Page 93 of Keepsake
Griff chuckled. “Oh, Chewie. Yeah, Audrey is going to help me experiment with some new fermentation techniques. That’ll be a hoot, but it doesn’t change the workload at all. Especially because Audrey and Zara are going to open a bakery and coffee shop in one of the outbuildings next to the Gin Mill.”
“Oh,” I said slowly. “Another new business?”
“Yup, and I’m sure you think we’re insane. But Zara needs to manage a business that operates in the daytime hours. She’s figured out that you can’t run a bar with a kid, unless you have live-in help, which she does not. Audrey’s going to bake the pastries. That’s part of what she’s getting out of her Paris studies. And since Zara’s brothers live on the property, they can pitch in if Zara’s overwhelmed.”
“I see. So you’re going to help them get that running over the winter.”
“Of course. And that will be happening while we do the usual pruning and make twenty percent more cider than last winter with the apples I’m buying from an orchard in the Champlain Valley.”
“Damn, Griff.”
“Yeah. You’re gonna want to sign up for that GED class just so you can sit down a few hours a week. The job is yours as long as you want it. Now let’s go sell some fucking apples.”
We got out and began to set up the stall, while I made sidelong glances at the source of my heartbreak.
It wasn’t easy to set up three tables and fifteen crates of fruit and cider without looking anyone in the eye, but Lark gave it her best shot. It was just a few minutes to three, and the customers were already milling around, getting ready to pounce. Lark taped the correct signs to each crate of apples that I brought over, while Griffin balanced the scale.
Look at me, I inwardly begged her. But she didn’t.
“Hello! Lovely girl!” I looked up to see Linda, the aging hippie woman who sold hand-dyed skeins of yarn. She was our neighbor at both the Hanover and the Norwich markets. I had never been sure if “lovely girl” was a nickname just for Lark, or if Linda called everyone that. “Could you help me for a moment?”
“Sure,” Lark said, ready to help. “Are we setting up your table?”
Linda leaned slowly down to tilt the folded table off the ground. Lark extended the legs, banging the locks. Together they raised the table into place. “Is something the matter with sunshine boy?” Linda asked. “He’s not right today.” She turned to gaze at me.
Crap. I must be wearing the face of a storm cloud.
“I guess so,” Lark said to her shoes.
Linda shook her head. “You know, if I were twenty years younger…” She gave me a saucy wink.
That made me smile. If Linda were twenty years younger, she’d still be old enough to be my grandmother.
I stole yet another look at Lark, and got caught this time. Her guilty eyes met mine before skittering away.
I was still so angry at her for pushing me away. This was my first broken heart, and I didn’t know how to mend it.
A child rang the bell to start off the market, and customers swarmed.
Leaning out of our stall, I looked down the row. In the space where the Apostate Farm booth should be, there was only green grass. “Isaac isn’t here yet,” I pointed out to Griffin. “That’s kind of weird. What did you say they had going on today?”
“I didn’t get all the details, but it wasn’t any kind of disaster. Don’t worry. There they are, anyway.” Griff pointed at the Apostate truck, which was meandering past the rows of cars, in search of a place to park. “I’ll go say hello. Stay here with Lark for a few more minutes?”
Lark gave him a stiff nod, so we ended up working side by side.
She sold bag after bag of apples, and quite a few half-gallons of sweet cider. I restocked them just as quickly as she sold them, my hands growing cold from handling the chilled fruit and the cider jugs. Fall was here, and a stiff wind blew past as we worked.
Lark’s fingers must have grown numb, too. As I watched, the handle of a cider jug began to slip off her thumb. Lunging, I caught it before it hit the ground.
“Thanks. Sorry,” she stammered as I set it to rights on the table.
“You need gloves?” I asked her quietly. “Might be a pair in Griff’s truck.” My subconscious slipped up then, forgetting that we were over. I put a hand on the small of her back, and the contact—even through several layers of clothing—felt right and necessary.
She turned vulnerable eyes in my direction and sighed. “I don’t think I’d be able to make change with gloves on. But thank you.”
“No problem,” I mumbled, forcing myself to let go.
The apples were selling fast, and I stacked more of the five-pound totes on our table, giving myself over to physical labor, which had never steered me wrong.
