by Olivia Miles
She’d been wrong about a lot of things.
“I like it,” she said after taking another sip. “I like it a lot.”
He gave a bashful smile and held up his glass. “I suppose we should toast.”
There were many things she knew they could toast to. To her father’s health. To the success of the Cherry Festival. To old times. To so many wonderful memories.
But there was only thing that popped into her head in this moment. Only one thing that seemed fitting.
“To the future,” she said, holding up her glass.
*
To the future. And what did that future look like, Robbie wondered. He hadn’t dared to think about it lately. Once, when Stephanie was still with them, they talked about the future all the time. There was the eventual move to a bigger apartment that seemed to loom in the distance, something they casually discussed on Sunday mornings when they walked to brunch and passed open house signs. There was the unspoken assumption that there may be another child someday. There was talk of career plans—Stephanie wanted to have a storefront of her own someday, and Robbie was working toward a promotion in a few years. There were vacations, destinations, places they wanted to visit, and discussions of holidays and school events and social plans.
Recently, Robbie didn’t look beyond much more than next week. Oh, there were the little things, the responsibilities like summer camp for Keira, so she’d have something fun to do when school was out of session and he was working. And there was her birthday party, of course, and talk of a trip to Evening Island in a few weeks, because he’d given her a shiny new pink bike for her birthday and she was eager to ride a full lap around the island to show off her skills.
But beyond next week, or next month, there was nothing, he realized. He hadn’t thought to plan. Hadn’t dared to dream.
And now, he couldn’t help but think how it would be a month from now when Britt was gone again.
Or if she stayed.
Britt was leaning back in her chair, looking up at the sky, where the Milky Way swirled overhead. “Wow. I never stopped to really appreciate this until I stopped seeing it.”
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He’d noticed it too, when he first moved back, away from the city lights that shielded the view. “Sometimes, when I look up like this, I wonder how I could have ever stayed away.”
Britt nodded slowly. “Me too.”
“You mean you’d really give up your city life for this?”
For this, he’d said. But what he’d really meant was: for me?
“I’m not renewing my lease,” she said. “So it looks like I’ll be here for the Cherry Festival after all.”
“And after that? You mentioned the other night that you were considering staying in town.”
Britt paused. “I’m a different person here than I am in Chicago. I thought that by leaving, I’d be happy. And I wasn’t. My life…well, my life is pretty empty. And I think I made it that way.”
His mouth tugged into a half smile. “I can relate. When Stephanie died, I shut the world out. Focused on Keira, went through the motions.”
“And now?” She was looking at him, earnestly, as if she really needed to know where he stood. Or maybe, where they stood.
“Now I think that I didn’t realize how lonely we were.” He swallowed hard. “I’m glad you’re back, Britt.”
She grew quiet for a moment, and they looked out onto the water, at the lights from the island in the distance. Finally, she turned to him. “Can I ask you something?”
He shrugged. “Shoot.”
“Why’d you let me go? All those years ago, you didn’t try to stop me.”
He closed his eyes. He should have known that this would come up at some point, that the pain of their past couldn’t be ignored forever.
“It wasn’t my place to stop you, Britt,” he said gruffly. “I wanted to, just as much as I wanted you to change your mind. I guess I thought that if you left, you’d come to your senses and come back. That you’d…miss me.” There. He’d said it.
“I missed you every single day,” she said quietly.
He blinked at her, shaking his head. “But you never came back. You never called.”
“I was mad at you! For not coming with me. For letting me go.”
“You needed to go. You wanted to go.”
“And you wanted to stay,” she said, the hurt in her voice as raw as the ache in his chest. “And then you left. Without me.”
“I left because it didn’t feel the same being in this town without you. I left because you never came back,” he said firmly.
They fell into silence, until she looked over and gave him a sad smile. “I guess we both did what we needed to do, then. Even if we were a little misguided.”
He nodded. He hadn’t dared to think about what might have been if he’d gone to college in Chicago with her, instead of staying in town, and then eventually moving to Boston. Meeting Stephanie. Having Keira.
He couldn’t imagine a life without his daughter in it, and for that alone, he could have no regrets. But he did have a sense of loss. For the girl he’d once loved. The girl he now realized that he’d let down when she needed him the most.
“I’m sorry, Britt,” he said, reaching out to take her hand.
She looked up at him, her eyes warm and kind, searching his as a small smile filled her face. “It was a long time ago. And I don’t like thinking about the past.”
“Maybe we don’t have to. Maybe we can finally look forward.”
Robbie swallowed the last of the hesitation that was holding him back, locked in the past, and leaned forward to close the distance between them. And then, he kissed her, slowly, as if it was their very first kiss even though it was probably their thousandth kiss, but this time he made it last, just a little bit longer, because just like the stars that shone above them, he hadn’t truly realized how wonderful his life could be, until he’d found her again.
14
Britt had spent the better part of the next morning putting the final touches on the plans for the Cherry Festival, but she had spent all of last night thinking about Robbie’s wine. When she wasn’t thinking of the kiss.
