Page 7 of Apple of My Eye
I avert my gaze. ‘Mom, I gotta go. Dad will be looking for me.’
She releases her hand, but when our gazes lock again I can tell she’s seen right through my carefree expression.
I manage to time my day perfectly, heading to meet JJ at golden hour once again. He nickers, happy to see me, and I feed him another unripe apple, stroking the bridge of his muzzle. ‘I got all my stuff done today,’ I tell him as I walk him to the back paddock. He neighs. ‘I know, I know. Almost all my stuff. I’ll tell them tonight. I swear.’ He blinks a giant brown eye at me.
Half an hour later, Mom is doling out servings of her famous gnocchi tomato soup.
‘So,’ she asks, sitting down and smoothing her napkin onto her lap. ‘How was your day?’
Dad glances at me. ‘Good.’ He shrugs.
I can’t help but grin. ‘Good’ is dad-speak for ‘Eloise did well today.’ Even though my parents are proud of me for going to graduate school, I never felt like they were as proud of me as they are after a hard day’s work in the fields. Thankfully, Linden understood why continued education was so important to me and co-signed on my student loans, the only helpful thing he’s done in years if you ask me.
‘Day was fine,’ I manage to say before I start spearing gnocchi and shoveling them into my mouth.
Mom laughs. ‘Clearly someone worked up an appetite.’
‘You have no idea,’ I tell her.
We chat about what we need to get done for the remainder of the week and I wait until the end of dinner to ask, ‘Are you planning to help with the Fall Festival this year?’ My parents help with it most years, either volunteering at booths or baking apple pies to raffle off or helping to plan the fireworks show. Fall Festival is always the first weekend in September. The whole town comes together to celebrate the arrival of fall.
‘Why do you ask?’ Mom sits up a little straighter like she’s already preparing to guilt me into helping too.
I sigh. ‘Mom, I’m not trying to get out of it. You’re confusing me with your other kid.’ She raises an eyebrow at this and purses her lips together, but says nothing, waiting for me to continue. Dad stifles a laugh. ‘I was thinking about throwing something together for the kids that are there. At the kids’ camp I volunteered for this summer we gave out seed pods and seedlings and they loved them.’
Mom’s face breaks out into a wide grin. ‘That’s a really cute idea, Lou.’
‘Technically, it was Evan’s,’ I admit. ‘I was thinking of asking him to come help out. Would that be OK? If he was here for the .?.?.’ I trail off mid-sentence. There’s a strangeness in the air, it’s too quiet suddenly.
Dad looks across the table at Mom, who shifts in her seat. ‘We love Evan, but .?.?. are you sure? It’s a busy weekend. Especially if you tack on something child-friendly.’ Her eyes are a bit wider than usual.
‘I just thought it would be nice to see him,’ I reply. I can sense the mood shifting but I don’t know why.
Mom shifts again, crossing and uncrossing her legs. ‘I mean of course you can invite Evan .?.?.’
‘Is Linden visiting or something?’ I ask the only thing I can think of that would make them this shifty—most summers Linden comes home as a surprise to somebody, but he alternates who he’s telling. Last year he surprised Dad by disguising himself as a disgruntled apple picker on the day before his birthday. Dad laughed so hard he cried when Linden peeled off his bald cap.
Neither of them respond, so Linden must not be the reason.
Dad sighs, keeping his eyes on his plate.
‘I just think—’ But before Mom can finish, Dad cuts her off.
‘Just tell her,’ he grumbles.
‘Tell me what?’ I ask, my voice comes out high and strangled. This doesn’t seem like a good surprise. My heart starts to race.
‘Lou,’ Mom says gently, ‘I just didn’t know if you would want to really soak this one in. You know, without having to host a friend? This might be the last year we help the town with the Fall Festival .?.?. I think we’re selling the farm.’
Chapter Four
Nick
I spend my last day in San Francisco doing my favorite things.
Isaac grumbles but agrees to come hiking with me, through the sandy hills to the rocky dunes of the headlands. We pause at the top to take in the view, listening to the waves crash on the rocks below.
‘You’ll miss, like, eight games of pickup,’ Isaac complains, ‘we’ll have to find a replacement.’
