May threw her head back and began to laugh. “Oh my God. We have this same discussion every week, and if you make a math problem out of it, maybe we won’t have to anymore! I could kiss you.”
“Amen,” Griffin said. “I can press a lot of cider in eleven hours. More than two barrels, easily. So that’s…after a few months and some other tweaking, four thousand dollars’ worth of cider. Eventually.”
My pen hovered above the pad. “Even if the man hours for pressing are only half the true investment in the finished product, you’d still have to clear two thousand dollars from the Royalton market to break even.”
Mrs. Shipley flipped a page in her notebook and bit her lip. “Last week we brought home two hundred and fourteen dollars. And that was a good week.”
“But we have friends in Royalton,” Daphne Shipley said quietly.
“We also have two more college tuitions to pay,” her mother countered, closing the ledger book. “I’m convinced. Sorry, Royalton. We just can’t fit you in.” She smiled at me, her expression so gracious that I stopped worrying that I’d intruded on decisions that were none of my business.
Griffin threw his hands into the air. “Thank you, arithmetic.”
“Naw,” Kieran said. “Thank you Lark’s big-ass brain.”
I passed the pad back to Griffin. “I think Kieran just said my ass looks big.”
Everyone laughed, and I thanked the heavens for the hundredth time that I’d come to Vermont for apple season.
7
Lark
Nightmares don’t have any respect for a person’s dignity. Just when I’d decided Vermont was my salvation, I had another awful night.
Before Guatemala, I’d viewed dreaming as a passive exercise, like watching a movie in my mind. But now my worst nightmares were more like a wrestling match.
They usually began as an ordinary dream. Boring, even. This time I dreamt of the farmers’ market. In the dream I left our stall and walked around, admiring the piles of vegetables and the homemade jams. I avoided a particular corner of the market, though. My sleeping brain knew I shouldn’t go there.
But the place tricked me. I became turned around at a pumpkin vendor’s stall. And suddenly I was in a dark, dusty place. My heart began to thump inside my chest as I spun around, looking for the exit.
A hand grabbed me and yanked my wrist, dragging me further into the darkness.
I don’t want to have this dream again, I said to myself. I opened my eyes to find the walls of the Shipley guest room, right where they were supposed to be.
When I closed them again, my subconscious pounced.
I knew I was thrashing around in bed, trying to shake off the dream. But no matter which way I turned, my captors always found me again. Shouting at them to let me go didn’t break the dream’s grip on me, either. And through it all, I knew I was sleeping, but that didn’t make things better. The scene cut to the cramped little place where I’d been held, and I couldn’t escape.
And then a warm hand landed on my shoulder blade. “Shh, Lark. You’re dreaming again.”
I know.
The hand lingered a moment, grounding me. My breathing evened out, and I forgot to look into the shadows. But when the comforting pressure disappeared, the darkness of the shack found me again.
Then I spotted Oscar’s face, watching from the doorway, looking worried. Looking doomed.
I cried out again, and the hand returned to my back. “Shh,” it said. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s okay.”
And it was, for a little while. But that night I couldn’t break free of the shadows for a long time. They tangled with me on and off for hours, until I finally pushed through the shimmering surface of my sleep state and broke free.
I heard myself let out a sweaty, startled gasp.
“Shh…” a voice slurred. Someone’s hand was pressed reassuringly against my back.
I turned my head slowly. I took in a broad shoulder jutting up from the mattress. It was Zachariah again. He lay sprawled on the far edge of my bed, one arm tucked awkwardly under his dozing head, the other stretched out to soothe me. He looked a little uncomfortable. But he also looked asleep.
Guiltily, I rolled toward the wall again. But then I leaned back a few millimeters to enhance the contact between his palm and my spine. Everything is fine, I told herself. Safest place in the world. For some reason this thought made my eyes feel hot. It was almost unbearable how well I’d been treated these past few days.
