“I’ve been getting paid. And believe it or not, I’ll miss the tenants.”
With that, her mother looked up from the apple she was cutting. “You’re not serious— you are serious. The residents? Your life is waiting for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Angela asked.
“The studio, for starters. Think of the music you could be recording if you weren’t over there trying to collect rent.” She returned to more vigorously cutting the apple. “And your degree. Didn’t you say something about starting school this fall? You’re still going to finish, aren’t you? You don’t have a mortgage, Caroline is at a good age, this is the perfect time to do it.”
And, yes, she finished slicing the apple at the same time she wrapped up Angela’s life plan, as if on cue.
“It’s not that easy. I talked about starting this fall, but I wasn’t sure when Blackstone would hire a new manager. And I wanted to be available to help at the tree farm.”
She paused and checked her mother’s face for a reaction to those words. Wanting to preempt any farm discussion, she owned up to another reason. “And besides, I still haven’t decided on a major.”
“Undecided,” Cathy shook her head to the rhythm of the syllables.
“I know. How hard is it to figure out what I really want to do with my life?” Angela joked. “It’s different now. I’m not in crisis mode. I’m not worried about making the rent payment. As crazy as it sounds, there was some simplicity to those days. I had one priority: survival. Now I have competing priorities.” Angela swallowed hard before she admitted, “And I haven’t figured them out yet.”
“There is no figuring out to be done. You are a musician. Your major is music. End of discussion.”
Any other year and that phrase would have ended the discussion for Angela. But she was making an effort. Instead of focusing on her mother’s dyed-blonde classic bob, she chose to notice her light-blue eyes. The one thing they shared in common.
“I love my music, Mom, but there is more to the major than that. I’m not cut out for it as much as you think I am. Besides, there are other things I like.”
“Such as?”
“After this year, I’ve learned I like business administration.” She was careful not to mention that she and Mark had talked about this, about how she wanted to help run the farm.
“And what will you do with your music?” she pressed.
“If I ever want to have a music business, like producing, it would be smart to have the business background.” Angela liked the sound of that as she said it. She didn’t have to mention that it would be helpful at the farm, too.
“I remember a certain nineteen-year-old declaring her determination to follow her dream and a certain musician for as long as she lived,” Cathy said emphatically, dismissing Angela’s new plans.
Angela set down a stack of bowls she’d emptied from the dishwasher, pretending to steady them when it was herself she was trying to keep from wobbling. Something in her mother’s tone, or perhaps the memory of her life when dreams still felt possible, took her off-center for a minute. Yes, things had shifted between her and her mother, but Cathy maintained the ability to sting—not that she did it on purpose, Angela hoped.
“I’m not nineteen now. I’ll still have my music, but I don’t need it to be my whole life anymore.” This was an odd role reversal. Her mother defending Angela’s dream and Angela sounding eerily like her mother not too many years previous.
Mom could say “I told you so” right about now.
But she didn’t.
A silence ensued, and a cool September-afternoon breeze lifted the curtain away from the window.
Could it be that her mother wasn’t forcing the issue to make a point? Could it be that she cared about the dream that she used to say would destroy her daughter’s life? And did business administration look good to Angela because the farm looked good? Or rather, a certain tree farmer?
The door swung open, and Caroline tossed her backpack into the corner of the entry. Her golden-brown braid swung in the process. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Grandma. I didn’t know you were coming today.” She entered the kitchen and hugged first her mom and then her grandma before running down the hall to her bedroom.
“Mom, since you’re here, could you stay for an hour or two? I was planning to take Caroline with me to the apartments while I finished up some office work, but I know she’d much rather stay here with you.”
“Go with you where?” Caroline asked, rematerializing in the kitchen and scouting for a snack.
“To the apartments, but ...” Angela looked to her mother for an answer, unsure if she wanted to be on the favor-asking side of the equation.
“Of course I can stay. I came all this way. I don’t need to turn around and leave in such a hurry,” she said as she smiled at Caroline.
“I’ll get my book, Grandma.” After a few minutes, Caroline and Cathy were installed on the sofa reading.
That was easy. Angela grabbed her keys, but before she could get to the door her mother spoke up.
“How are you still driving that old pickup truck?”
“With my foot on the gas, Mom,” Angela answered.
“Don’t you think it’s time for something more reliable?”
“It will be time for a new truck when there’s money for a new truck.”
“And why a truck?”
“I like them, that’s why,” she said with raised eyebrows. “And I’m going now, so thank you for staying with Caroline.”
“One more thing. I’ve planned a little dinner this Friday for you, Caroline, and Mark. Six thirty. You can make it, right?” Cathy asked while managing to focus more on Caroline’s book than on Angela.
Little dinner. Her mom never planned a little dinner.
“What for? Who else will be there?”
“Gary,” she answered.
“The teacher you met this summer?” Angela asked. Wasn’t he just a nice friend?
“He’s a professor. And does there have to be a reason?” her mother asked.
“That’s what you say when you’re hiding something.” Angela let out an exasperated sigh as she put her hand on the doorknob.
