“Pop-Tarts?” Kerry gave a look of mock horror. “Does his mom know you’re feeding that junk to her son?”
“Pfft. They’re fruit, right?”
“I got addicted to Pop-Tarts my freshman year of college,” Kerry confided. “My mom is kind of a health-food nut. She was appalled the first time I came home for the holidays with a box of Pop-Tarts in my backpack.”
“Sounds like you and your mom are pretty close,” he observed.
“We’re total opposites, but she loves and accepts who I am, and I’m so lucky that she does.”
“What will you do, when all the Christmas trees are sold?” he asked, sliding an arm around her shoulder. “Will you go back to … what’s the name of the town?”
“Tarburton. For the short run, until I can figure out my next move. The only thing I know for sure is that I don’t want to live there permanently.”
“Really? You make it sound so idyllic, the farm, the mountains, the apple trees…”
“What’s that people say about New York City—a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there? That’s how I feel about Tarburton. I don’t fit in there. I never did.”
She felt the prick of tears. The thought of going back to the stifling confines of the tiny town in the mountains filled her with dread.
Patrick placed his hand under her chin and gently turned her face toward his. “I hope you don’t go,” he murmured, as his lips met hers. “Not anytime soon.”
Kerry kissed him back. “Let’s not talk about it,” she whispered. “Carpe diem, right?”
“Dad?” Austin’s voice echoed through the apartment. “We didn’t read our story.”
“Not tonight, buddy,” Patrick said, but Kerry touched his arm. “It’s okay. I need to get up early anyway. I’ll let myself out.” She kissed him lightly. “To be continued?”
chapter 29
Murphy’s truck was double-parked in front of Spammy with the motor running. He was emerging from the trailer as she walked up. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“I was just getting ready to call you. I’m heading back to the farm.”
“Right now?” She was incredulous. “For real? You don’t want to wait till morning?”
“If I leave now, I can be there by sunrise, load the truck, and deadhead it back here by Sunday. Dad swears he can get a helper to cut and bale the trees. He’s got sixty or seventy-five trees down near the creek bottom, although he says we don’t have many of the big ones left.”
“That’s actually better,” Kerry said. “Seems like people prefer the tabletop trees. And some more six-or eight-foot ones would be good too.”
Murphy gave her a sour look. “So you’re the expert now? You can predict what my customers, who Dad and I have been selling trees to for thirty years—you know what they do and don’t want?”
Kerry’s jaw dropped at the intensity of his anger.
“Hey. Don’t go if you’re gonna be all pissy and belligerent, Murphy. I don’t get why you’re so furious that we’re finally selling trees and making some money. Isn’t that what this trip is about? Seeing to it that we get the farm back in the black so Dad doesn’t worry about it and give himself another heart attack?”
He leaned against the trailer, his body stiff with barely suppressed fury. “Yeah, it’s about that. But I resent you telling me what to do, parachuting in here and changing everything around. Dad and I have a system…”
“Which wasn’t working so hot, was it? You were the one bellyaching about how the numbers this year were off and waving that notebook of Dad’s around. So instead of sitting here and watching the Brody brothers steal our customers—”
“My customers,” Murphy said, from between gritted teeth.
“See? That’s the real problem. I get it. You don’t want a woman telling you what to do. Especially if the woman happens to be your little sister.”
“Screw you.” Murphy reached for the backpack he’d left on the trailer steps and headed for the truck. “I gotta get to the storage yard and get the trailer hitched up. I don’t have time for your crap.”
“When will you be back?” Kerry asked, suddenly panicked.
“Tomorrow night or early Sunday morning.” He climbed into the cab of the truck. “I’m leaving Queenie here with you. She’ll raise hell if anybody tries to mess with you.”
“And how am I supposed to run the tree stand by myself?”
“You’re an expert. Figure it out.”
* * *
“C’mon, Queenie,” Kerry called. “Let’s call it a night.” The dog wagged her tail in approval and followed her into the trailer.
She sat on her bunk and looked around the cramped space, which looked like a cyclone had blown through. Her brother’s dirty clothes were strewn around the floor, which bore his muddy boot prints, and his bed was a lumpy jumble of blankets, sleeping bag, pillow, and a pile of clothes of indeterminate cleanliness.
Without giving it much thought, she dumped the clothes in a laundry bag, folded the blankets, and remade his bed. She went outside to grab the broom, and while she was there, went to Jock’s truck and retrieved the baseball bat he kept stowed under the front seat.
“Security,” she told herself. She had to admit she was already feeling uneasy about her first night alone in the city.
After she finished rage cleaning, she got ready for bed. Queenie jumped up and settled herself on Murphy’s bunk. Kerry locked the door and retrieved Murphy’s notebook, and thumbed through to the page for the previous year’s sales. He’d circled the number of trees in red. Forty-two.
When her cell phone rang, she grabbed it, hoping it might be Patrick.
It was her mother.
“So it’s true?” Birdie asked. “Murphy’s really driving back down here for another load of trees? Your dad is all worked up about it. He hasn’t said so yet, but I know what he’s thinking—that he’ll ride back up there with your brother. It’s killing him having to stay home this year.”
“Mom, no!” Kerry yelped. “You absolutely can’t let him come up here.”
“I told that old fool if he leaves this house, I’m done. He can go back on Silver Singles and find him a new girlfriend to cook and clean and remind him to take his meds.”
“Hah! He’d never date anybody old enough to be on Silver Singles,” Kerry said. “But you better tell Murphy the same thing. I’m sure he’d love to have Dad replace me.”
Mother and daughter both sighed at the same time.
“Tolliver men,” Birdie said. “My mama tried to warn me, but…” Her voice trailed off. “Are you gonna be able to run the stand by yourself? That’s a lot.”
“We do have a pretty conscientious high school kid who’s been helping out. I’m hoping he can recruit a friend so I’ll have somebody in the stand while Vic’s out making deliveries.”
“I hope so too,” Birdie said.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday. According to Murphy’s notebook, it should be the busiest day of the season.”