The Apple Orchard

by Susan Wiggs

  Backing away from the thought, she reminded herself of today’s accomplishment and of the fact that she had good friends to celebrate with. She and her friends had a standing happy hour at the Top of the Mark, crowning the historic Mark Hopkins Hotel perched at the pinnacle of Russian Hill. It was a San Francisco landmark, ultra-touristy, but known locally for its stunning views, well-made martinis and live music.

  Thanks to her peripatetic childhood, she’d grown up with very little in the way of friends and family. Yet here in the heart of San Francisco, she’d made her own family, a small and convivial tribe of people like her—young professionals who were independent and ambitious. And fun—gypsies and geniuses, hard workers who also remembered to kick back.

  There was Lydia, an interior designer who was a constant source of client referrals for Tess. She found things like Duncan Phyfe sofas and Stickley tables stashed in people’s attics and storage units. She understood the adrenaline surge of a treasure hunt better than anyone Tess knew. The third member of their trio was Neelie, a wine broker who sometimes did business with Sheffield House. She had brought a new guy along tonight, Russell, who couldn’t keep his eyes off her boobs. Neelie kept sending secret text messages to Tess’s phone: Well? What do you think of him?

  He can’t keep his eyes off your boobs.

  You say that like it’s a bad thing.

  The two of them grinned at one another and lifted their glasses.

  “You two look like you’re up to something,” said Jude Lockhart, a guy Tess worked with at Sheffield.

  “That’s because we are,” she said, patting the seat beside her.

  Jude gave each of them a kiss and shook hands with Nathan, who was Lydia’s steady boyfriend. Neelie introduced him to Russell, her date.

  Tess loved the ease and charm of her friends; she loved that they were all still young and fun enough to meet and hang out after work. She especially loved that tonight, she had something to celebrate and friends with whom to share her news.

  “I hit the jackpot today,” she said.

  “Ooh, spill,” said Neelie. She turned to her date and explained, “Tess is a professional treasure hunter—really. She’s like a modern-day Indiana Jones.”

  “Not exactly,” said Tess. “I didn’t have to fight off any snakes today.” She told them about finding the Tiffany service at Miss Winther’s. “It turns out she used to be a garage sale addict and a bit of a hoarder. Most of the things she had were junk, but I found some other pieces, too.” She described the set of Ludwig Moser cordial glasses, a smallish woodcut image, pencil-signed by Charles H. Richert, and a jade cuff from pre-war China. With no particular sentimental attachment to any of the pieces, Miss Winther had cheerfully agreed to consign them to Sheffield House.

  “Damn, girl,” said Neelie, lifting her green apple martini. “Good work.”

  Everyone around the lounge table raised their glasses. “If you don’t watch out, you’re going to get yourself promoted,” said Jude.

  Tess felt a thrill of nervousness. She knew she was being considered for a position in New York City, a big move in more ways than one. It would represent a huge leap for her, vaulting her to the top of her profession. Jude regarded her with a combination of respect and envy. Somehow, they’d managed to be associates without becoming rivals.

  When Tess had first met Jude at an auction in London, she’d developed a severe crush on him. After all, it wasn’t every day you met a guy with an Oxford education and the face of a matinee idol. The crush hadn’t lasted, though. She quickly discovered they were too much alike—skittish about relationships, mystified by people who flung themselves into crazy love and ended up getting hurt. Eventually, the two of them had settled into a comfortable friendship. They were work colleagues, drinking buddies, and sometimes during the lonely times of the year—like the holidays—they pretended together that the loneliness didn’t matter.

  “Leave it to Tess to find a fortune in some old lady’s pantry,” said Lydia, snuggling close to Nathan. The two of them shared a private look, then Nathan gestured at a passing waiter.

  Jude nodded. “Tess seems to have a thing with little old ladies. My favorite is that time she found the program from a Giants game, signed by Willie Mays, in a client’s piano bench along with her sheet music.”

  “She remembered he was ‘such a nice young man,’” Tess said, smiling at the memory. “She had no idea she was sitting on a treasure every time she sat down at the piano to play ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone.’”

