by Sarina Bowen
Well, this was awkward. Isaac didn’t even help. He just sat there with a weird smirk on his face.
“What?”
He grinned. “I knew when you fell for some girl, you’d fall hard. You’ve been mopey all week. Like a little teething baby.”
“Who’s a baby?” my sister May asked, sweeping her finger through the whipped cream on Isaac’s slice of pie.
He moved it out of her reach. “Get your own. And the baby is your lovesick brother.”
“Ah.” May snickered. “The one person that keeps him happy left the state. We’re all in trouble now.”
They were, too.
Over the next several days my temper got shorter and shorter.
I gave Kyle a hard time over his system for organizing the cider barrels. It was a perfectly good system, but it wasn’t my system. And if I got confused over what was what, the result would be a real mess.
“Fine!” he huffed, throwing up his hands. “I’ll change it back to your way. But you don’t have to be so combative.”
“I AM NOT COMBATIVE!” I yelled.
Everyone within the vicinity laughed. It didn’t help my mood.
Dylan got the worst of it one morning after I discovered he’d left the chicken coop open overnight. An opportunistic raccoon had eaten one of our best layers. Not only were we down a bird, but there were feathers and gore all over the place.
My brother’s face was red when I finished my angry sermon. Then I made him clean up the mess. His eyes were shiny by the time he’d buried the remains. The punishment was worse than my rant. The kid liked animals more than any of us, and knowing he was responsible for the bird’s gory death was hard enough. Dylan would probably be a vegetarian if his large and still-growing body didn’t require five thousand calories a day.
Later in the day I apologized for going off on him, but he gave me an angry stare and stomped off.
Hell. He reminded me of myself.
Friday, Kyle decided that I needed a night out at the Goat. I didn’t see how that would lift my spirits any. But neither would it hurt. And Kyle deserved some fun after putting up with me all week, so I drove the two of us over there. Zach stayed behind to watch a movie with Jude and the twins.
The place was unusually crowded. It was leaf-peeping season, and some tourists had found our local watering hole, so the tables were filled. Kyle and I found seats at the bar.
“What’ll it be?” Zara asked me, holding my gaze for a beat longer than I expected.
“Uh, a Long Trail.”
“’Kay. And your sidekick?” she turned her attention to Kyle.
“I am not his sidekick.”
“Uh-huh. You’re your own man. Got it. What do you want to drink?”
“Well…” He eyed the taps.
“While I’m young?”
“I guess I’ll have a Long Trail, too.”
Chuckling, Zara poured our two beers. She served mine with a warm smile. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but if she’d decided to stop hating me, I wasn’t going to complain.
Kyle and I drank our beer and talked about the new football season. We decided the Pats were going to have another great year. Right after I’d given up on football, it had bothered me to follow the teams too closely. I’d met a lot of my idols, and I’d pictured myself playing alongside them.
But football season coincided with harvest season, anyway. I’d been too busy to watch much football. Sunday afternoons always found me in the orchard, surrounded by tourists, selling a few thousand dollars’ worth of product.
“Want to get tickets to a game next month?” Kyle asked. “I’ll look at the schedule. Sundays don’t work for you, but if we’re lucky there’ll be a Thursday night or a Monday game we could hit.”
“Sure. Take a look.” The idea of a road trip to Boston only made me think about Audrey, though. I found myself scanning the room for her, which was pointless. But hope springs eternal.
She wasn’t here, of course. And there was no reason she should be.
Zara paused in front of us when our glasses got low. “Another round?” she offered.
“Sure,” I said. “Thanks.”
Kyle leaned forward on his bar stool and gazed up at Zara. “Mind if I ask what you’re doing later?”
“Not you,” she said, pouring his beer.
“I, uh, appreciate your honesty,” Kyle said.
“No you don’t.” She winked at him. “But those college girls at the dartboard keep looking in your direction.”
