“I haven’t exactly broached the topic,” Nate said.
That was precisely what needed to happen. It was something her father should’ve done long ago, before he’d saddled Laurel with his own care and the care of the orchard.
“How does this year’s crop look?”
“Promising. She was hoping this year would put us in the black. But a strong crop means extra work and plenty of hands on deck. And I can’t afford time off.”
Nate ran Shelbyville’s one and only insurance agency. Good thing they’d had his income to fall back on.
“So can you come back and help us through the harvest?” he asked.
Josie’s eyes flitted over the lacy white alyssum, past the potted strawberry plant toward the haven of her darkened apartment. She closed her eyes and was, in an instant, back at Blue Ridge Orchard. She could almost smell the apples ripening on the trees. Hear the snap of the branch as an apple twisted free. See the ripples of Sweetwater Creek running alongside the property.
And with that thought, the other memories came. The ones that had chased her from Shelbyville six years ago. The ones that still chased her every day. The ones that, at the mention of going home, caused a dread, deep and thick in her belly.
“Josie, you there?”
She opened her eyes, swallowing hard. “I’m here.”
“I know you’ve got your photography job and your plans and your life.”
She breathed a wry laugh. Ironically, none of that mattered. The one plan that did matter could still play out. Same tune, different venue.
What mattered most now was seeing that Laurel’s life was settled. And Laurel’s life wouldn’t be settled until she was out from under the orchard. Josie saw that clearly now. And it wouldn’t happen, she knew, without a lot of coaxing. She only hoped there was enough time.
“I wouldn’t have called if we weren’t desperate.”
Josie took one last deep breath of the lavender, shoved down the dread, and forced the words.
“I’ll come.”