The Apple Orchard

Twenty-Four



“So now you’re having sleepovers with strange women?” Lourdes said to Dominic. She had returned after work with the kids to drop them off with him. As always, his house was filled with warmth now that Trini and Antonio were here. However, Lourdes’s presence was a chilly shadow as she stood on the front drive, talking to him across the fence.

He pressed his teeth into his tongue, hard, to keep from rising to the bait. Lourdes had had her share of sleepovers, too. The difference was, she hadn’t waited until after the divorce.

He turned to make sure the kids were out of earshot. They were in the backyard, having a game of fetch with the dogs. “There’s something I wanted to ask you,” he said.

She gave him a hopeful look that made him feel lousy. He quickly asked, “What do you remember about your father?”

Her look turned to anger and confusion. “My father? He’s been dead for years, you know that. I was tiny when he died. Why would you wonder about that now?”

“Just trying to help out Magnus and Isabel with some things.”

“By picking my brain about a guy I have virtually no memory of?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’ve always had a soft spot for Isabel,” she said, her tone accusing. “And now for her sister, as well. Although I guess you’re not so soft when it comes to her.”

“Hey, sorry I asked.” Was he ever. He should have known she’d be in a rotten mood when she dropped off the kids.

She massaged the side of her neck with her hand. “I remember he had a big laugh, and he liked to drive fast. Sometimes he’d come home with an armload of presents for me.” She frowned, shut her eyes briefly. “He and my mother fought. They yelled a lot. But we were always so happy at Christmastime. I guess that’s probably why it’s my favorite time of the year.”

There was a Maldonado family tradition of putting up the tree and decorating it with special ornaments that had belonged to Carlos; each had a certain meaning. When he and Lourdes were married, they made a big deal of it with the kids. After the divorce, Lourdes had taken all the sentimental keepsakes with her, and he was happy enough to let them go. He did miss the feeling of family from those times, the warmth and closeness, the magic sparkling in the children’s eyes. But unlike Lourdes, he knew better than to believe it could be rebuilt, not after all the damage that had been done.

“Anyway,” she said, “the holidays are coming up. How about you come decorate the tree with us?”

“Thanks, I’ll let you know.” He knew it would be painful and awkward. He would try too hard, she would drink too much, and the kids were old enough now to notice. “Do you have time to talk about Trini?” He held open the gate.

She hesitated, and he could see her mentally measuring the time it would take. That was the thing about having been married to someone. You knew what they were thinking. Lourdes was yearning for her nightly bottle of wine, something that had become more important to her than anything, even fixing her marriage.

“All right,” she said, following him to the front porch. They took a seat there. “Her teacher says she’s struggling in school, having trouble concentrating.”

“This isn’t news to me,” he reminded her. “I took her for a checkup, we had her tested by the school diagnostician, and I’ve been helping her with her schoolwork. Did the teacher say there was no improvement?”

“She keeps forgetting things, and she doesn’t pay attention in class. Dom, she’s troubled because we’re not together.”

This was his ex-wife’s weapon of choice. She used the kids to manipulate him. “Trini is troubled because we’re not doing a good enough job making this work for her.”

“How can it work when all she wants is to be a family? God knows, I hated growing up without a father. I feel like a monster, passing that along to my kids.”

“We tried, Lourdes,” said Dominic. “I gave it everything I had for the sake of the kids.”

“Then let’s try again. Don’t you think our kids are worth it?”

“They’re worth everything,” he said. “We’ve always agreed on that. They deserve the best life we can give them. I can’t do that with you. I can’t go back and fix something that wasn’t right in the first place.”

“Dom—”

“We don’t have to be together to help them be happy and feel loved. We just have to work at it. Tell you what. Let’s go back to that counselor we used in the divorce. She was really good with the kids. She’ll give us some fresh strategies.”

“You want to go into counseling?” Her eyes lit with a hope he wished he didn’t see.

“For the kids. Yeah, I’m willing.” He was frustrated. There was a part of him—no small part—that wanted to love this woman again. She was the mother of his children. Staying together as a family had an appeal that reached the deepest part of him. Yet he couldn’t manufacture an emotion that simply was not there. What they’d once had was gone, as empty as the wine bottles she used to try to hide from him. In the early days, crafting the perfect wine had been a shared love, but when she became an alcoholic, all that had changed. Now, his passion was his ex-wife’s poison.

“We can’t keep having this conversation,” he concluded. “The four of us will never be the family we once thought we’d be.”

Trini appeared around the corner from the backyard, her face pale and chin trembling as she glared from one to the other. “You promised,” she hurled at them both. “You said you’d fix things and we’d be a family again.”

“Sweetheart, we didn’t make you any such promise,” Dominic said. It was so hard to make the kids understand. There was no way to explain what had really happened, that Lourdes couldn’t handle the loneliness of separation while he was away, that she’d turned to other men and to drinking. It wasn’t fair to saddle the kids with that. “We are a family, but your mom and I can’t live together anymore.”

“Why not? That’s what moms and dads do. Mom said.”