“In my direction,” I said just to be an ass. I hadn’t even noticed any girls by the dartboard.
Zara snorted. “Glad to know your ego is even bigger that your freakishly large head.”
“Excuse me,” Kyle said, standing up and running a hand through his hair. “I feel an urge to play darts.”
“Go get ’em, big guy.” Zara waved him off. She watched him go, then she looked down at me. “Got a second?”
“Sure?” Something in her frown made me pay attention.
She worried the bar cloth between her fingers in a nervous way that didn’t seem like Zara. “There’s something I need to tell you before you hear it as gossip and get the wrong idea.”
“Okay?” Even though I felt a prickle of unease, I was unprepared for what she said next.
“Well, I’m nine weeks pregnant.”
After I heard those words, the soundtrack of the bar did something odd. The chattering, happy voices and the rock tune on the sound system seemed to recede. As I stared up at Zara’s worried face, I could only hear the glug-glug of my own pulse in my ears. Everything sort of ceased to reach me. Except for the big, awful word she’d just used.
Then Zara slapped my hand. Hard. “Jesus, Griff. Breathe. It’s not yours. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
I inhaled on command, and the oxygen helped the rest of the room come back into focus. “Not…” I hesitated to even say it.
“Not yours. Do the math. Are you listening?”
I was, but all I’d heard was pregnant. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Whatever you’re asking, I’m sure. You know how this works—even if all your reproductive smarts come from breeding cows. The doctor can tell the, uh, timing. From a sonogram. And besides…” She swallowed. “You and I were careful.”
The shameful expression on her face was what finally reunited me with my wits. “Hell, Zara. Are you okay?”
Her lip trembled, but then she seemed to pull herself together. “Sure. And thanks for asking. It took my brothers a lot longer to get around to asking that question. There was a lot of yelling.”
Shit. “At you? That’s not right. Do you need somewhere to go?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, Griff. I’m good. Really. It’s just been a rough couple of weeks. Mom keeps crying, wondering where she went wrong. My brothers and my uncles are pissed at me because I won’t say, um, who the father is. ”
“You won’t?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
Zara sighed. “Griff, you and I aren’t going to have this conversation, either. It’s private, okay? I have my reasons. The end.”
I picked up my beer and drained it, trying to wrap my head around the weirdest conversation I’d had in a very long time.
“Shot of whiskey?” she offered, smiling down at me. I must look like a guy who needed one. And it was seriously tempted.
“No. I can’t. I’m driving.”
Her smile softened. “Responsible Griff. Saving the world one sober driver at a time. I could call you a cab, you know.”
“Just promise me one thing,” I said, beckoning her toward me.
She put her elbows on the bar and leaned close. “It’s not yours,” she whispered. “I’d tell you. I swear.”
“No, I know you would.” But that wasn’t what I wanted to ask. “If things get too heated at home, you’ll come visit us. Just take care of yourself.”
Her face softened. “I’m fin
e, I promise. You know my family—we yell a lot. But then we get over it.” She reached over and squeezed my hand, then let go just as quickly. “I have a question for you, too.”
“What is it?”
She stood up tall and crossed her arms, so of course my eyes went right to her still-flat belly. Nothing to see there. “Eyes up here, mister.” I complied. “You’ve been watching the door all evening. And Audrey hasn’t come through it.”
“She’s in Boston,” I said quickly. I didn’t need another woman in my life grilling me about Audrey.
“Uh-huh. But let me just hit you with a hypothetical. What if she had walked in here tonight. And what if she sat right there.” Zara pointed at Kyle’s vacant seat. “And she said, ‘Griffin, I’m pregnant.’ I’m just curious. Do you still turn gray and nearly pass out on my bar?”
“I did not almost pass out,” I corrected. “That’s a damn lie.”
“Right, tough guy.” Zara’s eyes twinkled. “But you didn’t answer the question.”
I hadn’t answered it. Because my answer made me uncomfortable. The truth was that if Audrey told me she was knocked up, I’d…be ecstatic. Jesus. Where did that come from?
