Page 46 of Keepsake
“You are, though,” I said, easing back. “I just want to stay here and work and be outside with people who know me.”
“All right,” he said with a nod of his giant head. “I’m all for you hiding out on my farm, as long as it’s not harming you.”
“I already think I’m better,” I said quickly. “It hasn’t been that long, you know? I just need a little more time.”
He chewed his lip for a long moment and then nodded at me.
“And, uh, don’t mention this to May?” I begged. “Please? I don’t want her to worry.”
Griff gave me a skeptical look. “You don’t want me to worry, but you also want me to lie?”
“Because it’s not important,” I argued. “And she has her own crap to deal with right now.” I still felt like a heel for not saying the right thing when she told me her issues with alcoholism.
“Fine.” He sighed. “Now go find those slackers I’m related to and drag ’em over here.”
We all workedlike plow horses that week.
Ruth had driven Daphne to college in Connecticut, and Dylan had begun his part-time coursework. May hit the law school books hard. Griff hired day workers to pick apples and help him at the presses because there were fewer hands for all the farm labor now. Meanwhile, he put in extra hours on his renovation, too.
I liked being this busy. My friends all worked so hard, and helping them felt like the best use of my time.
Zach and I did four farmers’ markets a week, in four different towns, and each one had a unique flavor. Norwich and Woodstock were the fanciest. Hanover reminded me of a street fair. And Montpelier was typical crunchy Vermont.
It rained, though. For a while it seemed as if wet weather had been ordered up specifically to drench the farmers’ markets. This stressed out Zach, not because he minded getting wet, but because our traffic was lower when it rained.
“You can’t control the weather,” I pointed out after a quiet Hanover market. He had a grim expression as we loaded half our produce back onto the truck.
“I know.” He sighed. “I just hope Griff doesn’t look at the receipts and wonder what I’m doing wrong.”
“I think he’ll look at your sopping wet self and come to the right conclusion.” And, damn, Zach’s torso in a wet T-shirt was a thing of beauty. His abs were cut like the antique washboard hanging in Ruth Shipley’s kitchen.
The following Friday afternoon we picked Haralsons under clear skies. It was nice to be out in the sun again, except that I had to listen to Kyle and Griff debate where we’d go drinking tonight.
“The Goat,” Griff said again and again.
“Gin Mill,” Kyle protested. “What do you care, anyway? You’re not going to hook up.”
“I don’t feel like driving all the way to Alec’s bar. Gonna spend enough time driving over there come winter.”
“Why?” Kieran asked.
“Eh, a plan I’m working on. Don’t mind your pretty head over it.”
“Let’s go to the Gin Mill tonight so you can check everything out,” Kyle said.
“Subtle,” Griff replied with a sigh.
Last Friday nightI’d begged off the bar outing in order to accompany May to her AA meeting. Afterward, we’d indulged in ice cream and a movie in the Shipley farmhouse. Since the boys had been out at the bar, we put in a chick flick that Ruth watched with us.
But this week May nudged me toward Griff’s truck after dinner. “You go out. I’m going to do some homework after my meeting.”
“On Friday night?” I whined.
“Yes, for one more year I am exactly this boring. Go have fun.”
I was tired, though, and not exactly in the mood for the noise of a bar. But I went anyway, just to prove to myself that I could hack it.
Griffin had won the argument about where to go, so we were bound for the Goat. Once again I rode in the back of Griff’s truck between Zach and Kyle. When we got to the smaller bar, I heard loud music thumping from inside, and my stomach tightened immediately. Gritting my teeth, I let myself be led inside. But there weren’t any free tables, damn it.
