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‘As I’ll ever be,’ I say. I feel my mother’s hand supportively on the small of my back, encouraging me forward. I suck my lips between my teeth and nod. Ben and my father part and make room for me to stand next to my husband. I take a couple of steps forward and press my shoulder against Nate’s arm. Nate kisses the top of my head.
I look down at the rectangular white box resting between my hands. It’s small and light, and I like how the varnished timber feels against my fingertips. A-R-T-Y is carved into the lid in fancy, curly font and every time I run my finger over my son’s name, I see his beautiful newborn face looking back at me with stunning blue eyes, brighter than the sky on a summer’s day. We didn’t just have one day with Arty; we had a whole week. Seven wonderful days and just as Nana asked, I made enough memories in those days to last a lifetime. Laying my baby boy to rest in the orchard next to his great-grandmother’s tree will be my final memory. And I will cherish it.
I take a deep breath and look at my husband. His focus is on the whitewashed timber in my shaking hands. Nate presses two fingers against his lips, kisses them, and then touches his fingers gently against the box. His glassy eyes seek out mine and he nods.It’s time.
I bend down and place the box into the hole in the ground. The glossy white looks out of place against the dark-brown earth, but I know in my heart this is where Arty belongs now. Nate gathers a handful of clay from the small mound his digging created next to the hole.
‘Goodbye, little man,’ he whispers, opening his hand. ‘Daddy loves you.’
Flaky earth rains down on the tiny white box, and I begin to cry.
‘It’s okay,’ Nate says, pulling me close to him. ‘It’s time to say goodbye.’
My knees tremble as I copy my husband. The soil is wet and cold in my hand, and I pause before letting go.
‘Keep him safe with you, Nana,’ I say, opening my hand.
My father steps away and returns with a small, delicate apple tree. Nate and I chose the tree from a local nursery just weeks after Arty’s birth. We’ve been waiting until Nana’s anniversary to plant it.
‘It doesn’t look like much now,’ my father says, placing the tree into the hole in the ground. ‘But give it a little time, and it will be big and strong.’
Nate fills in the hole around the tree with the rest of the clay, and my heart pinches when I can no longer see Arty’s white box.
‘I knew saying goodbye would be hard,’ I admit. ‘I didn’t know it would be this hard.’
We all take a moment to stand in silence with our heads bowed as we stare at the newly planted apple tree. My son’s tree.
My mother is first to move. She spreads a couple more floral blankets on the grass and pulls a flask out of a picnic basket that I hadn’t noticed before now.
‘Let’s drink up and wait for the stars to come,’ she says, sitting down cross-legged.
Everyone takes a spot on the rug. Nate next to me. Mam and Dad together, and Ben with his arm over Sabrina’s shoulder. It takes a while, but comfortable conversation eventually begins to flow. Nate and I tell tales of our honeymoon, and I share some photos of Arty on my phone with Sabrina.
Everyone is busy enjoying their second cup of tea and chatting when Nate passes me his phone with his emails open on the screen.
‘I wasn’t sure when to show you this,’ he says. ‘I got the email last week, but well, we were away. I knew today would be very hard for you, and I thought this might help.’
‘What is it?’ I ask, squinting as the phone shines brightly against the dusk that falls around us.
‘Read it.’
My eyes scan the screen, and I can’t race through the words fast enough. ‘It’s from a publisher in Chicago,’ I say.
Nate nods and smiles. ‘They want to publish Annie’s book.’
‘What?’ I shake my head. ‘Why?’
‘Because it’s a good book, and they think people will enjoy it. They’re offering six figures, Holly.’
‘That’s a lot of money,’ I say.
‘I know,’ Nate agrees. ‘Think of what your parents could do with that kind of cash. They could use it to fix up the farmhouse. Or take the holiday of a lifetime.’
‘Itisa lot of money,’ my mother interrupts, and I jump, unaware she’d been listening. ‘Ifit was published.’
‘The publisher is very eager, Blair. They’re ready to move on this quickly. Annie’s book could be on the shelves of every bookshop within six months. Isn’t that amazing?’ Nate gushes.
‘It’s easy to get caught up in the emotion and excitement, Nate,’ my mother says. ‘However, it’s an offer we will have to politely refuse. I’m sure you understand.’