Even the safest place in the world felt more elusive after you’d visited some of the ugliest ones.
I studied the quality of the darkness around the window curtains, and decided that it was still the middle of the night. It was time to shove away all my sad thoughts and get a little more sleep. If the dark crescents below my eyes grew any darker, I’d have to explain herself to May.
I closed my eyes again and concentrated on the feel of Zach’s hand against my back. I emptied my mind of everything except for that simple thing—the warmth of another living person’s touch. Leaning into it, I began to drift…
* * *
A few hours later, the alarm on Zach’s watch woke up both of us. Embarrassed, I played possum when I heard Zach sit up fast. “Whoa,” he muttered, making the sound of someone surprised to wake up on a bed not his own.
I held my breath, not moving a muscle until he was out of the room, and the door was shut on me again.
The night had been survived, but not easily. And now that morning had safely arrived, I was suddenly exhausted. I adjusted my pillow and fell back asleep for an unfortunately long time. When I next opened my eyes, the clock said ten minutes past eight.
Damn it!
I took the world’s speediest shower, then hustled over to the farmhouse to help with breakfast. “Sorry,” I gasped, running through the door.
The Shipley family was already furiously busy in the kitchen. Ruth stood scrambling a heap of eggs in a fourteen-inch skillet. Daphne flipped pancakes beside her, while Dylan forked bacon off a pan and onto a plate.
“I overslept. What can I do?”
Ruth looked up at me, her scrambling hand still doing its thing to the eggs. “You look tired, Lark. Is everything all right?”
You never can fool a mom, damn it. “Yep,” I answered quickly. “Shall I set the table?”
“Sure,” May answered, her hands full of coffee mugs. “Forks and napkins. And then carry out the bacon.”
“Roger that,” I agreed, diving for the silverware drawer.
It was only minutes later that the men began to tramp into the house. Griffin paused on his way to the washroom, squinting at me.
“What?” I demanded.
“Your T-shirt looks wrong, Wild Child. Thought you’d like to know.”
I looked down. Sure enough, it was on inside-out. If my goal was trying to convince my friends that I had my act together, this wasn’t the best display of proof.
“Can you pour the coffee, Lark? Here’s the milk,” Mrs. Shipley urged.
I took the pot into the dining room and began with Grandpa Shipley’s cup. “Much obliged, miss!” he said with a wink. May had told me that having a house full of farmhands always made her grandfather feel like a cowboy overseer.
Daphne did a slow loop around the table, too. In front of each man, she stopped to offer pancakes. I watched with amusement as she stopped in front of Zach, forked the biggest, most beautiful pancake onto his plate and then tossed her hair in an exaggerated way.
“Thank you,” Zach said, his eyes on his plate.
“Don’t mention it,” the girl said with a breathy voice. Then she lost her nerve and fled for the kitchen.
I caught May’s eye, and my friend rolled her eyes. Biting back a smile, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d been just as horribly obvious with my crushes at eighteen. I’d probably been even worse.
“Coffee?” I offered Zach.
“Thanks.” He held out his cup.
“Sorry I’m still a bad roo
mmate,” I said over his shoulder, my voice too low to be overheard.
“You dreamed about scratching on the eleven ball, didn’t you?” he whispered. “Admit it.”
“That was such a fluke,” I argued, filling his cup to the brim. “Next time you’ll get my A game.”
“Bring it.”
* * *
When the piles of breakfast food had been eaten, we all sat a little longer over our cups of coffee, except for Zach, who was on his fourth pancake. Daphne kept bringing them, and he kept dispensing with them. The boy could seriously eat.
Dylan and Ruth were the first to leave, heading for church in Colebury. “Anyone need anything from town?” Ruth asked.
We waved her off, and after they left, May lifted her coffee mug and studied me from over its rim. I braced myself for more inquiries into my strange attire or the bags under my eyes. But she startled me with a different announcement. “I have to tell you that Gilman called the house last night after you’d gone to bed.”