  “I swear, you have the Midas touch,” said Neelie.

  She laughed. “Hey, don’t put that on me. Remember, Midas was the guy who turned everything to gold, including his little kid.”

  “I thought you didn’t like kids,” Jude pointed out.

  “But I like Cheetos. What would happen if all my Cheetos turned to gold?”

  “The world would come to an end,” said Lydia. “Besides, you do too like kids, Tess. You just don’t want to admit it and seem uncool.”

  “I like kids and I’m totally cool,” Neelie pointed out. “And you’ll come around, Tess. Even people who don’t like kids fall in love when they have their own.”

  “Hey, speak for yourself,” Jude protested. “Watch it, Russell, my man. That ticking sound you hear? That’s her biological clock.”

  Russell put his arm around his date. “I think I can handle her.”

  “I don’t need handling,” Neelie protested. “Cuddling, yes. Handling, not so much.”

  Tess’s phone vibrated, signaling an incoming call, and she paused to check it. Not recognizing the number, she let it go to voice mail. There, she thought. I’m not all work and no play. I can resist a buzzing phone.

  “Speaking of things that are great...” Nathan gestured at the waiter, who had just showed up with a bottle of Cristal and a tableside bucket.

  “Cristal?” said Tess. “I didn’t realize my work story was that awesome.”

  “There’s more awesome news.” He stood up as two older couples entered the bar area, a few younger people trailing behind.

  “What’s going on?” Jude asked.

  With obvious excitement, Nathan introduced everyone to his and Lydia’s parents, and various brothers and sisters. Family resemblances were fascinating to Tess. Lydia’s two sisters looked like slightly skewed versions of Lydia herself, sharing her nut-brown hair and button nose. Nathan’s dad was tall and gangly like his son. An air of excitement swirled around them.

  Families were the ultimate mystery. As much as they fascinated her, they also struck her as messy and complicated. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from wondering what it must feel like to be surrounded by people you were connected to by blood and history.

  Her friends were her family, her job was her life, and she had a dream for her future. But every once in a while, an intense yearning slipped in, sharp as a slender blade.

  “Lydia and I wanted to get everyone together tonight,” Nathan was saying. “Our families and our closest friends. We have an announcement.”

  “No way.” Neelie clasped her hands over her mouth, and her eyes sparkled with delight.

  Tess’s heart sped up, because she suddenly knew what was coming next.

  Nathan smiled with a glow of happiness so intense, Tess imagined she could feel the warmth of it. “Mom and Dad, Barb and Ed, we’re engaged!” Lydia took a small green box from her pocket and placed the diamond solitaire on her finger.

  Lydia’s mother squealed—squealed—and the two of them shared a hug, their eyes closing blissfully. The sisters joined the group, and the two families comingled. Hugs and handshakes made the rounds. Neelie, ever the organizer, immediately took charge of finding out the date, the venue, the wedding party, the wine list.

  Watching the happy couple, Tess was surprised to feel the burn of tears behind her eyes and a lump in her throat. “Congratulations, my friend,” she said to Lydia. “I’m so, so happy for you.”

  Lydia clasped Tess’s hands. �
��I couldn’t wait to tell you. Can you believe it, me, getting married?”

  Tess laughed past her tears. “We used to swear marriage was for girls who have no imagination.” She recalled the late-night dorm-room drunk-a-logues they used to indulge in when they were roommates just out of school. Whatever happened to those girls? Tess didn’t miss the drinking, but she did miss the camaraderie. Even as she felt a surge of happiness for her friend, there was another feeling tucked away in a dark corner of her heart. She felt the tiniest twinge of envy.

  “That was before I learned what this kind of love felt like.” Lydia gazed adoringly at Nathan, who had abandoned his glowing-with-happiness look and was now chugging a beer, oblivious to the female sentiment. “Now I’m unbearable. Lately all I dream about doing is keeping house and making babies.” She giggled at Tess’s aghast expression. “Don’t worry. It’s not contagious.”

  “I’m not worried. Just promise me you’ll talk about other things, too.”

