Page 15 of Apple of My Eye
–Clear out West and Central Barns
–Take inventory of the fertilizer and seeds
–Sharpen the pruning shears
–Figure out a plan for JJ
–Beat Dad at gin rummy
It’s my day to get the eggs for breakfast, but the smell of eggs wafting upstairs lets me know that I missed my chance. It took me so long to fall asleep I guess I slept through the rooster. I change quickly, scampering downstairs to find a skillet of scrambled eggs on the stove and coffee in the pot. Mom and Dad are nowhere to be found, Dad is probably tinkering on something in the barn while Mom mucks JJ’s stall. Thinking about JJ makes me sit up a little straighter. I can’t believe I was even thinking about letting the farm go last night, that taking a job in a lab crossed my mind. My parents don’t evenwantto sell, they just feel like they have to. And I have a way to fix it. Plus, if I do, then I get to keep JJ.
I ignore the voice in my ear reminding me that JJ is overdue for a new family, one where he is exercised more often, where a young girl or boy can give him the attention I once did. Instead, I glance at the newspaper lying out on the counter, skimming the headline about a local kindergartner who made national news for an extremely accurate Lego sculpture of a horse, and let myself be happily reminded why I love Carnation so much.
I check on the beehives on my way to find Dad, stopping to listen to their telltale hum, to smell the honey, to lay eyes on some of our most valuable helpers.
‘Bees look good!’ I call out to Dad as I enter West. He grunts appreciatively before putting me right to work. We start with the barn closest to the house, the biggest one of the three on our property. Every year, before harvest really kicks into gear and the seasonal workers arrive, we do a barn clean-out to get ready for new fertilizer and equipment. We haul out empty buckets and take apart cardboard boxes. We sweep floors and wipe cobwebs. The first steps to prepare for harvest and for the U-Pick weekends—the days that hundreds of people migrate to Carnation to pick apples themselves, our most profitable weekends of the year, exactly what they sound like. On those weekends, our seasonal workers do not pick the apples, the visitors pick the apples.
When we’re done with the barn we move outside.
‘Do you think Mom will come around to the loan?’ I ask him while we inspect trees, both of us crouching down on either side of their slender trunks to check for mites or lumps of a disease. So far, almost all the trees have been clear. A good sign, and one we both needed.
The day is clear, the sun climbing higher in the sky with each passing minute. Birds are loud, squawking and chirping up a storm at all hours of the day. Grass and weeds alike are thriving, hitting my knees as I venture off the gravel paths that crisscross our land. Dry air blows in from the west, keeping the bugs at bay. I stand up, taking a moment to survey the land around us. On every side we’re surrounded by fields and hills of bright green trees. The apple blossoms dropped a couple weeks ago and here and there I can still spot white petals littering the dirt.
I swat at a fly that buzzes by my ear. The sun is hot, beating down on our shoulders. I wipe sweat from my hairline. Only a couple more weeks of this before fall truly sets in and the mornings and the evenings get cooler. I can’t wait.
‘I don’t know—’ he stands ‘—your mother is a mystery to me.’ He wipes his hands on the front of his jeans. ‘She thinks it will jinx us, planning for something bad to happen to people we love. It’s the Catholic blood in her.’
‘I’m not planning for something bad to happen, I’m being realistic,’ I remind him.
‘Iknow that,’ he says. ‘She’s the one you have to convince.’
I plod back to the house, intent on doing just that, but my plans are thwarted when I hear laughter unspooling from the back door. There’s a waft of blackberry pie penetrating the air. These days Mom saves pie for occasions, like birthdays and graduations. But there is a group she makes it for without any occasion: Book Club.
I’m distracted thinking about pie, and I pause in the door frame for one second too long, just long enough for Peggy to round the corner and squeal with delight.
‘Your mother told us you were back!’ she cries, pulling me in for a hug. Peggy is old enough to be my grandmother but has enough energy to be in college. She drags me into the living room where women are spread out on our couch. There are extra chairs pulled in from the kitchen, and a blackberry pie sitting in the middle of the fray.
‘When is Linden going to come home?’ Peggy wheedles at me, clasping her hands together. ‘He is such a darling boy.’
‘I don’t think he’s a boy anymore,’ I tell her. ‘He has wrinkles now.’
‘Stop all your chatter and grab a slice.’ Marcia beckons me forward. ‘You need more meat on your bones.’
‘You always say that.’ I smile at her, remembering when I came home from college after my first year carrying an extra fifteen pounds with me, and Marcia saying the exact same thing. I love her for it, and I help myself to a piece of pie before perching on an arm of the couch, right next to Peggy. Mercifully, this month’s book is so good that I can eat my pie in peace, their conversation immediately sliding back to their romance novel.
‘Oh, the ending,’ Kathleen says theatrically, placing the back of her hand on her forehead.
‘And especially after the family didn’t approve!’ Marcia crows.
Peggy elbows me. ‘You really should read the book.’
‘I will,’ I reassure her. ‘My dad had some choice words about it.’
Peggy shakes with laughter. ‘The main characterisspicy.’
‘Hear, hear!’ Marcia exclaims. ‘George told me I needed to buy the sequel.’ She wiggles her eyebrows.
Kathleen explodes into laughter.