I set my own cup down with a thump. “God, why? How did he know where to find me?” My ex-boyfriend was not on the very short list of people I felt like talking to these days.
The question seemed to make May guilty. “I may have mentioned on Facebook how happy I was to have you staying with me.”
“Oh.” I put my elbows on the table. “Facebook. It’s from the devil.”
Across from me, Zach put down his fork. “You know, that’s one thing cults got right.”
Everyone laughed, including me, and the moment of levity felt good. I’d needed that. “Well, I don’t want to talk to Gilman.”
“Maybe he’s just being nice,” May said quietly.
“I know that. It’s nice to hear he’s glad I’m not rotting in a shallow grave somewhere. But a year ago he dumped me, and that means I don’t have to talk to him if I don’t feel like it.”
“Sounds fair to me,” Griffin put in, draining his coffee.
May twirled a lock of her hair. “He sounded really worried, Lark. And so he said he might drop by next Friday.”
“What?” No wonder May looked guilty. “Nobody just drops by Vermont from Boston.”
“He’s going on a corporate golf retreat at Stowe.”
“I’m busy then,” I said quickly.
“Well…” May said slowly. “If you really don’t want to see him, you’ll have to return one of his calls.”
“I’m busy then, too,” I muttered.
“Sweetie, if I’d known who was calling, I would have let it go to the machine. But I saw the Boston number and I thought maybe it was your parents.”
I didn’t want to talk to them, either. But I held my tongue. “What’s on the agenda today?” I asked.
“Selling cider!” Audrey said. “You can help me pour for tourists. It’s a blast. I’ll train you to take over my job. Next Sunday is my last one before I go to France.”
Griff pouted into his coffee cup. “Don’t fall for any skinny Frenchmen.”
“I would never!” She put a hand in the center of his massive chest. “I like ’em big and grumpy.”
“Aw,” Griff growled. Then he put down his cup and reached for her, pulling Audrey into his lap and kissing her. She wrapped her arms around him and gave as good as she got.
“There they go again,” Kyle said, pushing his plate away. “You kids should probably just spend the morning in your bedroom anyway. Might as well have a cheerful boss for another ten days.”
Griff flipped off his cousin without letting go of his girl.
Then we all went outside to pick apples and charm tourists into buying cider.
8
Zach
It usually happened like this. Every second or third night.
I was asleep in my bunk when something began to tug at my consciousness. Since sleeping was one of my favorite activities, at first I tried to ignore it. I rolled onto my side and screwed my eyes shut tightly.
But then I heard it again—a bitten-off sob coming from the other room.
Lark.
My eyes snapped open in the dark just as she made another frightened sound.
“Urf,” someone else in the bunkroom said. “There she goes again.”
“Got it,” I whispered, stumbling out of my bunk.
Lark had woken me on several occasions. Sometimes all it took was a pat on the shoulder to comfort her. Sometimes she’d just snap out of it and apologize. But other times she didn’t shake it off as easily, and I’d wake up in her bed the next morning. Those were the nights when she couldn’t escape the dreams. After two or three trips into her room, I’d give up and sink down against the headboard. At dawn I’d wake up on her extra pillow.
Tonight I staggered into her room just as she uttered the name, “Oscar.” And then she said, “Stop!” It was always stop. It made my blood run cold to imagine what it was she wanted stopped.
Lark was lying on her back and twisting around. So I sat right down and took her hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re just fine here, Lark. Everything is fine.”
Her eyes flew open, startling me. She had a panicked stare, and I waited for her to say something. But that’s not what happened. Her eyes seemed to focus on my face, and then her expression relaxed. Then her eyelids fluttered closed.
That left me holding her hand, and looking down at a beautiful, sleeping girl. She was so different from the country girls I’d grown up with. Her dark lashes pointed down toward a set of high cheekbones. It was a mystery to me how a face could be so strong and utterly feminine at the same time. The crescent of her mouth was relaxed and parted, as if she were just about to say something. I studied her lips, wondering how they’d feel against my own.
