Love and Peaches

by Jodi Lynn Anderson

  “Yeah.” Grey nodded.

  “That’s awful.”

  “That’s why it’s great.” He looked at her, openly pleased with the name. Guys could be so simple and dumb. Eric, for instance, loved wrestling.

  Leeda rolled her eyes.

  The eggs were delicious. Grey had put a bunch of herbs in and some onions.

  “These are good.”

  “I learned from one of my foster parents.”

  Leeda nodded. “My mom wouldn’t let me in the kitchen,” she offered by way of being a little open too. It seemed only right. “She said I’d mess it up. The cook was the only one allowed.”

  Finally they finished their food, and Leeda moved to get up, knocking her bag off the couch. It went tumbling forward, and its contents came falling out.

  Grey leaned forward, analyzing what was on the floor: a pepper shaker shaped like a little Airstream trailer. Half of an old crayon. A screwdriver. And, most telltale of all, a Fabergé egg that had been sitting on her grandmother’s shelf until a few days before.

  “What is all this stuff?” he asked as she bent down to sweep them up. Barky leaped down in a flash to sniff around and see if any of the fallen objects were food.

  Leeda sputtered, mortified. “Just some things…”

  Grey looked at her, his mouth open in amazement. He reached forward and held up a Miss Piggy figurine, a question on his face. “What are you, a magpie?”

  Leeda blushed furiously. She swiped the Miss Piggy out of his hand, hastily scooped up the items, and put them back in her bag.

  They both stood, looking at each other.

  “What’s all that for?” he asked.

  Leeda could easily have refused to answer the question. She didn’t know why she felt the urge to tell him. She didn’t know him.

  “I take them. From places. I just…started…when I got home this summer. It’s usually nothing important. I guess the Fabergé egg is, but that’s not why I took it.”

  “So why?” Grey asked.

  Leeda shrugged. “I don’t know.” She looked at the objects. The majority of them were from the orchard. But there were a couple from her grandmom’s house too, and some from her parents’ house. “To remind me.”

  A soft, surprised smile played about Grey’s lips. Like she suddenly was someone different to him than he’d thought she was. “Of what?”

  Leeda felt how stupid it sounded. “I don’t know. Where I’m from.”

  “You’re from Sesame Street?” he demanded lustily, thrusting Miss Piggy into the air again.

  Leeda felt a smirk creeping onto her face to match his. It was a moment of understanding between them. It was real, and it was ridiculous.

  “It’s just…” She swallowed. “This stuff reminds me that I’ve had a life no one else has had. That I’m not…this default person.”

  Grey’s smile was gone. He was staring at her intently. She wondered if maybe it was insensitive to talk about how much she needed to remember where she was from, when he wasn’t from anywhere.

  “Hello?”

  At the sound of the voice, they both turned, stood, and walked out into the parlor. The front door was open, and Birdie was just emerging from Grey’s room, a kitten cradled in her hand. “Aww, they are so cute,” she moaned, beaming at them delightedly and rubbing the kitten up against her face.

  “Hey, Birdie, how’s the leg?” Grey asked, turning his eyes from Leeda to her.

  “Um. Good,” Birdie said, blushing. They hadn’t seen each other since she’d landed on him. Leeda marveled at how familiar she already was with the kitten.

  Birdie cradled the kitten to her chest and looked at Barky, who was standing at Leeda’s right heel, staring at Birdie with a removed gaze, sizing her up like she was a guest.

  “I thought you gave him to someone,” she said.

  “I went and got him back,” Leeda said. “The other ones are just piling up.”

  “I think Barky sent out a message in a bottle to all the other strays,” Grey added, giving Leeda a look. “Is that the way of it, Barky?” he asked like a detective, staring down at the dog.

  Barky looked completely content, rolling his eyes up to Leeda trustingly and occasionally licking his nervous little lips, then rolling them toward Birdie, as if to make sure she wasn’t going to ruin the moment by stealing Leeda away.

  “Can I name one of the kittens Captain Catpants?” Birdie gushed excitedly.