Maybe I needed that shot of whiskey after all.
“Miss?” A customer waved to Zara from the other end of the bar and she hurried over to pour a beer.
It should have been a relief to be left alone with my thoughts. But I couldn’t shake off Zara’s odd query. It seemed like bad juju to think about a pregnant Audrey. But since Zara brought it up, my brain wouldn’t let go of the idea. And I’m pretty sure that Audrey wouldn’t like all the ideas it gave me. I’d have to move her to Vermont and keep her close. And I wouldn’t even feel guilty about the convenient way she’d have to give up her dream. For the sake of the child, right?
I snorted into my empty glass. Right. Selfish much?
My happiness all came down to a war between Audrey’s big plans and mine. The conflict was irreconcilable. And even if I had some crazy notion of giving up my plans to chase after her, I couldn’t do it. My family depended on me.
“Here.” Zara reappeared in front of me and pushed a glass in my direction. It contained birch beer, my go-to soda. “To all the big questions,” she said, raising another glass of birch beer.
I touched my glass to hers. “And to your health.”
She smiled as we each took a sip of our non-alcoholic libations. “I miss beer.”
“I’ll bet. You feel okay?”
“Mostly. I’m tired, is all. But who isn’t, right?”
I watched Zara lift her chin in that proud way she had, looking down her strong, aquiline nose at me. She was striking. Beautiful even. And I’d never felt about her or anyone else the way I felt about Audrey.
Damn, I was in so much trouble.
“I can practically hear your gears grinding,” Zara said, sipping her soda.
“Lots to think about. All of it complicated.”
“Like any other day,” she pointed out. “When are you seeing Audrey again?”
“No idea.”
Zara rolled her eyes. “Well that’s just stupid of you. And unfortunate for the rest of us. She softens your edges. Makes you tolerable. She didn’t move to Mars, right?”
“During harvest, it might as well be Mars.”
“So send her a present. Make her understand that you’re thinking about her. You never know how things will end up with her. Maybe in three months she’s done with that job. Things change, you know.”
“I guess.”
“He guesses.” She wiped the bar. “Or you can sit there and brood. You’re good at it. I always fall for the broody ones.” She gave me a sad grin.
I wondered which broody guy had accidentally become the father of her future child. But I held back the question. “Hey, by the way?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry if I let you down.”
Her rag paused on the wooden surface. She raised her big, dark eyes to mine. “I appreciate you saying that. But you never broke any promises to me.”
“Sure, but…” I cleared my throat, uncomfortable. “I can be an uptight jerk.”
The smile she gave me was a knowing one. “Saving the world takes a lot of your energy, Griff. I get it. I was pissed at you, too. I had this dumb idea that you looked down on me. That you were this football-playing chemist who wanted to fool around with the townie until he found somebody from the right social strata.”
“Hey…!”
She held up a hand. “I know, okay? I get it now. You and I have known each other our whole lives, but I still had it all backward. The truth is that we’re too much alike. When I saw you with Audrey, I got it. It wasn’t about me. You two just fit. She’s flighty and cute and silly, and you two balance each other out. Now I get to watch her make you crazy.” Chuckling to herself, she moved down the bar to fill another order.
Zara, man. Who knew she could scramble my head two or three times in ninety minutes? I watched her down the bar, chatting up customers, doling out advice like only a bartender could.
That got me thinking about her advice to me. Send Audrey a present, she’d said. It was a gesture of the kind that I never really considered. Maybe I wasn’t the world’s most romantic guy. But a gesture was a neat idea. The trouble was that I didn’t know what to give her. Audrey had told me in passing that chefs didn’t wear jewelry. So that age-old gift wasn’t going to work. Besides, I didn’t trust my taste in bling. What did a chef need, anyway?
I sat there thinking up ideas and rejecting them just as quickly. As if I knew a thing about kitchen gear. And none of it was very romantic.
