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HELEN
Istomped home that afternoon absolutely enraged at what had just transpired. What a filthy liar! How could he not tell me he had a daughter? And after everything I had shared with him! Sure, I still kept some secrets, but harvesting that damn apple tree in the backyard wasn't going to affect Brenton nearly as much as a child would affect me.
Even more enraging: three days had passed and I had heard not a peep from Brenton. No apology, no explanation, no nothing. I tried to keep myself busy searching for Dudley’s journal, but I just couldn’t keep my thoughts off of Brenton. More than angry, I was devastated that he had lied after all we had shared together, that he would jeopardize the connection and the trust we had built. He had just preached to me about how he wanted to trust me, and here he was hiding the world’s biggest secret.
I felt tears welling up in my eyes, and a few escaped to tumble down my cheeks. I shook my head. Ugh, why was I crying about this man I had only recently met? I wasnota crier, especially over men! Not after what Carter had put me through. Since then, I had built a shield around myself. I could have fun with men, but I’d never let them control me or my emotions again. Nevertheless, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Before I knew it, I was sobbing on the bathroom floor. Mascara was running down my face and dripping inky puddles onto the hardwood.
“Stop it!” I screamed at myself. “It’s been days and he has made no effort. He doesn’t deserve any more tears!”
Despite my outburst, I let out a couple more sobs before picking myself up and taking a shower. I didn’t need Brenton, I decided. In fact, he had just become a distraction from my actual purpose: to get my inheritance and get the hell out of the hills. My two weeks were basically up, and I didn’t want to have to extend my stay any further.
I did as I always did recently to keep myself busy: I went on a frantic search for the other half of Dudley’s journal. When I couldn’t search anymore, I wrote. The mystery was coming along quite nicely. At one point I had considered adding a romance into the plot, but I had recently scrapped that idea. The mystery of Dudley’s life was juicy enough without the intrusion of a petty, half-hearted relationship.
In the story, I changed Dudley’s name to Mr. Banks, thinking it had a fun British ring to it. I moved the location to England and rather than apple trees, I wrote about a hidden treasure from a royal family that Mr. Banks had somehow found the whereabouts of. Other than that, I kept most things the same. Mr. Banks died and his niece had never even known him. A lawyer shows up at her doorstep one day and tells her Mr. Banks’ inheritance was hers, if she could find the treasure. He hid the clues he had found in relation to the treasure’s whereabouts throughout his home, not trusting just anyone with that crucial information. She was to live there and find these clues which would eventually lead her to the treasure that could change her life.
I was nearing a point in the story where I couldn’t continue. I didn’t know where to hide the last clue and I needed inspiration from the last half of the journal’s whereabouts. I tried to write down ideas for a few locations where the final clue could be hidden in Mr. Banks’ home, but none of them were good enough. I sighed, and searched Dudley’s desk for an eraser, opening and closing its many drawers. Finally, I found a small container filled with erasers, paper clips, and some paper scraps. In my clumsily frustrated attempts to grab an eraser, I spilled the contents onto the floor.
“Shit.”
I got down on my knees to pick up the mess I had created, looking at the contents of the pieces of scrap paper. They had some small doodles on them that Dudley must have drawn while he was working and bored in here. But one scap had a riddle on it:
My biggest secrets lie beneath forbidden fruit.
What secrets was he talking about? His seeds? This couldn’t be about his journal, could it?
“Forbidden fruit,” I repeated to myself. “His biggest secrets.”
My head shot up. “The apple tree.”
That had to be it. The apple tree he couldn’t actually use to produce a meaningful harvest with. He was fired from the only access he had to a solution. The unique apples he had discovered were out of his reach, forbidden. It was a long shot that his journal was there, but it was the only clue I had found in days. I had to see it through.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I smiled to see that it was my best friend.
“Lisa! You will never believe what I just discovered!”
“Is it a new job? Because you’re going to need it if you don’t get that proposal draft into Sharon by this evening. If we wait until the weekend, we could lose the client.”
I checked the calendar. It was Friday and the projects I had been putting off were due.
“Oh, shit. Lisa, I totally forgot. I’ve been a little preoccupied.”
“I know you have, Helen. And I know I’m the one who urged you to go get that inheritance, but I can’t keep covering for you. I’m starting to look bad.”
“I will get the draft in tonight.”
“Okay, girl. Tonight by midnight or I don’t think I can stop Sharon from firing you.”
“I promise.”
I cursed myself as Lisa hung up. I really had been distracted these past couple weeks. Between Brenton and Dudley and my writing, it was all too much. I’d get the draft done tonight, but first thing’s first: I went to the shed and grabbed a shovel.
