Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(91)

He starts to chuckle and my insides instantly warm. It’s bizarre; I remember a time when the sound of Ben’s laughter made me cringe. Now I can’t get enough of it. “Not that I have the best ideas, but I don’t think setting fire to this place would be a good one.”

He heaves a sigh. “No, you’re right. I’ve got a lot to do, with the funeral arrangements and all that. I guess I should phone Jack. Do you think he’ll give me the week off? I don’t want to leave Mama here alone and I don’t how long it’ll take for everyone else to get here.”

“Jack’s big on family-first. I’m sure he’ll agree to it.” A whole week without Ben at work? It’s understandable. Still, the selfish part of me fills with disappointment.

He kicks at some loose gravel carried into the barn. “I guess we’re going to miss those orders.”

“Says who?” I stick a hand into Ben’s pocket, squeezing his thigh gently as I fish out the set of keys that I know are nestled there.

He peers down at me curiously. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I give him my best southern accent as I drawl, “Goin’ tangerine pickin’. What else?”

A crooked smirk sets one dimple on display. “You don’t have to do that, Reese.”

I reach onto my tiptoes and lay a kiss on his cheek. “I know.”



“I was thinking we could go out to dinner tonight as a family. You, me, and Mason. We’ve never done that before. What do you think?”

“Uh . . .” I stumble to find the right answer as I stare at the row of tangerine trees, stretching out as far as the eye can see. “Today’s not a good day, Jack.”

“Oh, okay. I understand. Maybe some other time,” he, says, his tone reluctant. Shit.

“It’s just . . .” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I probably won’t make it back to Miami early enough. I’m up at the grove again.”

There’s a long pause. “I thought you were with Lina this weekend.”

I guess he hasn’t floated the idea of dinner by Mason yet. I need to warn the guy before his father ambushes him. “No, I’ve been up here since yesterday morning. Ben’s mom needed help with some early orders and I really like it up here. It’s peaceful.”

Jack’s heavy sigh fills my ear. I can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose.

“So does this mean—”

“Ben’s dad died this morning, Jack,” I blurt out, wanting to avoid answering the other question. Not that I have an answer.

“What? Is Ben all right? I mean . . . was it sudden? How did it happen? Heart attack? Stroke?” he stammers slightly, caught off guard.

“A fifth of whiskey and a bottle of pills,” I admit somberly. “Ben’s going to need the week off. He’ll phone you later.”

“Of course.” More to himself, I hear Jack mutter, “Family always comes first.”

I hear the big farm truck plodding down the trail behind me. “Look, I’ve gotta go now, Jack. I’m trying to help Wilma get at least some of this order filled.”

“Good for you for helping them.” I smile. Jack always points out when I’m doing something right or good. Sometimes I feel like I’m getting a standing ovation for tying my shoes properly. Today, though, it makes me glad to know that I’m helping Ben and Wilma in some way.

“See you tonight, Jack. Ben’s going to drive me home.”

I hang up as the truck pulls to a stop, those squeaky brakes sending a tiny shiver down my back. When Wilma and not Ben hops out, I’ll admit that I’m slightly disheartened, but the feeling quickly vanishes because I am, after all, happy to see her.

“You’re looking a little pink there, Reese. Here, you need this. Don’t want to ruin that lovely skin of yours.” She hands me one of those giant floppy hats that you see famous people on beaches wearing. “And you must be thirsty.” She hands me a bottle of water, which I thankfully accept. I’ve been out here for three hours and my mouth feels like cotton.

“Hold still.” She pulls a can of sunscreen out from who knows where and begins spraying my arms with it as I drink. “I hope you don’t have anywhere fancy to go anytime soon, because you’re going to have a lovely farmer’s tan on your arms.”

“Nope. I think I’m good for big events in the near future.” Annabelle would disagree, seeing as her charity ball is next weekend. “You really didn’t need to come out here. I’m fine on my own and I know you have a lot of planning to do.”

“Not really. I’ve called my children and the priest. Ben’s making arrangements for the coffin and the burial. And now what?” She shrugs, leaning over to sift through the baskets that I’ve already filled on the back of the tractor wagon. “Cook. And wait around, twiddling my thumbs, that’s what. I may as well be out here.”

And mourning the loss of your husband, who just killed himself hours ago. I don’t say that, though. I don’t doubt that Wilma will do more than her fair share of crying over her husband. I’m sure she already has. I’m sure she’s been quietly crying for years.

“You have a good eye for picking fruit.”

I smile, resuming my task. “I had a good teacher.”