Except…
When the answer came to me, I yanked my phone out of my back pocket and started tapping on it like mad. “Hey Zara,” I said as she passed by. “You still have a laptop back there?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I need to do a little online shopping.”
She handed over the laptop with a chuckle. “Good luck. Pick something nice.”
“It will probably be used,” I said, opening up the computer.
“That doesn’t sound romantic.”
“Trust me.” I navigated to Ebay.
“Don’t blow it, Griff,” she said kindly. “Go big, you know? Do or die. There is no try.”
I eyed her over the top of the screen. “You just butchered that quote. Yoda is rolling over in his grave.”
Zara gave me a smirk. “Yoda would approve of the sentiment. Now make it happen.”
I turned back to my work, humming to myself. The Star Wars theme, of course.
An hour later I left Kyle in the clutches of one of the college girls. One of his new female friends would drop him home later.
Either that or he’d text me in the morning begging a ride home from God knows where.
I drove home feeling more contemplative than usual. And when I got out of the truck alone, Jude was sitting on the stoop of the bunkhouse, his chin balanced on his fists.
“Everything okay?” I asked, sitting beside him.
“Sure. I still don’t fall asleep very easily. But when I do sleep, it’s better than it used to be.”
“That sounds like progress.”
He shrugged. “If my cravings went away, that would be progress. But tonight was all right.”
“Was it? Good meeting?”
“They’re never good. It’s not like I walk out of there feeling like superman. But lately I feel…solid. Like I’m not going to wreck myself by morning. And—hey—have you been to that gelato shop in Hanover?”
“What? No.”
“Now there’s something to live for. I took May there to thank her for driving me tonight. The dark chocolate hazelnut flavor could make a guy believe in God.”
I laughed, because I don’t think I’d ever heard Jude talk so much at once. “I’ll have to remember to try it. You can show me the place after the Hanover market sometime.”
He fiddled with his hands. “How lon
g are you going to keep me on, anyway? By my calculations you’ll be all picked out in ten days. Maybe two weeks.”
Shit, could that be right? Harvest season was such a crazy time for me that when it ended I was always a little taken aback. But he was right. By Halloween, the bulk of it was done. Although now things were going to be a little different. “This year I’m going to have to press and barrel everything twice as fast.” When I wasn’t trying to produce six thousand extra bottles, I took my time. “I’d feel better with an extra set of hands around, at least until the middle of November.”
It’s not like I’d figured an extra paycheck into my November budget. But I really could use the help.
“You know I’ll stay as long as you let me,” Jude said gruffly. “Don’t want to go back to Colebury. That place gives me the willies. But my dad owns an auto-body shop. If he hasn’t run it into the ground these past three years, I can probably pick up some hours there. It’s not like anyone else will hire me.”
I couldn’t even imagine the tough spot he was in. Life was hard enough without a criminal record. “You gonna be okay?”
“Do I have a choice?” He laughed, but it sounded bitter. “I dunno. Didn’t think I could make it this far. I’ve been clean for sixty days. So that’s something.”
“You’re tough,” I said, and meant it. “And you must be feeling stronger now. All this extra muscle.” I gave his shoulder a friendly shove.
“It’s all the good food,” he said. “My appetite is back, finally. Speaking of which… How are your withdrawal symptoms?”
I grunted. “What do you mean?”
“Audrey’s been gone a while now. What’s your strategy?”
“Don’t exactly have one. I’d like to try to get her to consider making things permanent. But…”
“But what? Worst she could say is no.”
I wasn’t sure that was the worst thing that could happen. “When I was almost exactly her age, I was trying to make it in professional football.”
“No shit? I knew you played, though. All those trophies in the TV room.”
I snorted. “Mom won’t let me throw ’em away. I got drafted. Snuck on to a practice squad, but just barely. I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel, though. I had a plan. That’s when my dad died from a heart attack.”