“Nothing to hide. Do you have plans? We could move it to Saturday if we make it earlier.”
“No, Friday should be fine. I’ll check with Mark, but I’m sure we can be there. And what reason will I give?”
“He hasn’t met Gary yet. That’s a good reason, isn’t it?”
“Meet Gary? Does he need to? You said yourself you weren’t getting serious.” Angela looked to Caroline as the words left her mouth. Didn’t want to go there today.
She’ll have questions for me later. Who am I kidding? She’ll have questions for her grandmother as soon as I walk out the door.
Angela took a step onto the porch.
“Isn’t it you and Mark who are getting serious?” Cathy asked with a flash of color in her cheeks.
Caroline giggled. Angela paused to maintain her composure.
“If you’re asking us to dinner to apply some kind of pressure, I’ll say “No, thank you” now and save your staff the trouble.”
“No, that’s not it. No worries. I promise. Please come and relax.”
“I’ll check with Mark.” Angela fumed down the porch steps to the driveway and all the way to Blackstone.
Relax? I should be worried. Very worried.
Angela settled into the manager’s desk at the Blackstone apartments. Though she didn’t think of it as hers anymore, she still liked the way it felt to have a place to go, a place to get some work done. Aside from Mark’s farm, this little office had felt like home. But the conversation with her mother had left her second-guessing herself. Had she been wasting her time? No. Just the opposite. Without a mortgage payment, she’d been saving for a new truck. And wasn’t it okay to like the work she’d been doing? Maybe they hadn’t found someone to take her place for a reason.
The door opened with a chime of the be
lls that hung on the handle. Angela looked up from her maintenance requests to greet Gloria from the home office.
“Good, you’re here,” the woman said.
“Are those for me?” Angela asked, nodding at some files Gloria had in her hand.
“A few renewals,” she said as she put them down on the desk. “There’s no rush. They renew at the end of October. And, speaking of next month, we’ve hired a new manager.”
So much for staying around here.
“Officially she’ll start on the second, but I invited her to come for training. At least one week, maybe two. Did you say you’d be willing to show her some things?” Gloria asked with a cautious but pleading tone.
“Yes, I can do that,” Angela answered.
Of course the end of the month and the start of the new one is the busiest time around here, but sure. Maybe another set of hands will be better than one.
“Could you go over tours? Maybe applications and contracts, too? You’ve handled everything so professionally. If she can follow your lead, she’ll be fine,” Gloria said as she sat down across the desk from Angela and checked her cell phone.
“Does she have any experience?”
“Yes, of course. Mostly sales, but she’s eager to learn.”
Hmm. It sounds more like she’s in need of a full, two-week training, not a friendly orientation.
Maybe Angela’s concern was obvious.
“Don’t worry, we’ll go over all the legal and accounting practices with her at the home office. Mainly we’re hoping she can shadow you and learn how you do what you do so well.”
“Thank you, Gloria. I’m glad to know you’ve been happy with what I’ve done. That sounds fine. Are you sure she won’t mind shadowing me?”
“She seemed enthusiastic when I told her the plan,” Gloria said.
Enthusiasm. That will help.
Angela didn’t call to tell Mark she was coming—he would ask why and then she would end up telling him about her mother’s dinner invitation over the phone, thereby defeating the purpose of talking with him face-to-face. She wanted eye contact and to see his face to make sure he was okay with it. So long as he wasn’t in the middle of the farm, mowing around the trees, he wouldn’t mind the surprise and they’d be able to talk.
It’s just a little dinner, Angela told herself. But she knew better. She knew her mother. It would be a full-course dinner. Probably with ulterior motives for the appetizer and here’s-your-life-plan for dessert.
She parked her truck in the driveway instead of the parking lot and tapped the steering wheel as she hopped out. She didn’t know when it had begun, but it was a kind of thank-you to the truck for starting each time and had grown into a near-ritual—that, and asking it to start when she got back in.
She saw Mark walking toward the back lot beside the farmhouse, a clipboard in his hand. She called to him, but he didn’t hear her. She picked up her pace and caught up with him as he passed the toolshed.
“Angela!” Mark reached out, hugged her with one arm, and gave her a kiss. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
She gave him a quick hug in return. “I came from the apartments. Can I join you?” she said a little breathlessly.
“I’d love your company. Doing a check on inventory for the sales lot this year.”
They walked side by side as the sun moved lower in the west and a cool breeze stirred around them.
“Not sure what kind of year we’ll have. Sales probably won’t be as high as they were last year, but I’m counting on some of the new customers returning,” Mark said.
“You mean you don’t have any plans for a news story? You could call Channel Six and tell them about the “love match” trees,” Angela teased. They never did find out how the station had learned about the miracle trees, though Angela suspected it was the same gentleman who’d paid for her tree that night.
“Not going to happen,” Mark said. “It worked out for us, but the farm doesn’t need a repeat of the chaos we had last year.”
They came upon a row of trees, and Mark’s paced slowed.