  “Of course we will. No talk of domesticity until it’s your turn.”

  Tess admired the ring, a brilliant marquise cut diamond in a platinum setting. It was remarkable, seeing her friend so proudly displaying it, a glittery symbol declaring to the world that someone loved her, that she was no longer going it alone. “Don’t hold your breath,” Tess said. “I don’t actually want a turn.”

  “You say that now. Just wait until you’ve met Prince Charming.”

  “If you spot him, feel free to give him my number.”

  Lydia went to show off her ring to her sisters and in-laws-to-be. Neelie was already taking down dress sizes for the bridal party. Still a bit startled by the emotion that sneaked up on her, Tess dabbed at her eyes with a cocktail napkin.

  “I completely agree,” Jude said, moving next to her. “This is a tragic turn of events.”

  “Don’t be mean. Look how happy they are.” She watched as Lydia’s family gathered around her—mom, dad, two look-alike sisters—and felt a lump in her throat again.

  “Look at you, swept up in the romance of it all,” Jude said, studying the happy couple. Lydia and Nathan couldn’t keep their eyes off each other.

  She sighed. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

  “Come on, Delaney. You just said not to hold my breath until it’s your turn. Don’t go all soft and mushy on me.”

  “Why not? Lots of people like things that are soft and mushy.”

  “People in old age homes, maybe.”

  “Be nice.”

  “I’m always nice.”

  “Then pour me another drink. I’m celebrating tonight, too,” she reminded him.

  He refilled her champagne flute. “Ah, yes. We’re celebrating the fact that you’ve done the firm out of a Holmstrom original.”

  “Don’t be bitter. We’re getting a mint condition Tiffany service, right down to the sugar tongs. The other things, as well.”

  “I’d rather have it all. What was the old lady thinking, that hanging on to the necklace is going to bring her mother back from a Nazi death camp?”

  “Gee, how about I ask her exactly that?” Tess drank more champagne.

  “Okay, sorry. I’m sure you tried your best.”

  “She’s a nice lady. Kind, filled with stories. I wish I had more time to spend with her. Do me a favor, and get a ton of money for her Tiffany.”

  “Of course. I’ll send over our best appraiser. By the way, Nathan’s brother is checking you out.” He glanced over her shoulder.

  “And?”

  “And, are you available?”

  “If you mean, am I seeing someone at the moment, the answer is no.”

  “What happened to Motorcycle Dude?”

  “Rode off into the sunset without me,” she confessed.

  “And Popeye the Sailor Man?”

  She laughed. “The navy guy, you mean. Eldon sailed off into the sunset. What is it with guys and sunsets?”

  “You seem heartbroken.”

  “Not.” In order to have her heart broken, she had to give it into someone’s care, and she simply wasn’t willing to do that. Too dangerous, and men were too careless. Both her mother and her grandmother were proof of that. Tess was determined not to become a third-generation loser. Tess knew what she was good at—primarily, her work. In that arena, she was in control; she had been raised to keep a firm grip on things. Matters of the heart, however, were impossible to control. She found intimacy unsettling, especially in light of her friends’ defection to marriage and even starting families.

  “I’m going to stop trying to keep track of the men you date,” said Jude. “None of them stick around long enough for me to remember their names, anyway.”

  “Ouch,” she said. “Touché.”

  “Do you secretly hate men?” he inquired. “Could that be the problem?”

  “God, no. I love men,” she said. She broke eye contact and turned to stare out the window. Night lay over the city in a blanket of gold stars. “I’m just not very good at keeping them around.”

  “You want to get a room, make wild monkey love for a while?” Jude suggested, lightly running his finger from her shoulder down to her elbow.

  She gave his arm a smack. “Don’t be a creep.”

  “Just being practical. We’re the only ones here who aren’t coupled up, so I thought—”

  “What, us? We would destroy each other.”

  “You’re no fun, Sister Mary Theresa. When are you going to give in to my charms?”

  “How about never?” She tossed back the last of her champagne. “Does never work for you?”

