Page 84 of Keepsake
Ashmead’s Kernel
Keepsake
Baldwin
23
Zach
Lark had toldme that our night in Woodstock was a vacation that she’d needed. But afterwards, she seemed sadder than ever.
Nobody noticed except for me. May was busy with midterms and with writing a beast of a paper for one of her classes. The fall days ticked by, and Griff was eager for Audrey’s return. His kitchen renovation was almost done, too. He was still waiting on the countertops he’d picked out. He wouldn’t have plumbing until they were installed and the water was hooked up again. But it was close.
The harvest was in full swing, and Griff and I were pressing cider every night after dinner. A few times he asked me how Lark was doing, and I said she was fine.
I would later realize how big a lie this was.
In my defense, I was fooled by the fact that her bad dreams subsided. She was still prone to talking in her sleep, and reaching for me in the dark. But the screaming and thrashing had quieted. So I was able to convince myself that things were better.
Though her face told a different story. Whenever she thought nobody was looking, Lark wore a troubled expression. By now she was really good at faking it. She never walked into the farmhouse with anything but a smile. For the Shipleys, she put a brave mask on it.
Alone, though, she was broody. She’d lapse into silence while we drove to the market, staring out the window as the meadows rolled by.
I didn’t worry as much as I should have, because I didn’t want to see it. At night she kissed me like she was drowning and I was her oxygen. Sex was her escape, I think. We learned to do it almost silently, waiting until the chorus of snores started up in the bunkroom, then making love slowly, swallowing each other’s moans.
Part of the reason I didn’t pay enough attention was—and this always happens—I got sick. One Friday I woke up exhausted. Moving my body around the farm felt like wading through hip-deep snow. At lunchtime I actually fell asleep in my chair while Griff and Lark went over the market receipts.
“You okay?” Griff asked me after my head grew heavy enough to do that bobbing thing that’s so disconcerting. Even after being away from the Paradise compound for a few years, I startled awake, expecting the switch to land across my hands as it used to if I fell asleep in church.
“I’m fine,” I said, shaking myself awake. “Maybe I just need another cup of coffee.”
That afternoon Lark and I helped with the picking. May was there, too, since her usual class had been canceled. Even though I felt ill, it was relaxing to listen to the female chatter as we picked. And when I lifted my eyes to the mountain ridge in the distance, I saw the most beautiful color of red-orange.
Fall in Vermont was spectacular. That’s why people came in droves to pick apples and buy pumpkins on the weekend. It kept the hotels full and the tips high at the bars my friends owned. The air was crisp and scented with leaves.
But there was a stopwatch ticking over me all the time. Lark would leave Vermont, and Audrey would return. And at some point—probably after all the season’s cider was pressed—Griff would give me the bad news. That I’d have to move on, too.
Usually I wasn’t such a pessimist. The headache creeping across my forehead wasn’t helping.
“These are funny-looking apples,” Lark said, picking another Keepsake off the tree. “Are they for cider?”
“Nope,” Griff’s voice said from another row nearby. “The Keepsake is an heirloom apple. The grocery wholesalers don’t want ’em because they’re small and irregularly shaped.”
“Just like Kieran!” Kyle volunteered.
“Fuck off,” his brother grumbled.
Griff continued as if they’d never spoken. “I like ’em, though. They have a nice acidity, and they keep forever. It’s not like a Macintosh that gets squishy in a week. These babies have staying power.”
“Huh,” Lark said. “Good to know.”
By evening my nose began to run, and my head was full-on pounding.
“Oh dear,” Ruth said over dinner. “Here comes Zach’s fall flu.”
“Maybe I’m just fighting something off,” I said quickly.
“I’ll get the Motrin and heat you a cup of cider,” she suggested.
