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“Okay, go on,” I urge, eager to hear what the story is.
She sucks in a deep breath. “Well, when my dad was small, he used to live on a farm where every week my grandfather would send him out to pick apples from a certain tree they had growing around a quarter of a mile away. He did it because my grandmother would always bake the best apple pie for miles, he would say. Anyways, there was this one time he came home with his small basketful of apples, laying them by the front door like he always did before taking a few extra he had picked to the horses in the nearby stables. Like clockwork, he would do this, and like clockwork, everything ran smoothly. Except, this particular day he came back to grab the basket and take it to the kitchen and he noticed that all the apples had gone.”
Getting into the story, I ask. “Did he see who had taken them?”
She shakes her head. “No, he gazed around to see if it was any of his school friends playing a trick on him but didn’t see anyone there.”
“I bet his mom and dad were pleased.”
She laughs. “Yeah, they accused him of eating them all, to which he obviously swore blind that he never touched them.”
“So what happened next?” There has to be more to this story.
“Well, the next day he gets sent out again, as his dad was angry that he missed my grandmother’s famous apple pie the night before. Again, he picks a few apples, takes them back, feeds the horses, and then when he gets back to take the basket in the kitchen…”
“They’re all gone,” I continue.
“Correct. Same thing happened again, and then my father got grounded, so he decided the only way to catch the culprit was to pretend the next day that he was going to feed the horses when in actual fact, he was going to hide around the side of the house and wait. He left the basket, went around the side of his house with a stick, just in case, and then waited.”
“Did he find out who the apple thief was?”
She swiftly nods her head. “It was a racoon living underneath the house. The racoon had a little family, and was taking the apples to feed them all.”
Imagining all this in my head, I begin to chuckle. “What did your father do?”
She places a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Well, naturally, he shooed him or her off, but every week, the same raccoon would try to steal the apples. My father eventually felt bad for them, so plucked extra apples so that this racoon family could survive. He told me that one time, after the racoon got used to him, they sat together eating an apple. I thought that was the funniest thing ever,” she laughs. “Anyway, to cut a long story short, the reason I’m telling you this is because my father told me that one day the racoon ran out from underneath the house and was walking towards the fields. It kept turning back to look at my father, so my father thought it wanted him to follow, so he did. Around half a mile or so, the racoon led him to this stream where they jumped over and went through a small forest before coming out into another field. In this field was the biggest apple tree my father had ever seen.”
“No way!” I say, not believing it for a second.
Audrey laughs heartily. “Yes, I’m telling you the truth. The racoon led my father to an even bigger, better apple tree.”
“I guess the moral of the story is… be nice to racoons.”
Audrey throws her head back with laughter. “Yes, you could say that. I always thought my father’s kindness towards the racoon was what led it to show him the better tree. Suffice it to say, my grandmother was able to bake more pies, making my grandpa happy, plus the racoons always got a hearty meal of extra apples.”
“Well, then you could say that the racoon wasn’t helping at all. He just wanted more apples.”
Smiling, Audrey shakes her head. “Well, that we will never know.”
“Your father sounds like a wonderful man. I wish I could have met him.”
She smiles sadly at this. “I wish you could have met him too.” She pauses, then says, “You need to try and make amends with your father before it’s too late.”
I exhale an exhausted breath. I’ve been glad of the distraction from my parents lately, but it’s always in the back of my mind. “I know I do. And I will. For now, while we’re here, I just want to enjoy us.”
A cocky glint forms in her eye. “I think we can do that.” She offers me her hand, so I take it, glad to feel her warmth surrounding me. “Maybe after this we can get ice cream.”
“That I can definitely do,” I answer back.
“What’s your favorite flavor?”
“Chocolate mint. What about you?”
“Strawberry cheesecake,” she replies, licking her lips.
“What’s your favorite pizza?”
“Hmm…” She closes her eyes like the thought of pizza makes her crave some. “Pepperoni. And you?”
