Page 161 of The Nanny and the Hothead
“Is Oscar living with you now?” the farmer asked.
“Yes, we live in Denver. But this week, Oscar is at a camp with his school outside Telluride, and I’m here…”
What the hell was he doing here? Licking his wounds? Failing at writing a book? Nursing a broken heart? Allowing the pain in his chest to fester?
“You’re throwing your heart into the creek,” the farmer supplied with the ghost of a grin.
Mitch peered at the ceramic shape glinting in the late afternoon light. “Yeah, something like that.”
“It must be important,” the farmer added.
Mitch watched the man closely. “What must be important?”
“That heart.”
A slice of silence stretched between them. Mitch studied the heart—the heart his son had painted the same color as the food truck. Then he recalled the heart Oscar had with him at camp—the heart-shaped lock. The lock they were going to try to open with Charlotte’s key.
Would he ever get the chance to find out if she truly held the key to his heart?
“I should be on my way,” the farmer said, breaking into his thoughts. “My wife’s waiting for me in the truck.” He held up the jar. “I’ll put the apple butter on the porch. But I want to thank you before I go.”
Mitch frowned. “Thank me for what?”
“For ordering a substantial amount of apple butter a few months back. Farming isn’t the easiest profession. There are ups and downs. That order your restaurant put in helped us make payroll. A late freeze reduced our crop this year, and we had to rely heavily on the apple butter sales.”
It hadn’t been on purpose. It had been a fluke—an ordering error. But it had turned out to be a most fortunate accident. He studied the man. “How do you do it? How do you live with the uncertainty of not knowing what will happen with your life and livelihood?”
The question fell from his lips as if he’d kept it bottled up for an eternity and couldn’t hold it back any longer.
Mr. Applebaum removed his hat and scratched his balding head. “I guess it comes down to trust.”
“Trust?” Mitch echoed.
“You’ve got to trust yourself to make the best decisions you can. It doesn’t always work out. We’ve had years with bad crops, years we couldn’t meet the demand, and years we were left with a surplus. It’s a labor of love, but there’s a decent dose of forgiveness involved, too.”
Forgiveness?
Now Mitch was the one scratching his head. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“It has a lot to do with what you’ve got in your hand,” the farmer answered.
Mitch stared at the orange heart. “It has to do with this?”
“You’ve got to know your own heart. You’ve got to be able to forgive yourself for the missteps, then move on. If you don’t do that, your head will be stuck in the past, looking at the old problems instead of finding new ways forward. You have to figure out who you are and what matters. And you certainly don’t want to throw away the important things. That’s what gets you through the tough times.” A horn honked in the distance, and Mr. Applebaum chuckled. “That would be my wife, telling me to get back to the truck and stop dawdling. The older I get, the more I seem to do it,” the man added with an easy grin. “It was good to see you, Mitch. Say hello to Oscar for us and take care of that,” he finished, gesturing to the heart before heading up the trail toward the cabin.
Mitch stared at the heart as the breeze picked up and goose bumps broke out on his arms. Barefoot and wet from the waist down, he must look deranged. He slipped the heart into his pocket, peered down at his soaked clothing, then retrieved his shoes and the pad and pen. He slipped on his sneakers, then jotted two items Mr. Applebaum had mentioned on the paper.
Figure out who you are and what matters.
Don’t throw away the important things.
But what was important? Christ, he didn’t know anymore.
He stared up at the sky as a sleek Learjet passed overhead, descending in altitude as it headed toward the airport. And instantly, his focus shifted to Charlotte and her quest to find her Mr. Cheesy Forever.
Was she right?
Could he have been that person?