He regarded his daughter, his heart feeling ripped in half. She’d been so little when they’d divorced. She didn’t remember the chilly, strained silences, the heavy fog of discontent that had hung over them all.

“I tried, baby,” Lourdes said, standing up and giving Trini a hug. Lourdes was antsy now; Dominic could practically see her craving. “But I have to go now, okay?”

Trini stood stiffly, watching Lourdes get in her car and take off. Then she turned accusing eyes on Dominic. “I just want to be a real family again.”

“We are a real family.”

“I hate the way we are.”

“Ouch.”

“Well, I do.” She kicked at a tuft of grass. “What’s for dinner?”

“I don’t know. What do you feel like? Want me to fix you something?”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay, how about you fix me something,” he suggested.

Just for a moment, a flash of interest lit her eyes but was quickly shuttered. “I only know how to fix toast.”

“Cool, then let’s make toast.”

Her chin trembled, and the look in her eyes tore at his heart. “Trini,” he said. “It’s going to be all right. Swear to God it will. Maybe not right now or tomorrow, but it will.” He gathered her into his arms, feeling a wave of emotion. When she was a baby, he used to hold her and gaze down in wonder into her precious face. She’d seemed so fragile and vulnerable to him, all he’d wanted was to protect her. Now she felt fragile in a different way, and he simply didn’t know how to make things better for her.

* * *

Charlie had taken to sleeping in Tess’s room. She didn’t know why. She’d never had a dog and never considered herself a dog person, but that didn’t seem to matter to the gangly German shepherd. She had no objection to his company, however. Some mornings were rough; she’d wake up with her heart racing in a generalized panic, and the sight of the big dog, curled up on the braided rug beside the bed, had a calming effect on her. He generally loved his sleep, but this morning, he awakened her with a tentative woof and trotted to the door.

“What?” she mumbled, blinking at the clock. “It’s six-thirty in the morning.”

He woofed again, so she got up, shrugged into a hoodie and tennis shoes and followed him down the stairs. He headed straight for the kitchen, nails clicking on the tiles, leading her straight to a pair of intruders.

“Hey,” she said. “What are you two doing here?”

Trini and Antonio Rossi stood inside the back door. “It wasn’t locked,” said Antonio.

“Isabel never locks,” Trini added.

“That doesn’t answer my question. Does your dad know you’re here?”

“He doesn’t mind,” Trini said.

“We’re hungry,” said Antonio.

“There’s no food at your dad’s house?” Tess helped herself to a glass of water and regarded them skeptically. They were so darn cute. But more than that, just the sight of them, the sound of their voices, even at the crack of dawn, lifted her heart. She let the dog out the back, into the chilly fog of early winter. The landscape was muted by mist in the windless air, the empty trees skeletal against the dun-colored grass.

“The food’s better here,” Antonio said.

“The food here is better than anywhere,” Tess pointed out.

“What a nice thing to say.” Wide awake and dressed for the day, Isabel breezed into the kitchen. “Hello, you two. You’re up early.”

“They’re hungry,” said Tess.

“My favorite kind of kids,” said Isabel. “Hungry ones.”

“What do you like for breakfast?” Tess asked them.

“Everything,” said Trini. “Just not Dad’s shredded wheat.” She wrinkled her nose.

“We can do better than shredded wheat.” With smooth efficiency, Isabel put a kettle on for tea, then handed each kid an apron. She tossed one to Tess. “Do you mind pitching in?”

Within a few minutes, the biscuit-making had begun. “This is the first thing my grandmother taught me to bake,” Isabel explained, “because it’s the simplest. But don’t be fooled. A lot of things can go wrong with biscuits, and they could turn out like hockey pucks.”

“Yeah, I hate when that happens,” said Tess.

“I take it you’ve never made biscuits from scratch.” Isabel demonstrated her techniques, letting them in on her trade secrets, such as sifting the flour from a height of at least a foot and grating the cold butter into the bowl. Within a few minutes, the kids were dusted with flour and giggling, and Tess forgot that mornings were supposed to be hard. Her heart was opening up, almost of its own accord. Bella Vista had woven a spell on her, and she no longer even tried to resist.

“Can you show me how it’s done?” she asked Isabel, following a crazy impulse.

“What, baking biscuits?”

“Not just baking. Fixing a meal.” All right, she told herself. Say it aloud. “I want to cook like a grown-up, not like I’m stuck in college.”

“Say no more.” Isabel took a pastry cloth from a hook on the back of the pantry door.

Tess joined in the lesson, surprised at how enjoyable it was to roll out the dough and place the dusty biscuits on an old, weathered pan.

She slid a sheet of biscuits into the oven and stood back, watching as Isabel coached the kids through cutting up apples, slicing grapes and celery and chopping walnuts for a fruit salad. Isabel had some kind of dressing to toss it in, made with honey and cardamom. It was nice, observing her sister’s gentle guidance.

“You’re good with kids,” she said. An olive branch, extended to bridge the gap after their quarrel.

A smile glimmered on Isabel’s face. “I’m good in the kitchen.”

“It’s more than that. You’re a good teacher.”

