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“Yeah, I’m going over toFort Myers to catch the last of the football training camp to check out mylil’ cousins.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.”
“Alright, Granny. She right here.” He slid his phone in his pocket.
“I’m right here, what?”
“Your grandma called my grandma and told her that you…”
“…were moving to New York.” We finished the sentence at the same time.
One thing about Citrus Grove being small was that everyone knew everyone, which was a good and bad thing atthe same time. My grandmothers knew everyone. When I say everyone, I mean everyone. If you told my Granny Jo something, then you’d better be prepared for everyone to know about it. And it wasn’t to be cruel; she just gossiped… a… whole… lot.And she couldn’t keep a secret to save her life.
“So…” Kemba started as we walked up the stairsand into the building.
“So, what?”
He stared at me.
“Oh. No, that’s not happening, but wehave a guest, who’s a lawyer fromNew York, and was talking about how I could be an executive assistant at a D&D Suites. Her family’s company.Have you ever heard of that?”
“No, I haven’t heard of that.” We stoodin the main roomoverlooking the grove. “Those three rows on the rightcan use a little trimming, butmore sothat first row. And why you don’t want to go? Your mind is way bigger than Citrus Grove, andyou’ve always wanted to visit New York, so what’s the problem now?”
My eyes widened. “Yeah, butvisiting and living there is two different things.Country people and city people don’t mix.”
That made him laugh. “But you’ve always been able to adapt. How’syadad? I know he ready to come back to work.”
“You know him.”
“Okay, weare going totrim those first two rows and put a little more fertilizer aroundyour dad’s new trees.And wehave two semi-large groups cominglater today.Easy day.”
“You know he wanted me to Facetime him, so he could see them,” I said while rolling my eyesand shaking my head.“And I’lldo the tours, so you can leave kind of early.”
“Cool, I’ll meet you outside.”
When heleft the room, I stared out at the grove.Along with the B&B, the grove had been my life. It was five acres of some of the best oranges and lemons on thisside of Florida.We offered tours to people to learn the history,and they got to pick their own fruit.Other times, people could come and pick their own, but we charged by thepound. Wehad a room where we hosted wedding receptions. We had a gift shop that soldproducts made from the oranges and lemons. My mother was the architect of that.
This business had been passed down through my dad’s familyfor several generations.Speaking of the history, my ancestors were some of thefirst people to come here to Citrus Grove. It was also another reason why I never wanted to leave. I wanted to be the old woman sitting on the porchwaving at the tourists, still talking about the historyof this city and this business.
When I saw Kemba pulling the golf cart around, I hurried up and got out of my tennis shoes and put my boots on. I hardly ever got myhands and feet dirty because this was my dad’s job, but since his accident, I’d picked up some of his slackuntil he’d hired someone else.Quest Jr. was spending half of the Summer in California with his girlfriend’s family—a girlfriend we hadn’t met by the way.During the Summer, a lot of the local boys would come and workat the grove. My daddy had no problem hiring them because he believed that every man should know how to get his hands dirty. Since he’d been down, we hadn’t hired anyone. Plus, he believed that he was the only one who could train folks. Kemba’s been working for him since he was fifteen, and he still didn’t trust him to train anyone.
As soon as I stepped out of the building, the sun beamed right down on my forehead, prompting me to put on myvisor.
“Bring that cooler from inside the door,” Kemba ordered.
I grabbed the cooler and carried it to the golf cart. With the wind blowing, we’d be able to get more than half thework done before the end of the day. Sometimes, the weather was very impossible, making workextra-long.
“Quinn!”
We’d beenworking fornearly two hours.I was squatting, trimming some of the weeds, and picking up some of the rotten oranges that were on the ground. Sometimes,we left them because it could help with fertilizing the trees.Our trees wereover tenfeet apart, sowe had to nearly shout to hear each other.
“Yeah!”
When I looked up at him,he was stillcutting at the weeds.
“I just had a thought! Didn’t,He Who Shall Not Be Named,move to New York! Is that why you don’t want to go!”
Standing, I took my gloves off, then pulled my visor off to wipe the sweat from my forehead.I walked over to the golf cart and plopped down in the seat, opening the cooler to grab a bottle of water.
