take a tour of the outbuildings with me?”
“Sure.” Griff slid out of the booth. “Back in a bit, guys.”
He and Alec walked off, and then I turned to Zach. “What’s up with that?”
Zach shrugged. “If I had to guess, Griff might be looking for a spot to put a few more fermentation tanks. Alec had to buy this whole property, but he’s only using the main buildings so far. And Griff is trying to grow his business, but he’s running out of space in his cider house.”
“That’s exciting,” I said.
“Yeah,” Zach agreed, but he frowned, which wasn’t a very Zach-like reaction. But I thought all of Griff’s ventures were neat. Griff had always had the kind of focus that I lacked. He was a driven football player and budding chemist when I met him. Now he was a driven business owner and dedicated boyfriend.
And what was I, exactly?
My gaze swept the bar. Since I’d returned from Guatemala my tolerance for crowds and noise was practically zero. It wasn’t as if I expected to be kidnapped out of the booth. Logically I knew I was safe here. But my subconscious had learned some new tricks this year. It learned fear. And I didn’t know how to make it forget that lesson.