Brady had joined in the discussion by now, and all the voices were swirling together.
It was like going back in time to when I was fifteen and I’d overheard my parents explain to Joan that they couldn’t afford the new farm equipment she had her eye on because I had a trip coming up for the debate team.
I straightened my printout needlessly so I had something to do with my hands while everyone talked around me and over one another. I was the baby of the family again, unable to find my place within the business and completely useless in the grown-up discussions.
Suddenly, a deep voice emerged from the cacophony, snapping my attention to the seat at the far end of the table.
“I think what Candace is saying,” Mark stated calmly as everyone stopped to listen, “is that for the orchard to continue being successful, it needs to adapt. Kirby Falls is changing. Tourist season is changing too. Candace researched the market and made her suggestions for things we could do to meet the rising tide. She’s not saying we have to do all of it right here, right now, Joan. She’s giving us options. That’s why we’re meeting. To discuss them.”
Joan’s features narrowed on Mark—suspicious and something else, surprised, maybe, at the way the typically quiet man had inserted himself in the discussion and essentially defended me.
“Maybe we can take a few days to think about what Candace has proposed,” Mark said to everyone before shifting his gaze to me. “I’m sure she has some cost analysis to go over with us and income projections for the various projects.”
I did. On a twenty-two-deck slide presentation. But I knew they weren’t ready for that, so I just nodded. Mark returned the gesture. It was only a brief dip of his chin, but it felt like a show of support, a flag raised in my honor. It was enough to make me release a shaky exhale.
Gratitude filled me up, nearly to the top, for the way Mark had stepped in. But, somehow, there was still plenty of room left to feel embarrassed that I’d needed his help in the first place.
“I agree,” Mom said with a pointed look toward my sister. “Let’s take some time to think, and we’ll meet again soon to figure out what we’d like to do.”
Dad nodded. “Then I’m sure Candy can answer our questions, and we can figure out where to go from there.”
Joan swiped her ball cap off the table and pulled it on roughly before standing and exiting the porch. The screen door had made the same loud snapping sound my whole life, but it seemed inexplicably louder and harsher when my sister was the one pushing through it.
Brady stood from his place to my right and ruffled my hair on his way out. “Make that social media calendar. I’ll stick to it.”
“Okay,” I replied and tried for a smile.
My parents started in then, complimenting me on a job well done, despite the truth of how the meeting had actually gone. They moved to sit closer and ask me questions, wanting to know more about having pumpkins for sale in the fall and if I’d sourced any vendors.
As I spoke to them about local farmers who sold pumpkins wholesale, I noticed Mark standing at the opposite end of the dining table. He picked up the handout I’d provided, folding it carefully into fourths before heading toward the door.
I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to thank him for what he’d done. If he hadn’t spoken up, I probably would have just sat there in paralyzed weakness while my family went round and round without ever deciding anything.
But before I got the chance to interrupt my mother’s well-meaning praise regarding the u-pick blackberry idea, Mark shot me a small grin and then exited the porch.
My eyes stayed fastened on his movements—so purposeful and efficient. There was something quietly arresting about the way he wielded his careful strength. My attention strayed lower. And the way he slid the folded piece of paper into the back pocket of his well-worn jeans sure didn’t hurt either.
One strong arm pushed open the swinging screen door, but just before it snapped back into the wooden frame, he caught the handle and closed it gently. It barely even made a sound.
six
MARK
Lift.Twist.Pull.
You wouldn’t really think there’d be a preferred method to pick an apple, but there was.
We tried to teach the leafers—the seasonal tourists who frequented Kirby Falls to witness the changing leaves—the best way to fill their baskets and buckets, but it didn’t always take. Most of them just grabbed the apple and yanked. However, the best way to pick cleanly and keep the tree healthy was to lift, twist, and pull.
That’s what I was doing now, over and over, on the row of Honeycrisp apples near the rear of the property.
Judd’s had about fifty acres, but only a portion of those were open to the public for self-picking. None of the produce was sold commercially to factories or grocery stores, but we did press our own apples for the cider we sold at the refreshment stand.
We planted extra crops for the most popular varieties of apples, and these particular trees were on the edge of the undeveloped land. Just beyond the dark green leaves currently occupying my field of vision was the uncleared acreage that spread out in the distance until it hit the tree line.
Back in the 1970s, when Judd’s Orchard sold commercially to grocery stores and baby food companies and juice manufacturers, it had only been Nick and his dad and a few part-timers and seasonal employees running the farm. So they hadn’t spread out as much, and the last fifteen to twenty acres had just never gotten any attention.
It was smart of Candace to mention using it. It was pretty far from the Apple House, but it would make a nice pumpkin patch or lavender field one day. I’d even visited other operations that took tourists on hayrides out to their pumpkin patches, so the distance might not be an issue if Nick and Amy decided to move forward with one of Candace’s long-term recommendations.
