Page 19 of Something About September

Rebecca turned to Sabrina’s parents. “Does she ever stop with the ideas?”

“Never, ever. She’s building an empire and we’re just along for the ride.”

“Well, I personally would buy enormous quantities of this soup,” Rebecca said. “I almost forgot about all my favorite comfort foods, until I came back here. I missed the town more than I realized.”

“She looks just like her mother, doesn’t she, James?” Marion said. “Especially when she’s deep in thought like that.”

“She sure does,” James said.

“That’s the second time someone has said that to me today,” Rebecca said, thinking of her grandmother’s friends at the rummage shop. “It’s nice. I’d forgotten what it was like to be in a place where people have memories of Evie.” She was about to mention the photo to James, but something stopped her. She’d find the right time to ask, but it didn’t feel like now.

They ate their soup and bread, chatted about the maze and the town, their plans for the Autumn Festival, who was wearing what to the gala. “We have to go dress shopping,” Sabrina said to Rebecca.

“I doubt I’ll go,” Rebecca said. “You know dances aren’t really my thing.”

James stood to help clear up their empty bowls and suddenly grimaced.

All three women at the table looked at him. But he shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said. “Pain in the trick knee, never know when it’ll flare up.”

“You’ve been working too hard, that’s why,” Sabrina said. “You should take this afternoon off. I’ve got things well in hand with the maze.”

“Are you kidding? Setting up the maze is my favorite part of the year. I don’t want to miss a second of it. Stop trying to put me out to pasture, dear daughter. You can’t get rid of me so easily. And you don’t have to do everything just to prove that you can.”

Father and daughter shared a look Rebecca still had trouble decoding. “I just don’t want you to tire yourself out,” was all Sabrina said.

Rebecca stood, too, the now-empty breadboard in hand. “Here, let me help.”

“You’re our guest,” Marion admonished. “No need.”

“And speaking of being our guest,” James said, “will you come to dinner this weekend? I just got one of those smokers shaped like an egg!”

“Making brisket is now his entire personality,” Sabrina said. “Not that any of us are complaining. It’s so good. And Mom and I have a lot of fun coming up with sides to go with it.”

Rebecca told them she’d be there, then said her goodbyes and headed off down the driveway. It was late afternoon now, and the sun sloped through the rows of apple trees as the scent of the sun-warmed ripening fruit filled the air. She reached up and plucked one from a branch. As she did, she found herself thinking of Cort, and the apple she had picked and handed him the day before. She thought of the Calloways, too—and then of her mother. You didn’t grow up in a place like Bramley Hollow, where the people were as connected to one another as branches and leaves on the same tree, and not become a part of each person’s growth, their lives. Everyone in this town was separated by the merest of degrees—but still, she wasn’t sure why that photo of James and her mother made her so nervous. Why she wanted to bury it, like a seed, and hope nothing came of it.

Chapter 14

The next morning, the autumn weather had changed from golden to Gothic. The wind had howled outside the apartment windows all through the night, and now, as Rebecca stood in the diner with a mug of steaming coffee warming her hands, the trees outside still bent in the powerful gales.

Earlier, she had showered and dressed in jeans and a burgundy top, then spent too much time in front of the mirror trying to fix her hair, reminding herself of her promise to treat Cort Adams like anyone else. Like a friend. But still, she put on a little lip gloss.

At eight a.m. sharp, there was a knock at the diner door.

“Come in, Cort!” Rebecca called.

But when he stepped inside, he wasn’t alone. A boy followed him—red-haired, freckled, and unmistakably Cort and Melanie’s son. He was carrying a crate. His gray eyes were all Cort, but his hair was the exact coppery shade that had once swung in a perfect ponytail as Melanie cheered from the sidelines.

Cort and Melanie’s son was adorable, and Rebecca smiled in warm welcome, even as the teenager inside her felt a faint ache.

“Another windy night,” Cort said. “A tree came down on the power line at the school. They’ve lost power. No classes today. Pip’s with me, and his mom’s away, so I can’t work. I’m sorry, Becca.” He lifted the crate from Pip’s arms. “But we brought you these before Crispin enacts rule number 100, section B. You know, the one where he wraps your business in shaming signage.”

Rebecca peered into the crate, which was filled with glossy pumpkins and gourds of all shapes, colors, and sizes. “Where did you get those?”

“We grew them,” Pip said proudly. “It’s our hobby.”

Rebecca looked at Cort. “Really?”

“It’s true,” he said with a smile. “I’m an avid home gardener now.”