  Leeda laughed. “Yeah, Bird, whatever you want. You can name all of them.”

  Birdie moved up and down on her toes a little, grinning. And then she turned serious. “You should make sure you get them all spayed or neutered,” she said. “You could probably work out a discount with a vet.”

  “So what have you been up to, Birdie, besides falling on innocent bystanders?” Grey asked. It was strange how immediately easy he was with Birdie. Birdie, even though she was shy, had that way with people. Leeda admired and envied it.

  Birdie smiled. “I’m trying to keep my house,” she said. “Actually,” she added as if she were just remembering something, “that’s why I’m here.” She looked at Leeda. “I came to see if you wanted to come to Southern Counties with me. I need to buy some supplies. For the house.”

  “Oh, Bird, I can’t. I have so much going on, and I haven’t talked to Eric in three days. He’s gonna forget me,” she joked. “Can I help tomorrow?”

  Birdie stuck her hands in the pockets of her overalls. “Sure.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Grey offered.

  Leeda and Birdie both looked at him, surprised.

  “I’m really handy. And I could use a change of scenery.”

  “Well…I really could use the help. If you don’t mind,” Birdie said.

  Leeda suddenly felt left behind. She watched Grey disappear into his room and come out a moment later with his keys. In another moment, he and Birdie were heading out the door.

  Leeda walked up to the window, watching them go. She couldn’t put her finger on the sense of loss she had. It was probably just the fact that the cottage was suddenly quiet.

  But then again, not really. Barky was at her heels, and he let out a low, plaintive growl. She scooped him up and held him to her face the way Birdie had held the kitten—so naturally. They sniffed each other’s noses.

  It felt kind of good.

  Twenty-one

  Almost everyone was at church, so the orchard was deserted when Birdie and Grey pulled in. They climbed out of the truck, and Birdie hobbled around to the back, which was full of sacks of sand, mortar, a trowel, and a big red bucket. Birdie wasn’t sure what she would use yet, but she could take back the things she didn’t.

  “So how’re you going to do this, Birdie?” Grey asked as he grabbed a couple of bags and Birdie led the way across the grass.

  “Well, the house has been settling because of the soft ground. You know, with the caves underneath. But if I can move some concrete pilings and cylinders in there and position them across the soft bits, it will stabilize the bottom of the foundation.” They were rounding the side of the house and heading back into the shade.

  Grey looked impressed but skeptical. “But Birdie, for something like that, you need to be able to load the pilings in, because they’re huge and heavy….”

  Birdie halted when they were just under the kitchen window. “I’m gonna hire someone to do that. Just the unloading,” she answered. “And then I can roll them in on a low dolly.” She laid her crutches down on the grass. Through the crawl space here, they could get in to right under where Birdie had fallen through the floor.

  “And you need to be able to maneuver well underneath.”

  “Yeah,” Birdie said. “I don’t have to get a hydraulic jack. But you can rent them. And they’re not that expensive.”

  Grey shook his head at her and laughed. “My mistake. I thought you were just your everyday amateur.” His voice was deep and sounded soothing to Birdie. She studied the dirt caked under his fingernails. She
didn’t see how Leeda thought he was so bad. He seemed really nice to her. But Birdie usually got along with people. She knew she was pretty unintimidating.

  She glanced around. From this side of the house—the opposite side from Murphy’s garden and Birdie’s bedroom window—the farm sloped off, away from the peach trees and up toward the northwestern corner, which was just grass and scattered trees and a gradual rise to the edge of the property. There it butted against a back road that wound down to meet Orchard Road. It was an inviting area, probably because it was so remote and unvisited. It just sat still.

  It was things like this—the old, musty smell coming out from the crawl space and the shade on the grass—that gave Birdie moments of extreme, aching love for her home.

  “So Leeda’s your cousin, huh?” Grey asked.

  “Second cousin.”

  “Have you always gotten along?”