Whoops. I wasn’t here to admire her. I had to stop thinking like that. Right now, preferably.
I counted to one hundred, then began to slip my fingers from her grasp. But Lark shifted on the bed, squeezing my hand.
“Shouldn’t I go?” I whispered. I meant it as a rhetorical question, which was the only sort one should ask of a sleeping person. But I hoped the sound of my voice would relax her.
“No,” she breathed. She turned her head away then, as if embarrassed by this request.
It was late, and I was beat. I really needed to close my eyes. Also? It was cold. The temperature had dipped into the fifties tonight, letting us know that fall was coming.
For the first time since our nighttime visits had begun, I lifted the quilts before I lay down. Two weeks ago that would have seemed crazy, but I knew Lark wouldn’t want me to freeze. I put my head on her extra pillow, and straightened out my body.
I’d taken care to leave a nice spread of the mattress between us, but Lark wasn’t having it. She wiggled closer to my body until her hip and leg lined up against mine. She rested our clasped hands on her thigh and let out a sigh.
The night seemed to hold its breath for me. I heard the banging of my heart against my ribs, and the soft swish of her breath evening out. Outdoors, a single, determined cricket chirped outside Lark’s window.
Closing my eyes, I lay still, trying to take it all in. Lying in a girl’s bed was not something I’d ever done before last week. Touching people didn’t come easily to me. But Lark didn’t have the same hang-ups. She often hugged May and Griff and Audrey. When seating was tight at the bar, she’d sit on Griffin’s knee as if he were another piece of furniture. At the farmers’ market, she could talk to anyone, even people she obviously didn’t like very much.
Compared to me, she was socially fearless. Not that I had set the bar very high.
And she’d just ordered me to lie down in her bed. Whatever scared Lark so badly every time she closed her eyes must be horrible.
As I lay there, I became more comfortable. I loved the feeling of her slim hand in mine. Even though I was tired, sleep did not come. I listened to the settling sounds that the old building made, and the increasingly steady sound of Lark’s breathing. Tomorrow’s farm work would be here before I kn
ew it, and I really ought to sleep. But there was something about this peaceful moment that held me in the present.
There were often times when I could stop to appreciate the beauty of my new life in Vermont. I might set down the rake and stare at the Green Mountains in the distance. Or I’d smell the wood smoke from the autumn’s first fire, and inhale the beauty of it all. But usually it was the landscape, or a job well done that I admired. And the satisfaction of knowing that I was free to enjoy my life out from under the angry whims of those who used to rule me.
But tonight held a different kind of beauty. It was rare for me to be truly useful to anyone. Sure, I was a good worker. If you needed a half ton of apples crated, I was your man. But I wasn’t close to many people, and nobody counted on me for support.
Probably the very definition of lonely.
Lying close to Lark made me want things that I usually didn’t think so much about. My body was rarely touched by anyone other than me. I was a sturdy piece of equipment, like the trucks that I often repaired. My body was good for moving things from one end of the farm to another. But it didn’t provide comfort to anyone, let alone love.
Until now.
As I studied the shadows on the ceiling boards, I felt Lark’s fingers twitch in my hand, so I squeezed gently. She gave a troubled gasp. I picked up her hand and pressed it between both of mine, rubbing her knuckles. “Hang in there,” I whispered. “The night won’t last forever.”
She relaxed, and I was the reason.
We both drifted off for a while. But I’d been smart to stay, because she had a rough night. She tossed and turned for a while. Then, letting out a big gasp, she thrashed her legs into mine, startling me.
Propping myself up on an elbow, I looked down at her. “Lark, sweetie. Shake it off.”
Her eyes popped open. “Shit,” she hissed, rolling onto her side to face me.
I found myself staring into her dark eyes, which were wide with fear. “Hey,” I whispered. “You’re okay.”