Page 4 of The Apple Cider Orchard

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the phone connection bridging the physical distance between Manhattan and Brooklyn, between sleek modernity and the weathered brownstone where she had grown up, raised by Eddie and Aoife after their daughter, Tara – Molly and Cole’s mother – had died prematurely.

They’d never known their dad, who’d disappeared when she and her brother were just toddlers.

‘So what will you do with the time?’ Eddie asked now. ‘A vacation, maybe? Just ensure that whatever it is involves actual rest, and not just working from a different location.’

Molly’s gaze drifted to the window, to the night sky barely visible behind the city’s glow.

‘I think,’ she said suddenly, ‘I might head to Ireland.’

The words hung in the air, weighted with everything unsaid. A half-formed plan that had been far too long in the making.

‘Ireland,’ he repeated, his voice careful. ‘You sure?’

‘I’ve been putting it off for long enough. This might be the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone – get some rest and …’ Molly trailed off, unable to fully articulate the other.

‘She’d love that,’ Eddie said gently, understanding everything she couldn’t say. ‘That you’re finally going, I mean.’

‘I promised her I would,’ she said, throat tightening. ‘And Cole’s right, I’ve just been making excuses.’

‘You just weren’t ready before, is all,’ her grandfather said, the absolution in his voice a balm to Molly’s lingering guilt. ‘Some things can’t be rushed.’

She nodded, tears beginning to form in the corner of her eyes. ‘But first, I should come and spend some time with you, make sure you’re looking after yourself.’

‘I’m not the one who needs looking after, kiddo,’ Eddie said with a hint of his typical gruffness. ‘Cole checks in every other day, and I’ve still got more casseroles in my freezer than I can eat in a month, courtesy of Mrs Wilson and her book club ladies. I’m doing just fine, and don’t need anyone cramping my style.’

‘Still,’ Molly persisted, ‘I should visit more often too, I know that.’

‘You’ve been building your life,’ he corrected. ‘That’s what you’re supposed to do. Your grandmother and I didn’t work so hard to give you and your brother opportunities, so you could sit around keeping old folks company.’

The knot in Molly’s chest loosened further. ‘Love you, Pop.’

‘Love you too, kiddo. Now, about Ireland – do you want me to dig out your grandmother’s old address book? Maybe find some cousins from those parts.’

‘Nan told me where I need to go,’ Molly assured him. ‘She talked about Golden Valley so much, I feel like I’ve already been there.’

‘You and me both,’ Eddie joked.

‘The lake,’ Aoife had told them. ‘Not large or dramatic. Just wide and calm. On still days it looks like glass, the sky laid down on the earth. You could stand there and feel as though the world had paused for a moment just to let you breathe.’

Molly pictured it now in her mind – water stretching into the distance, the horizon softened by mist.

‘And the orchard … rows and rows of apple trees on the hills leading down to the shore,’ her grandmother would say. ‘Gnarled trunks and low branches that caught at your sleeves if you weren’t paying attention. In spring, the blossoms; pale pink, almost white even – it was the most beautiful thing. In summer, the leaves grew thick and green, but autumn … autumn was magical. Apples heavy on the branches, the ground scattered with them, bruised but perfect all the same. The air sharp with cider and earth and rain.’

Molly could almost smell it.

‘And town,’ Aoife went on. ‘Stone buildings, close together. Doors painted bright, as if to make up for the gray days. Everyone knew who belonged and who didn’t, though they’d never say it aloud.’ Her grandmother had chuckled faintly. ‘In the mornings, you could smell bread long before you saw the bakery. And the apples would roll loose along the lanes when the carts were full. As kids, we all loved that.’

Molly’s throat tightened. ‘I just … wish she could be there to see it all with me.’

‘She will be,’ Eddie said gently. ‘And you’ll see it exactly the way she would have.’

They talked a few minutes longer about more practical matters; the more preferable Irish airport (Shannon), the weather in Ireland this time of year (unpredictable), the rental car situation (drive on the left, remember) and Pop’s insistence that she bring proper clothing and practical footwear (not those ridiculous heels you wear to the office).

‘I’ll call while I’m there,’ Molly promised. ‘And send pictures.’

‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘And, Mol?’

‘Yes?’