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I have no idea which Carver sibling he means or why, so I answer honestly. “No.”
“Because he always knew himself, no matter if other people didn’t appreciate or agree with who that was. I admired that. The world isn’t an easy place. Plus, nobody was harder on Pete than himself, so Lorraine and I never had to scold him for anything.”
I stow that fragment away. It’s a shiny piece of Pete history that I’ll admire too, although, I’m not sure why he told me.
When he climbs down, I watch the apples tumble from his bag into the wagon. Their flesh is dark and spotted. I’d definitely pass them up in a produce section.
“Will these sell?”
“Sure. Not in a store, though. They’re a variety bred for late season. They store longer than most. They’re not meant to be perfect on the outside. Good for canning and baking. Lorraine puts them up or we make moonshine.” Leaning his thick forearms on the wagon, he levels a look at me. “That’s the thing with apples. They’re a lot like people. They might look damaged to some, but it’s what’s on the inside that counts—what you do with it.”
“I never thought Pete was damaged. He’s way more together than I’ll ever be. I guess…maybe that’s what I was trying to apologize for.”
And now he’s looking at me like I’m speaking in tongues. Sooo awkward.
“He’s tougher than me. I just mean, it’d probably be nice to see your kids with someone who can lift them up, not someone they think they need to protect.”
“Pete can try to fix your problems all he wants—that’s what partners do. It doesn’t mean you’re helpless. Lorraine’s been trying to monitor my cholesterol for twenty years.” Straightening up, he raises his index finger. “I had one bad level reading two decades ago. One! It was right after the fire department’s chicken fry, but she’s been on me ever since.”
Shaking his head, he lets out a chuffing noise. “I love that woman, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what she feeds me. What’s to stop me from ordering the weekly special at the Grease Pitwhen I go into town? The strongest man survives himself, son.”
Son. Maybe Frank Carver should speak more often. I’ve been hating myself for weeks for what I’m not and what I thought I couldn’t do. Hell, maybe even for years. That disappointment was based on someone else’s expectations of what I should be, though.
Strike all the ways I don’t live up to John Fairway’s idea of who and what I should be, and I do like who I am. Almost. There are a few things I’d like to work on, but for the first time, I have the feeling that the only thing that can stop me from changing them is myself.
“Can I give you a hand?” It’s a pittance compared to the wisdom he just imparted, but it’s all I have.
I get no reply, but I am handed a picking bag… and I get a nod.
“This store idea Lorraine’s been going on about,” he says a while later. “She’s no spring chicken to be starting a venture like that by herself.”
Great. After Pete’s entrepreneur comment, I may have mentioned the idea to Lorraine. I just had a nice moment with Frank, and now I’ve overstepped.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I just meant that she’s a really good cook. She’s always baking things for other people, and they really love her cooking.”
“There are a lot of good orchard cooks around here. I think it’d be better if they all got together. Lord knows there are enough apples in Wenatchee to supply an entire chain of baked goods like you and Pete have at your family’s company.”
Wow. Maybe he didn’t mind my suggestion.
“That would be great. Then the other orchards could benefit from it, too, by using up any surplus they have. They could even expand if it created more demand.”
He turns around, studying me thoughtfully. I’m not used to seeing that look from a father figure.
“Most of the orchards sell to manufacturers who make baked goods from our yields, though,” he digresses. “I can’t see them giving up their processing lines to buy goods baked by someone else. It’d cut into their profit.”
“Yeah, but why fix what isn’t broken? You need apple buyers. Wenatchee could have like a community bakery, supplied by smaller orchards who want to be involved. You’d just have to reach out to different merchants—grocery store chains, food distributors. There are all kinds of venues that would buy wholesale baked goods.”
He lets out a puff of amusement. If I’ve made a fool of myself in front of this man, today officially will be the worst of my life after that phone call.
“It’s definitely an interesting concept. Wrangling everyone would be the hard part, though. They’re all busy running their orchards. None of us have time or the know-how to research and reach out to places like that.”
A flicker of hope takes wings inside my chest. Maybe I’m just blown away by the fact that a man of Frank’s years is listening to and considering my opinions, but I can’t hold back a smile or the possibilities that come to mind.
“Well, I know a guy—a guy who likes to fix other people’s problems and kind of hates his current job.”
Bounding off his ladder, Frank studies me, the corner of his mouth upturned. Holy shit. Did I just get him to smile?
“We’d need marketing,” he adds, almost sounding like a challenge.