  Birdie pulled on a long-sleeve shirt that she’d tied around her waist. “I didn’t know her, I mean, really know her, for a long time. I always thought she was all perfect and kind of conceited. But she’s just reserved. And not so perfect.” Birdie stopped short then waved her hands, worried that Grey would think she meant something negative. “In a good way. You know, like a human.

  “I’m sorry you guys don’t get along,” she added, flustered. She knelt down, unloading a flashlight from another bag she’d brought.

  “Leeda said we don’t get along?” Grey asked, turning serious and awkwardly focused.

  “Oh.” Birdie bit her lip as she looked up at him, mortified. “No. Uh, I don’t know.”

  They were both silent for a moment, Birdie checking to make sure the batteries worked in the flashlight, her knees sinking into the soft grass.

  “Do you like her boyfriend?” Grey asked.

  Birdie blinked up at him. “Never met him,” she said. “She’s crazy about him, though. He must be pretty great. Because Leeda’s not the type to just be crazy about anyone. She kind of holds back.” She leaned forward onto her elbows, and Grey came to stand next to her as she peered into the darkness under the house. “I need to get down there and see what it looks like. And then I’ll start measuring everything,” she said.

  “You can’t shimmy under the house with a sprained ankle, Birdie.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “All right.” He looked pained. “I’ll come too. I’ll hold the flashlight.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  Grey flashed her a game smile and clicked the flashlight on. His teeth were white against his tanned face and the faint but dark stubble dusting his chin. He had stunning eyes. Birdie was temporarily caught off guard by them.

  “Okay.” Birdie got down on her knees and then leaned forward on her elbows, squishing down and half-crawling, half-shimmying into the darkness under the house. Grey followed. She could hear him behind her, the sound of his knees moving first on grass, then on dirt. The beam of the flashlight bounced along in front of her.

  Birdie could make out the sagging slats of the house in the dimness. Grey crawled up beside her, and they made their way a little further up to the place where the light came in through the hole in the floor above them. Birdie shimmied a little bit more to get a better look. Suddenly, as she moved her hands forward, she felt nothing beneath them, and she jerked back just in time to bump into Grey.

  “Watch out,” she said, and her voice echoed weirdly. Grey sidled up next to her.

  They were at the edge of a gaping hole.

  Birdie ran her hands along the edge, feeling it like someone blind might feel a face. A musty air rose from the dark and cooled her cheeks.

  It was too dark to see very much, but the cave gave off a feeling of hugeness and emptiness. And at the same time, it didn’t seem quite empty of beauty. Birdie felt like she was peering into the beating heart underneath her home. She looked up at the bottom of the house. As her eyes adjusted, she could see the places where the foundation was buckling in.

  Birdie was speechless. But she couldn’t move. She was mesmerized to think that the cave had sat gaping under her house her whole life. And that it had been here, probably, for millions of years, long before the house existed. And that it would be here long after the house was gone.

  They were silent for a few seconds, and then Grey finally spoke softly. “Birdie, there’s no way you can fix this.” She heard him start to back up.

  Dazed, she followed him, crawling backward.

  They emerged into the sun again, covered in dust. Birdie took deep breaths, relieved to be back out in the open. She looked at Grey, unsure what she wanted to communicate but sure that it was huge and that she was powerless.

  But Grey seemed to recognize fear when he saw it. And he simply reached forward and pulled Birdie to him.

  She sank against his chest. It felt different than Enrico’s body. Taller and firmer. It felt safe.

  Twenty-two

  Murphy lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

  It had been a typical night of sitting in the common room with the other women, gossiping and watching movies, fanning themselves with newspapers, the windows propped wide open for air. In some places, Murphy knew, the night air in the summer got much cooler and fresher. But in southern Georgia, it stayed warm all night. In her trailer, which didn’t have AC, the heat had always kept Murphy awake, sweating and longing for the summers she knew they were having in Maine or northern California.

  Now she lay on top of her sheets with the regulation flannel blankets the Darlingtons gave for each bed lying in a knot on the floor beside her. She hadn’t felt so restless and hemmed in since before she’d left for New York. It was like old ghosts had come back to haunt her. The ghosts of too small, not enough.

