Page 16

A worker stopped him to ask about a trailer hitch. Wes listened, asked whether they had checked the spare in the workshop, then told him where another one should be if they needed it. He didn’t hurry any of it, even though Kate was beginning to see how many separate jobs were happening around him.

“You know where everything is,” she said when they were alone again.

“Most of the time.”

“And everybody comes to you.”

“It’s my orchard.” Wes glanced toward the worker heading back toward the yard. “If someone isn’t sure, I’d rather they ask. Especially around machinery. I’d rather answer a question than have somebody get hurt.”

Kate understood immediately. “Contractors are the same. If something on a drawing doesn’t make sense, I’d rather they call me than decide what I obviously meant and build it.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Often enough.” She turned the apple between her hands. “Usually the photograph arrives afterward with a message asking whether it’s what I wanted. By then we both know it isn’t.”

Wes laughed quietly. “I suppose that makes for an awkward conversation.”

“It makes for an expensive one.”

They reached the packing barn. Wes led her inside, where bins stood along one wall and equipment had been arranged around a large central space. It was bigger than her parents’ shed, but Kate could already see similarities she had not noticed before.

“This is where your parents will probably feel the difference once they start bringing fruit in,” Wes said.

Kate pictured her mother with her lists and her father trying to remember everything without writing any of it down. “I think I understand why Mom has started making notes about everything.”

“That’ll help.”

“She’s always made lists. Dad likes to believe he can keep everything in his head.”

“He may change his mind once harvest starts,” Wes said.

“That’s what Mom is hoping.”

Kate leaned against the edge of one of the worktables and looked at him. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Most of my life, one way or another. I grew up around orchards.”

“Was this always what you wanted?”

Wes considered the question rather than answering immediately. “I wasn’t sure for a while. When you grow up with something, it can be hard to know whether you’ve chosen it or whether you’re doing it because it’s what you know.”

“So you left?”

“For a few years.” He leaned back against the opposite workbench, and for the first time since she had arrived, there was no one close enough to interrupt them. The work still went on beyond the open doors, but the noise seemed farther away inside the barn.

She was alone with him. Nothing had really changed. Wes was still standing several feet away, talking about orchards, but her body had not received that information. Her face felt hot, and she was gripping the apple hard enough to bruise it. What was the matter with her? She had come over to learn about harvest. She made herself loosen her fingers and listen.

“I wanted to see what else was out there,” he continued. “I liked some of it too, which was probably important. If I’d hated being away, coming back wouldn’t have meant much.”

“What made you come back?”

“I missed the work.” Wes glanced out through the doors toward the rows. “I missed knowing where I was in the year without looking at a calendar. Spring means one thing, summer another. By fall you know whether most of the decisions you made earlier were right.”

Kate followed his gaze. “And if they weren’t?”

“You learn from it and try again next year.”

“And you missed that?”