The market was nearing its end when she came down from the office and crossed toward the barn, and despite the rain that had started early that day, she was pleased to see the parking lot so full, and the families coming out of the doors with their arms full of fresh fruit and the occasional pie box.
She smiled, thinking that Robbie was right. That her mother would be happy to know that the tradition was being carried on, even if she wasn’t here to see it.
Britt swept her eyes over the room when she entered, not knowing exactly how she would react to Robbie when she saw him, and then made her way over to Maddie, who was closing up for the day.
“I was thinking that we should offer these pies at the Cherry Festival,” she said.
Maddie looked pleased. “Sure! I mean, we’ve never done it before, but I could make a dozen or so cherry pies. Mom always made those for Dad’s birthday.”
Britt smiled at the memory. Their dad never wanted cake, only pie for his birthday. Claimed it would be disloyal of him as an orchard owner otherwise.
“I was actually thinking of something bigger in scale,” Britt explained. “This event pulls in a huge crowd. People come to Blue Harbor just for the festival weekend. It’s a great opportunity to really increase profits, and your pies are a big seller.” When Maddie didn’t respond right away, Britt said, “We could do smaller pies, for individuals. We’d need at least two hundred, but more would be better. We can ask some of the staff to pitch in—”
Maddie’s look stopped her. Her eyes were wide in disbelief, and her smile had long since slipped. “But that would require sharing Mom’s recipe!”
Britt considered this for a moment, sensing Maddie’s unease. “Yes. I suppose it would.”
“But that’s…That’s…” Maddie seemed on the verge of tears. “That’s Mom’s
recipe, Britt.”
“And everyone loves her pies!” Britt said. “Don’t you think that would make her happy?”
Maddie’s shoulders slumped as she scuffed her shoe along the wood-planked floor. “I guess. I just…”
A noise cut through the barn. One that Britt hadn’t heard in so long she’d forgotten the sound. It was her phone, ringing in her pocket. It hadn’t occurred to her that for entire time she’d been back in Blue Harbor, she hadn’t felt the endless need to check her device the way she did when she was back in Chicago, or working at her old firm.
The orchard didn’t require that kind of endless interruption. Things moved slower here. If you needed to talk someone, you simply walked over to them.
She looked down at her phone, not recognizing the number. Stepping to the side where she could talk in private, she held it to her ear and answered.
“Britt Conway?”
She frowned. “Yes.”
“This is Vickie Worthington.” Immediately Britt knew the name from the job she’d interviewed for right before coming back to Blue Harbor.“I’m sorry to call you on a Sunday, but we’d like to bring you in for a second interview. We’ve had a sudden windfall of clients which is why we haven’t contacted you sooner, and with all the new business, we’re looking to fill the position by next week. Is there any chance you would be free to meet with us this Tuesday morning?”
Tuesday morning. The drive wouldn’t be bad; she could leave tomorrow, check on her apartment, and be back in Blue Harbor by Tuesday night. She was planning to make the trip next weekend, anyway…to pack up her apartment. And return to Blue Harbor.
Only now she might not have to think about the return drive at all. They needed to fill the position immediately. She could start right away. Find another apartment. Or see if her landlord hadn’t yet rented hers.
The timing was almost perfect, really. Her father was scheduled to return to work next week. She wasn’t really needed here after that.
Except that wasn’t true, she thought miserably as she looked back into the barn, where Maddie was beaming at a line of customers and Keira was helping Robbie line up jars of preserves.
She looked up at the sign advertising the Cherry Festival that Robbie must have hung up this morning. The event was now less than two weeks away. If she got the job, she wouldn’t be here to see it through.
Or enjoy it.
“Hello? Do I still you have you?”
“I’m still here,” Britt said quickly. She didn’t have time to react, or think. There was an opportunity on the line, a reminder of the real life she had waiting for her back in Chicago. The career she had built. The path she had set in motion.
She was an adult now. A thirty-two-year-old woman with bills to pay and an apartment to rent, and a career that she had made all on her own. To walk away from it all now felt rash and emotional.
This was what she had wanted. The answer to her fears. Stability. Routine. A life with structure, not complication. Or risk.
“Tuesday at nine,” she said into the phone, forcing a smile. “I’ll be there.”
She disconnected the call and sighed before stuffing the device back into her bag. She closed her eyes, told herself that it was just an interview, only she knew that it was much more than that.
It was a choice. A choice to pursue a life outside of Blue Harbor, away from this orchard. Her family.
And Robbie.
“Be where?” Robbie asked now, coming up beside her, and she wondered by the look in his eyes just how much he had heard. Or suspected.
She pulled in a breath, told herself that she was doing the right thing, and that she couldn’t hide it from him. She wouldn’t be here tomorrow. Or Tuesday.
She wasn’t sure if she’d be back at all.
“I just got a call about a job opportunity. In Chicago.”