  “You’re killing me. Fine, I’m going on safari to soothe my poor, rejected ego.” Bending down, he gave her a peck on the cheek, then smiled at her with fond familiarity. “Later, Gorgeous. I’ve got a one-night stand to organize.”

  “Okay, that’s depressing.”

  “No. Going home alone is depressing.” He moved toward the moodily lit bar, where young women were lined up like ducks in a shooting gallery.

  Tess had no doubt he’d make a conquest. Jude always made an outstanding first impression. Not only did he look as though he’d stepped out of an Armani ad; he had a way of gazing at a woman that made her feel as though she’d instantly become the center of his world.

  Tess saw straight through him, though. In his own way, he was as lonely and damaged as she was.

  She set down her champagne flute and went to look out the window. San Francisco on a clear night was pure magic, the city lights like a necklace of diamonds around the bay, the sky as soft as black velvet. The bridges were swagged by golden chains formed by their cables. Boats of every size glided back and forth in the water. The skyscrapers lined up like gold bars of varying heights. Even the traffic in the streets below moved along in ruby-studded chains of gold. Tess had visited dozens of the world’s cities—Paris, Johannesburg, Mumbai, Shanghai—but San Francisco was her favorite. It was the kind of city where being independent was valued, not pitied or regarded as a problem to be rectified by well-meaning friends.

  She approached the newly engaged couple to say her goodbyes. Watching her friends together, flushed and smiling, joy shining from their eyes, Tess felt a twinge of bittersweetness. Lydia was one of those people who made love look easy. She wasn’t naive enough to regard Nathan as perfect. Instead, she simply trusted him with her heart. Tess wondered if that was a learned skill, or if you had to be born with it.

  “I’m taking off,” she said, giving Lydia a hug. “Call me.”

  “Of course. Be careful going home.”

  Tess left the bar and stepped into the elevator. The angled mirrors of the car were oddly placed, so that her image grew smaller and smaller, into infinity. She studied that image—pale skin and freckles, wavy red hair, a Burberry trench coat she’d bought in Hong Kong for a fraction of its price in the U.S.

  She stared at her image for so long that she began to look like a stranger to herself. How was that possible?

  For no reason she could discern, h
er heart sped up, hammering against her breastbone. Good God, how much had she had to drink? Her breathing grew shallow in her upper chest, and her throat felt tight. She gripped the handrail, trying to steady herself against a wave of dizziness.

  Maybe she was coming down with something, she thought as the sensations persisted, accompanying her all the way down to the opulent lobby of the hotel. No. She didn’t have time to come down with something. It was out of the question.

  There were mirrors in the lobby as well, and a glance told Tess she didn’t look like a woman who was about to collapse. But she felt like one, and the feeling chased her out the door. She dashed outside, into the night, heading toward the Lower Nob Hill neighborhood where she lived. No need for a taxi. The brisk walk might do her good.

  Her heels clicked nervously on the pavement. The metallic squeal of a streetcar pierced her eardrums. Her vision blurred in and out of sharpness as though she were peering through binoculars and adjusting the focus. Her heart was still racing, breathing still rapid and shallow. Maybe it was the champagne, she thought.

  If she had a doctor, she would ask him. But she didn’t have a doctor. She was twenty-nine years old, for Pete’s sake. Doctors were for sick people. She wasn’t sick. She just had the occasional feeling her head was going to explode.

  She took out her phone and dialed her mother without much hope of getting her. Shannon Delaney was traveling somewhere in the Lot Valley in France, an area famed for its history, its wines and scenery—and notorious for its lack of cell phone signals.

  “Hey, it’s me, checking in,” she said. “Call me when you get a chance. Let’s see, Lydia and Nathan are getting married, but you don’t care about that because you don’t know Lydia and Nathan. I found a complete set of Tiffany today. And some other stuff. Call me.”

  She put the phone away, wondering when the jittery feelings would abate. A cigarette, that was what she needed. Yes, she was a smoker, having fallen thoughtlessly into the habit on her first major business trip to France. She knew the horrific health effects as well as the next person. And naturally, she intended to quit one day. Soon. Just not tonight.