Page 20 of Cherry Picked
“You’ve always been honest with me,” Jack said, his blue eyes wide and worried. “Even if I, ah… don’t always react the way you wish I would. You know that you’re one of the most important people in my life, right? So if there’s a problem, you should tell me.”
I studied his handsome face for a long moment, deliberating.
What the heck was I supposed to say to that?
Did Jackreallywant to know how I was feeling?
I’d told him about my “problem” last weekend, and look how that had turned out.
Did he want to know that I was mortified and heartsick over his rejection? Or that I’d tried so hard to give off what Crys had called a “subtle yet unmistakable fuck-me vibe” this week that I’d practically thrown out my back accidentally-on-purpose dropping things so I could bend over and show off my ass?
Did he want to know I was hurt and angry at his lack of support at the town meeting? Or that I’d gotten nowhere in my plan to thwart Evola because I’d been working too many shifts to seek out Ms. Fortnum at the Apple of My Eye, and when I’d texted her about getting our environmental group back together, she’d replied with a cryptic“Plans have changed, sweetie. Msg u l8r. Hookers r assembling!”as though meeting with the other octogenarians in her fiber-arts group was more important than saving Fogg Peak?
Did he want to know that my regular volunteer gig leading hikes with the Mini Nature Scouts had gotten canceled thanks to an outbreak of Norovirus, so I hadn’t been able to speak to their parents, or that Uncle Drew had been so busy at Sunday Orchard he hadn’t listened to a word I said when I tried to explain my concerns?
Did Jack want to know how sad and confused I was that he was suddenly treating me like all the people in my life who gave me loving, protective head-pats while ignoring my opinions?
Did he want to know that a tight, hot ball of anger and resentment had formed in my chest, making it hard to be my usual positive self? That I was getting so sick of my own attitude I’d started visiting the self-help section of the library?
Just like the other night at the town meeting, I had the creeping suspicion that talking to Jack would make me feel worse instead of better.
He wanted the security of our uncomplicated friendship back, and for today, at least, I wanted that, too. So I smushed all of those feelings into a little ball and swallowed them.
“No, Jack,” I said, turning back to the trail and focusing my attention on the path. “There’s no problem.”
It took a solid half mile of walking—okay,stomping—uphill before the rhythm of my footsteps, the spicy fern scent of the air, and the pleasant strain in my lungs and muscles as we navigated the steepest switchback started to work their familiar magic on me, taking the edge off my jangled nerves. Up here, walking on mountains that had been formed eons ago, under the shelter of trees that had stood for centuries, my problems felt a bit smaller.
We passed a small clearing where summer flowers carpeted patches of virgin earth, and shards of sun cut down through the leaves to catch on delicate petals and stems.
“Purple hyssop,” I said, breaking the silence at last to point out the native flower. “It’s on Vermont’s list of threatened plant species. I talked to Maryanne Kopra about doing a unit study with the Mini Nature Scouts about these endangered plants and how precious they are.”
Jack hummed thoughtfully and paused to inhale the sweet licorice smell.
We continued along, my eyes roaming the area around us, searching for changes from the last time we’d hiked this particular trail up to the peak last summer. When planning out the hikes Jack and I took, I usually stuck to lower-elevation trails during the cooler seasons, saving the higher elevations for the summer months.
After a curve in the trail, I stopped and squatted down. “Drummond’s rock cress. This one is on the endangered list, too.”
“Oh, right. I recognize this one. Pretty,” Jack said, admiring the white flowers.
“It is.” I glanced up at him. “Hard to think that a year from now, a trendy barrel sauna might be sitting here instead of this plant, huh?”
Jack nodded, frowning in concern, but it felt like that concern was more for me and my inevitable disappointment once the resort was approved than the fate of the plants themselves.
“They really don’t need to build so high up the mountain,” I said stubbornly, as though we hadn’t discussed this a dozen times before. “What if they kept the resort buildings clustered around the primary area of Coster’s Meadow? As much as I’d hate to lose the vistas from that little valley, at least it would make more sense than clear-cutting the ridge.”
“It’s analpineresort concept.” Jack’s voice was infuriatingly patient and oh-so-reasonable, as usual. “I think setting it among the trees on the ridge is sort of the point, Bird.”
“Well, then, they can change the concept. That’s what all these town meetings have been about, right? They’re supposed to listen to us. To give us a voice. We get to have the final say. But if no one speaks up, if no one seems to care, why would they—”
Jack gripped the straps of his pack tighter. “Or maybe people in town care about more than one thing. I keep telling you, it’s not a black-and-white issue for most folks. There’s a huge financial benefit to the resort. There’s lots to consider.”
That phrase again.
“Assuming peopleareconsidering things and not dismissing it for all the wrong reasons,” I grumbled.
Financial security and stability were important—of course they were!—but it wasn’t as though the survival of Jack’s business depended on the resort. Panini Jack’s had become a local institution, and folks lined up for a table on a weekend morning, even in the off-season.
I was trying to look at the situation maturely. To not be selfish. To tell myself it was okay to disagree and not let my hurt over Jack’s rejection get all twisted up with his dismissal of my fears about Evola. To remind myself that Jack cared about melotsand that he’d proven it over the past seven years by treating me like an intelligent adult, by listening when I talked, by giving me a job at his diner, by asking my opinion on all the tiny details of his home renovation. But I was too emotional for this logic to really penetrate.
