Spells for Forgetting(75)

“The deed to the orchard was filed, though.”

I took the papers from his hand, finding the last one and setting it down. I said nothing as he read it over slowly. When he got to the bottom of the page, the muscle in his jaw ticked again.

I set my finger on the signature that sat on the last line. His signature. “You didn’t sign this, did you?”

“No.” I watched as he slowly put it together.

“I knew it wasn’t your handwriting when I saw it.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” he said, almost to himself. “My grandfather left the orchard to the town when he died.”

That’s what everyone had been told. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to decide how much to tell him, how far I was willing to go.

“If he did, then why would they need you to sign it over?” I said.

I could see him figuring it out, the way I had, as he read Nixie’s signature below his.

He pressed a clenched fist against his mouth as he read over the document again. “What exactly are you saying?”

I drew in a long, measured breath. “I’m saying that Lily isn’t the only reason they weren’t happy you came back.”





Forty-Four


    AUGUST


The morning ferry had come and gone and in an hour, my flight would be taking off from Seattle.

I wouldn’t be on it.

I cracked an egg into the pan, reading over the deed again as the kettle began to hum. The news that Henry had left the orchard to the town had surprised both my mom and me. He’d never wanted the town to have it, but in the end, I figured that he’d been forced to accept that I wasn’t coming back to Saoirse and that there was no one to give it to. Now it seemed the stubborn bastard hadn’t been so gracious after all.

I waved away the steam from the kettle when it began to fog my glasses, and I pushed them up my nose, reading my name again.

The date by the signature was almost four months after my grandfather died. According to Eric, that was enough time for the will to be probated and recorded. Once that was done, they’d only need a lawyer to transfer the deed and a notary as witness: Bernard Keller and Nixie Thomas.

If Emery was right, they probably weren’t the only ones involved. To pull this off would have taken the entire town council.

Before the fire, my grandfather was convinced the town was after the orchard. Once he was gone and there was no one here to stop them, they’d taken it. They sure as hell didn’t think I’d be back. And of all the people they could put in charge, Dutch Boden had landed the job. There was some kind of sick symmetry to that.

The kettle began to squeal and I picked it up, pouring as I finished the line of type I was reading. The water spilled over the rim of the cup and the kettle slipped from my fingers, splashing as it hit the counter.

“Fuck!” I flung the water from my hands, turning on the tap and letting the cold run over my knuckles. They were pink and swollen this morning, the skin cut up and stinging.

I set the kettle into the sink, abandoning the cup. I’d gone without a decent cup of coffee for more than ten days now. I could go one more.

A knock at the door sounded and I peered around the cabinets, eyeing the window. The top of Emery’s head was visible through the glass and I moved the pan from the burner, cursing the fact that I could still recognize her like that. I’d know her anywhere. Her hands, her frame. I could pick out the sound of her voice in a sea of people if I had to.

I came around the counter, crossing the living room and glancing down at my packed bag still sitting by the door. Emery looked up at me with tired eyes when I opened it. She was wrapped in a thick gray sweater, her hair haphazardly braided over one shoulder. A thermos was cradled in her arms.

“Is that coffee?”

“Smelled the burned grounds when I was here yesterday.” She handed it to me, staring at my face with an almost grin pulling at her lips.

“What?”

“Your glasses,” she said, the smile finally breaking in a slanted line. “I’ve just never seen you wear glasses before.”

I pulled them off, embarrassed, though I didn’t know why. Why did it feel so familiar, her showing up at my door with coffee and commenting on my glasses? Just laying eyes on her made me feel grounded in a way I never did.

“Did you talk to him?” She didn’t wait to be invited inside, stepping past me.

“Yeah.” I went back into the kitchen, pulling down another coffee cup from the cabinet. I’d had to walk up and down the road to find a signal to call Eric, but I’d gotten him long enough to get the answer I needed.

“What did he say?”

“He won’t really get a grasp on what’s going on until he sees all the paperwork. He’s requested the original will that was filed with the county. When he gets it, he’s going to call me.”

She nodded, but her gaze was on the countertop, as if she was lost in thought. Dark circles shaded the fair skin beneath her eyes and the angles of her face were more severe.

“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” I said, filling the mugs.

“I haven’t,” she muttered.

I watched as she picked at the loose thread of her sweater. She always used to do that. “What is it?”

“I just hoped he wasn’t actually a part of this. My dad.” I set down the coffee in front of her and she picked it up in both hands, like she was warming herself with it. “But he had to. They all had to know.”