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Just a few seconds ago, I was attached to him in the same way.
“Here.” Stifling a giggle, I decide to help. “You can scruff them like this.” I gently grab the back of its neck and detach its claws. “They’ll be better once they’re in your lap.”
“My lap?” From the way he barks it, you’d think I asked him to swallow poison.
My lungs spasm with a laugh that wants to escape. “You’ll like it, I promise.”
As I set each kitten on his thighs, my urge to laugh wins. The sound bounces around us, echoing in the forest of trees as the tiny minions settle into satisfied curled-up furballs.
“See?” I snicker some more. “They just want a place to take a nap.”
Ellister drags his suspicious and alert stare away from them to look at me. “Why does this make you so happy?”
With a gesture that conveys the answer is obvious, I motion to his lap. “Kittens.”
“Is this—” he grunts as he slowly lowers his arms and accepts the fact that his new friends are here to stay for a little while. “—really something that cheers people up?”
“Most of the time, yeah.” And his distaste for the situation makes it that much more entertaining, but I don’t say that. “You were about to tell me something before.”
At the reminder, he suddenly pretends to be clueless. “Was I?”
“Yeah.” I wait a couple beats, and when he doesn’t respond, I press, “It sounded important.”
“It can wait.” He lightly pokes at one of the kittens’ heads in a half-hearted attempt to pet it. “I’m having a good day. It’s been a while since that happened.”
Letting it go, I speed away on the cart with three extra tour guests in tow.
HANNAH
The orchard is busy. Apple picking season is in full swing, and families are swarming around the trees.
To get the highest apples, parents use the poles with baskets, and kids climb small ladders to get the lower hanging fruit.
Taking a somewhat bumpy gravel path to the back of the rows where the oldest trees are, I go to an area where there are no people.
My favorite tree is here, steady and reliable, even in its damaged state. Half of it is still thriving, while what’s left of the other half is a stump where the trunk split all the way down to the ground.
“You have to try one of these,” I tell Ellister as I drive under a branch that’s weighed by a giant ripe apple.
After rubbing the peel on my shirt until it’s shiny and clean, I hand it to him.
He doesn’t hesitate to bite into it. The apple crunches under his teeth and droplets of juice spray out.
A satisfied noise comes from his throat, and his words are garbled from his mouth being full when he says, “This is wonderful.”
Filled with pride, I nod. “It’s a Johnathan apple. This is the best tree in the entire orchard.”
Continuing to chew, Ellister scrutinizes the sad state of the trunk. “But the tree is broken.”
“It’s not broken. It’s just… altered. One year after a bad storm—we’re not sure if it was lightning or ice that did it—but the whole thing just cracked down the middle, and half of it was leaning over like this.” I make my hand parallel to the horizon. “My dad wanted to chop the tree down, but I begged him not to.”
“Why did you care so much?”
“Because it was mine,” I say with a hint of petulance. “It’s my tree.”
“It’s just a tree, and you have many others just like it.” Ellister gestures to the expanse of the orchard. “You could just claim another.”
“I swear the other apples don’t taste the same,” I disagree, shaking my head. “And it’s silly, but I have sentimental reasons. I used to come out here and have tea parties and pretend weddings under these branches.”