“Yeah? Thanks.”

And that was all it took to get over their quarrel, Tess realized. A look, a kind word. She was getting to like having a sister.

“Cooking’s fun,” said Trini. “Baking, too. We bake with our mom at Christmastime.”

Tess vibrated to attention like a struck tuning fork. She pictured the beauteous Lourdes, sweetly presiding over the holiday traditions.

“I bet that’s fun,” said Isabel.

“Not as much fun as presents,” said Antonio.

“And decorating the tree. Every year, we put up the tree in honor of our grandpa who died,” Trini said, her expression softening.

“You mean your grandpa Carlos?” Isabel said.

“He died a long time ago. It’s sad for our mom. She has a box of special ornaments that used to belong to her dad. Keepsakes, she calls them.” Trini used her finger to draw a K in the flour on the countertop. “Dad doesn’t have any keepsakes.”

Tess’s heart went out to the little girl, to both kids. “That sounds like a nice tradition,” she said.

“This year in school we made 3-D snowflakes,” said Antonio. “I wish it would snow. My favorite ornament is a mouse on a sled.”

“Mine’s a big gold one that opens up,” said Trini. “Sometimes Mom puts candy in it, and we’re supposed to think the treats are from Santa.”

Tess smiled. She was very comfortable with Dominic’s kids. “When I was your age, I had Christmas at my grandmother’s house in Dublin. My favorite ornament was a little bell made of white Belleek china. It had shamrocks on it.”

“This one’s all gold with swirls.”

Tess felt the smallest nudge, but she tamped it down. “Swirls, you mean like a color?”

“Yep. It’s really pretty.”

The phone rang, jangling into the morning. Isabel went to answer it. Trini ducked her head, but not before Tess read the guilt in her eyes.

“That’s your dad, isn’t it?” she asked the girl.

Trini nodded, gave the fruit salad a stir.

“You didn’t tell him you were coming here, did you?”

Without looking up, Trini shook her head.

“He’ll be here in a few minutes,” said Isabel, putting the phone back in its cradle.

“Are we in trouble?” asked Antonio.

“That’s up to your dad,” said Tess. “I’m guessing it’s not okay to take off at the crack of dawn without permission. Just a wild guess.” She hurried upstairs to get dressed, running a comb through her hair and brushing her teeth with a vengeance. Dominic arrived, looking tousled and put-out in a V-neck sweater and jeans, his glasses slightly askew, which Tess found wildly attractive.

He gave her a brief, smoldering look, but quickly turned his attention to the kids. “Not cool,” he told them both. “Not cool at all. What the h— What were you thinking?”

“It was Trini’s idea,” Antonio protested.

The timer rang, and Trini rushed to the oven. “The biscuits are ready!”

“Let’s all sit down to breakfast and talk about it,” said Tess.

“We have a rule,” Trini said. “No arguing at the breakfast table.”

“I wasn’t suggesting an argument.” She helped Isabel lay the table with warm biscuits, butter and jam, bowls of fruit salad and a pot of tea. There was something about the rhythm of the morning that felt right, despite the fact that it was horrendously early, and Dominic was ticked off at his kids. It made Tess feel as if she had a family. That was the part that felt right.

The kids dug right in. “Best breakfast ever,” Antonio said. “But it was still Trini’s idea.”

“If you didn’t like breakfast at home, you should have spoken up,” Dominic said. He slathered a biscuit with butter and sampled it. “You’re right. It is the best breakfast ever.”

“The kids made the biscuits,” Tess said. “They did a good job.”

“Fine,” said Trini, “I’m speaking up now. Breakfast is better here. So is lunch and dinner.”

“You can’t have breakfast, lunch and dinner here,” said Dominic.

“No offense, Dad, but the food’s way better here,” Antonio said.

“I never did learn to cook,” Dominic confessed to Isabel and Tess. “Went straight from home to the navy.”

“Mom doesn’t cook, either,” Trini mumbled.

Tess saw Dominic stiffen. “You’re a smart guy,” she said quickly. “You make the best wine I’ve ever tasted. Fixing food’s got to be easier than that. How about you let Isabel teach you, same way she taught the kids this morning? Could you do that, Isabel?”

“Definitely.” Isabel served more fruit to the kids.

“I’m eating celery, Dad,” said Antonio. “See?”

“I thought you didn’t like celery.”

“I thought so, too.”

“It’s all in the execution,” Tess said. She’d found this morning’s cooking lesson ridiculously charming. It made her feel closer to Dominic’s kids, filling her heart with a kind of warmth she hadn’t felt before. Isabel’s kitchen was a magical place in that way, she was discovering.

“Who knew?” asked Dominic.

“We can have another tonight, then.” Isabel pushed back from the table. “You can come over after work.”

“Yeah, Dad.” Trini jumped up and helped clear the table. “It’ll be fun.”

He shot a look at Tess. “I have you to thank for this.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And you’re not going to get out of helping.”

“I already had a turn cooking with Isabel,” said Tess.

“Ah, but cooking is like any other fine art,” Isabel reminded her. “There’s always something new to learn.”