Page 27 of Cherry Tree Ranch

I stare. “What? No way!”

“Yep. She kept herself very busy all evening yesterday until you came home,” she says, giving me a sideways glance. “She was worried about you.”

“Interesting,” I say, suppressing my shock. I notice Emery even watered the herbs on the windowsill. The mint was wilting yesterday but it’s bright green and perky today. “I wish she’d keep my room this clean when she visits.”

“Well, she’ll probably stay at your dad’s for a while now.” She surveys me while buttering her muffin. “You know the reason your sister didn’t take you, don’t you?”

“She wanted to stay with you so you could sleep.”

Mom fills a mug halfway with coffee and scoots it across the island to me. I fill it the rest of the way with cream and another swirl of honey.

“I’m a grown woman. I don’t need a nap nanny,” she laughs. “The truth is, your sister hates hospitals. Do you remember when you were there after the accident with Blue?”

“Kind of. Why?” I say over the edge of my coffee.

“She freaked out when you showed her the bruise covering your leg. And, as many times as I’ve been in the hospital, well, I think she’s had her fill.”

I watch Mom’s face turn solemn. Her grey hair is pulled into a bun, and she’s attempted some make-up today. The bronzer on her cheeks makes her appear slightly more youthful, but she can’t hide the years of illness. She looks ten years older than she really is.

“When did she leave?” I take a bite of my second muffin.

“Before I woke up.” Mom points out the window to the horses. “She fed the horses on her way out.”

“Yeah, I saw them munching hay together from my window.” I also noticed she shone the prisms Mom hung in every window. As the sun arcs around the ranch house, one room or another is filled with dancing rainbows. Right now, the teardrop prism is refracting light on to the root-cellar door.

A thick layer of honey from the bottom of my coffee mug oozes down my throat and takes my headache away. I guess that’s how addictions work. I lift myself from my stool, and the rainbows dance across my skin as I walk slowly to the sink.

“I told her about the Young Producers competition. She saw your cherry-jar labels,” Mom adds, seemingly hesitant. “And she’d like to design something more eye-catching for you, if you’ll let her.”

I consider my response as I rinse my dishes and stare out of the open window. A Steller’s jay hops around on the scrub oak and the cherry trees gently shudder in the morning breeze. Man, I love this place. A sense of calm floods my senses, and for some reason I believe for a beat that everything here is going to be OK.

“That’s a good idea,” I finally say.

“Really?”

“Yeah. She’s talented,” I admit. “Maybe it would help with sales and marketing.”

“OK, then. I’ll let her know you’re up for it.”

“Sounds good. Have you mentioned the debt to her yet?”

Mom sighs. “Not yet.”

“Will you not?” I ask. “I don’t want her to tell Dad. We don’t need more doubters right now, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. And I’ll let you tell her when you’re ready.”

“OK. Thanks for breakfast, Mom. I need to go pick cherries before it gets any hotter out.”

“You sure you’re up for picking today? Do you have your EpiPen?” She raises her eyebrows.

I pat my back pocket. “Got it.”

In the mudroom, I put on my wide-brimmed sun hat, and I’m rubbing in sunscreen when my phone buzzes. I pull it out too quickly and drop it on the concrete floor. Wincing, I flip it over and blow dust off. Thankfully, the screen is unblemished.

Sorry that took so long, Cash writes. Had to help my dad. You resting today?

No. I need to pick and can cherries, I reply. I refuse to be deterred.