“Speaking of sales,” Angela said, “Gloria from the home office came out to tell me they hired a new manager. She said she has sales experience.”
Her excitement shifted to anxiousness. She and Mark had talked all summer about how much better it would be when her apartment-manager job ended and she could spend her time helping at the farm. But now that it was becoming a reality, she felt a pang or two of insecurity.
“Great. When does she start?”
“Not until October,” Angela answered.
“Well, at least they’ve found someone. Do you like her?”
“I haven’t met her yet. But I will soon. They asked me to show her around, do some training.”
“I’m not surprised. You’ve had that place running better than it ever has,” Mark said.
“I don’t know if I would say that.”
“You don’t have to—it shows. Highest occupancy rate, least amount of delinquent rents. Isn’t that why Gloria wanted you to stay on?”
It was a question, but only one to make his point. Angela checked Mark’s face to see if there was any evidence that he thought she should keep her job there.
“Maybe. But they’ve found someone. So I’ll be able to start work here—you know, officially—the first week of October.” She sounded more hesitant than eager, all thanks to the insecurity welling up inside her.
Mark turned his attention from one of the trees, jotted something on the clipboard, and looked at Angela. “You don’t have to quit, you know. If you like it there, you can stay.” He said it so kindly it took Angela a minute to process what he was saying.
“So ... you don’t want me working at the farm?” she asked.
Mark had started walking by this time, and her question stopped him. He turned around to face her.
“Of course I do. Let me clarify. I want you to work here if you want to work here.” He began walking again, stopping briefly at each tree and marking his clipboard.
Angela let the words sink in. He didn’t elaborate, but she sensed what had been going on between the two of them.
She wanted to be at the farm with Mark, but only if he wanted her company. And Mark wanted her at the farm, so long as she really wanted to be there. And all of her checking and testing was giving him the impression that she wasn’t sure she wanted to work there. That had to be the reason he’d suggested she keep her manager job. Right?
Right.
Perhaps a change of subject was in order.
“What kind of notes are you making about the trees?” she asked.
“I’m counting.”
“All the trees? I thought maybe you estimated ...” She looked over the tops of the trees and was staggered by the thought of having to count them one by one.
“Not all of them. Just the ones that will be ready to sell this season. We should have enough to meet demand, but we like to identify the trees that are in that sweet spot for height and shape.”
Angela nodded and followed Mark’s line of sight to each tree, hoping to see what he saw. She loved it here, loved being with him.
“I do want to work here, you know,” Angela said quietly.
Mark had stepped in between two trees—though she thought he was close enough to still hear her.
“I was afraid of that,” he said, sighing heavily.
“Excuse me?” Before he could explain, panic took over. “I knew it. I knew you didn’t want me here. All this time I felt like something was off. Like you didn’t want me here.” She was speaking more to herself. “Is it because I grew up in the city? Is it the accident with the pruning shears this past summer?” Angela threw up her hands in exasperation.
“What are you talking about?” Mark stared at Angela. “I never said any of that.”
“I just said I wanted to work here, and you said you were afraid of that.’” She forced back the tears threatening to derail the entire conversation.
“What? No! That’s not what I was talking about. Brown spot—on the trees. Look here.” He motioned to the back of the tree he’d been looking at, and sure enough, some of the needles were yellow and mottled. He inspected the surrounding trees. “I only see these two trees. Maybe this one here should go too. Brett and I will come out tomorrow. We’ll remove these and get some fungicidal spray on the rest of this section.”
Angela nodded, sobered and embarrassed yet relieved. Not that the trees had brown spot but that Mark was afraid of it and not her.
Mark made some detailed notes and began walking back toward the farmhouse. At once, Angela noticed the sun had sunk below the tree line, and though they had enough light to see their way back, it was a fading and shadow-filled light.
Once they were at the side door to the farmhouse, Angela spoke up. “Sorry about that back there. I didn’t know you were talking about the trees.”
Mark smiled mischievously. “You knew I didn’t want you here? The pruning accident?” He opened the door and tossed his clipboard onto the counter, then turned and in one swooping motion scooped Angela up and carried her through the side door into the front room.
Am I that petite, or is he that strong?
Amid her half protest, half enjoyment, Mark spun her around in front of the fireplace and then set her down in the wingback chair. Placing his hands on each of the armrests, he bent down and kissed the side of her cheek, then the side of her lips.
“I love you, Angela. I will love you no matter where you live or where you work. But make no mistake, I want you as close to me as possible,” he said as he dropped to one knee in front of the chair, gently took her face in his hands, and looked into her eyes before he kissed her more deeply.
Angela melted into Mark’s soft kisses. She could hear her own breathing. And then heavy footsteps. Papa came in through the front door.
“Oh, good. You’re here. Found some—”
“Scotches with Brown spot? Probably best if I have Brett remove them,” Mark finished.
Papa stopped in his tracks and scratched the back of his head. “Glad you’re on it!” he said and continued to the kitchen.
The Tree Keeper's Promise: A Novel (A Shafer Farm Romance Book 2) Page 3