His jaw immediately stiffened. “I see.”
“I interviewed with them once already,” she explained. “Before I came back. It’s…a good opportunity. More of what I was doing. I’d be…helping people. Well, companies. Helping companies. It’s just a second interview.” She was rambling, trying to convince him nearly as much as she was trying to convince herself. That she wanted this. That she was justified. That she hadn’t led him on.
Hadn’t let herself dare to wish for something different.
“So you’re going to go?”
“I don’t see much choice,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I have bills to pay, just like everyone else.”
“You always have a choice, Britt.” Robbie’s eyes were flat, his mouth a thin line of disapproval, and from the way he was looking at her, she suspected that he was holding back saying more.
“What’s the alternative? To stay here and run this struggling orchard that might not be around another year if we get another bad crop?”
His jaw flinched. “So you’ll help other businesses, but not your own?”
He’d hit her square in the chest and he knew it. “That’s hardly fair, considering I’ve done nothing but come up with ideas to try to improve this place. Ideas that you haven’t exactly supported.”
“Like cutting loyal staff? Or mass producing your mother’s pies? You’re right, Britt. I don’t support those ideas, and I doubt your father would either.”
“Oh, he’s just stubborn—” But it was true, she knew. There was no way that Dennis Conway would let go of people who had worked this land and bottled his wine for thirty years or more. Instead he’d take out a loan, as he had done. A loan he would now struggle to repay.
“No, you’re stubborn, Britt,” Robbie shot back. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him so angry. Or so hurt. “You made up your mind about this town a long time ago, and I should have seen that. You left, and you left your heart behind when you did.”
She flinched at the harshness of his tone. “It’s just an interview.”
“It’s not just an interview and you and I both know that,” he said. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “You’re looking for another reason to leave. You want to leave.”
“I don’t know what I want!” she all but shouted, stunned at her own omission.
He looked at her sadly, and nodded his head. “Well, I do. And I should have stuck to that. Do me a favor and stay clear of Keira today. I don’t her need her getting any closer to a woman who’s just going to leave her again.”
The warning was like a slap to her face. “You know I’d never do anything to hurt Keira,” she said.
“And me?” he asked, his eyes dark with hurt.
Maybe it was justice. Maybe she deserved it.
But it wasn’t what she had wanted.
“I need to focus on my future,” she said to him.
“And here I thought I might be in your future this time.” He backed up, away from her, and this time, she knew that it was him leaving her, before she had a chance to do it first.
*
The house was quiet when Britt returned a short while later. Her dad, she imagined, was napping in his study, as he usually did when a ballgame was on. Woke up just in time to see the final score and give a big reaction.
Candy’s car was mercifully gone. The last thing that Britt needed right now was to explain her mood, or turn her head if Candy tried to cram one more of those cheese biscuits into her firmly closed mouth on her way out the door each morning.
Her knuckles hovered over the closed door to her dad’s study. In many ways, having this conversation would be worse than the one she’d just had with Robbie. She would be letting him down. And worse, she’d be letting Conway Orchard down.
She hadn’t managed to save it. She wouldn’t be here to see the Cherry Festival and all her ideas for it through to completion. The loan may not get paid off, not if they had another rainy season this fall. And who would her father sell the orchard to? Who would take care of it as she would have? Robbie would do a good job, but he wasn’t family. And maybe, that was all her doing.
“Hi Dad,” she said as she came in the room. The windows had been cracked, and the breeze off the lake gave the space a fresh, airy feeling. On the windowsill was a vase full of fresh sunflowers, and on the bed was a new blanket in a handsome shade of beige.
“Candy bought it for me,” he explained when he saw her eyeing it.
“Oh.” Britt hadn’t expected that. “Well, that was…nice of her.”
Dennis pursed his lips but said nothing more. He picked up the remote and gestured to the television housed in the sturdy armoire. “Game’s about to start if you care to join me.”
She’d never been into the sports he cared about, but she often joined him just the same, for the company, usually with a book in her lap. Her mother used to pass by the open door and give her a little wink from the hallway.
Britt had taken good care of her father at one point in time. When had she stopped? And could she really stop now?
She opened the top drawer of his desk. He’d never minded her rifling through his things, which she supposed was why he didn’t mind her having full access to his files at work. The top drawer was full of the same pens and notepads he’d always stashed away, a random rubber band, an envelope of stamps. The right-side drawer held old albums—ones that she now couldn’t bear to look through. And the left-side drawer…
Her breath caught when she saw the faded, folded cotton apron, its strings tied in a neat bow.
“Mom’s apron,” she said, looking at him quizzically. She’d assumed that Amelia had taken it with her to the café, or to her house.
“Amelia put it there,” her father said knowingly. “Not sure that’s the best place for it, but I trust we’ll figure that out in time.”
Britt ran her hand over the fabric and closed her eyes. For a moment she was still just nine years old, wrapping her hands around her mother’s waist, the very same fabric so familiar under her fingertips.