  Finally Murphy slid out from under the covers. She glanced over at Leeda’s empty bed. For the past couple of nights, Leeda had slept at Primrose Cottage. Apparently an injured ferret had arrived, and Leeda was too worried to leave it alone at night.

  Murphy opened her door slowly and tiptoed down the hall, pulling her long tank top down over her flimsy boxers. In another couple of moments she was outside, padding barefoot down the wooden stairs. The crickets were deafening. The peach trees were shadows.

  She walked across the moonlit grass and climbed the ladder to Birdie’s tree house, her soles wet from the grass. She paused on the top rung.

  Birdie was peacefully asleep, curled up under an old quilt, a night-light beside her. Murphy rethought and climbed back down, jumping off the second-to-last rung onto the grass. She returned to the dorms and got a couple of quarters and a crumpled piece of paper with a phone number on it from her dresser. She pulled on jeans over her boxers, slipped a bra on under her tank top, and stepped into her flip-flops. Then she headed over to the barn and got on the pay phone.

  A sleepy voice answered.

  “Hey, can we go somewhere?”

  Rex was there ten minutes later.

  “Where we going?” He yawned, seeming to become more alert as they pulled out and drove.

  “It’s off exit seventeen.”

  The parking lot of Buckets was practically empty. It was a Wednesday night. Murphy climbed out of the car and, reluctantly, Rex followed her.

  They walked in and sank onto two stools near the bar. A woman with curly ash-colored hair sat at the corner of the bar, playing a little electronic trivia game. Murphy ordered a beer for herself and smiled smugly at Rex when she wasn’t carded. Rex rolled his eyes and ordered a milk.

  While they waited for their drinks, Murphy kicked the leg of the table with her dangling toes, and Rex looked at her expectantly, clearly wanting to know why they were there.

  But Murphy was coy. “What?” she asked, grinning.

  He caught one of her feet between his own. “Be real with me, Murphy. Why are we here?”

  Murphy shrugged. “I dunno. I thought it would be fun.” She figured that he hadn’t been real with her either.

  Rex stood up and dug three twenties out
of his wallet. “Here’s cab money.” He gave her a pained look. “Be safe getting home.” He turned to leave. Murphy knew he would too.

  “Wait. I’m sorry.” She stood up and pulled Rex back by the sleeve. “Rex, I’m sorry.”

  He turned to her. “Murphy, I can tell when you’re trying to cajole someone into doing things your way. But this is me. I know you.”

  The waitress arrived carrying their drinks.

  To Murphy’s relief, they both sat back down, looking at each other as the beer and the milk were set on the table. Then Murphy glanced up at the waitress unsurely. “Do you know a guy who comes in here, green eyes, mustache?” she said.

  “Sorry, honey.” She walked away.

  Rex was staring at her questioningly.

  Murphy took a sip of her drink. “My mom found my dad. But she won’t tell me who he is or anything about him. I thought he might be here because I followed him here before.”

  “How do you know it was your dad?” Rex seemed bewildered.

  “I know it’s him. I saw him coming out of the courthouse with her.”

  Rex absorbed this solemnly for a moment. “Murphy, maybe your mom has reasons for not telling you. Maybe she’s protecting you.”

  Murphy balked. “Protecting me from what? From not knowing my genetic makeup? What if I’m prone to female-pattern baldness or something?”

  “Maybe she doesn’t think having a dad in your life all of a sudden would be a good thing.”

  Murphy stared at him, trying to stare into him, suspicious.

  “She’s probably just worried he’ll hurt my feelings,” she said with forced carelessness. “By not being interested. But seriously, I don’t care.”

  They sat a while longer, and Rex seemed to become increasingly impatient. “Murph, why are we here? I mean, really here?”

  Murphy didn’t know how to answer that question. She knew the likelihood of her dad just happening to be there was slim. All she knew was that he’d come here once.

  Rex got up to go to the bathroom. Murphy leaned on her elbows, listless, staring around the bar. Finally she stood and walked over to the wall and studied the photos hanging there.