Sanna could see the boy formulating the thought. She saw that look every time she met someone new. This kid wouldn’t be any different. “How’s the weather up there?” was ever popular, as was “Do you play basketball?” The little boy’s eyes traced the long journey from her tan work boots, over her worn blue jeans and faded plaid shirt, to the hat she had pushed off her head once they walked into the barn. Bass’s eyes scrunched up as he finally met her level gaze. His mouth opened, as if tilting his head so far back made it impossible to keep his lips together at the same time. He took a quick breath, and she knew the inevitable comment about her height was about to come.
“Do you smell farts up there?”
At least that was a new one. Sanna’s mouth opened to respond, but she had no words.
“Because hot air rises, but you’re really up there, so I didn’t know if they made it that far,” Bass continued.
She blinked and recovered.
“No, I get what you’re trying to say. And yeah, I do.” She eyed him. “Is that gonna be a problem with you?”
Bass gave his butt a little wiggle.
“Not yet, but give me some time.”
Sanna pressed her lips tightly to keep from smiling. Perhaps this kid wouldn’t be as awful as her nieces.
She looked out the broken window to the orchard and could see her dad and Isaac walking across the parking lot to the first row of trees. Isaac kept his eyes trained on Einars as he explained about tree care, nodding and asking questions. Even though his pathetic sneakers were soaked, he looked at home in the orchard, unbothered by the buzzing insects and lack of technology. When he laughed at something Einars said, his head kicked back a little like the recoil of a gun—his joy shooting out into the world and through the open pane in front of her. Why was he so happy? His white teeth flashed in the sunlight, stark against his trim, dark beard. He squinted into the sun, not knowing enough to have brought a hat with him. He’d learn.
Everything about him was vivid: pink lips, brown twinkling eyes, even his cheeks were a bit rosy. The trees around him popped with emerald, bolder and stronger than ever. His dark waves absorbed the light, beaming it back through his skin. His long fingers wrapped around a tree branch and even from this distance she could tell he had the right combination of gentle and firm, careful not to damage any of the leaves or growing apples.
And her dad ate it up—laughing at his jokes, answering his questions, sharing his knowledge. The two of them walked to the green and yellow ATV Einars used to cruise around the orchard, and he gave the keys to Isaac. Sanna narrowed her eyes. He rarely let her drive it.
“Humph.”
“Did you just burp?” Bass asked.
Sanna turned away from the light-filled window into the dim barn and the small person in front of her.
“No.”
The kid’s floppy curls were an unruly version of his father’s, each one winding in a different direction. His shirt and pants were damp from who-knows-what, and he was about to blow into a length of plastic tubing she had sanitized for bottling. She grabbed it from his hands before his slobbery maw could make contact.
“Don’t touch anything.”
She set it on the counter next to her beakers and funnels—the ones the apple hadn’t broken yesterday. Bass stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked around, nonplussed by her reprimand. He must hear that a lot. He walked toward a wall of glass carboys, putting his eye up to one of the holes as if looking in a telescope, breathing his hot, muggy breath on the glass.
“I said not to touch things.”
“I’m not touching it.” He straightened up. “There’s a dead spider in there.”
Sanna peeked into it and saw the curved legs of a brown spider. Yuck. She picked it up, careful to have a good grip so she didn’t drop it, and shook the offending carcass loose. Bass had already wandered off to inspect a stack of wooden crates containing empty bottles, ready and waiting for the batch of cider she planned to bottle. He reached out to touch the topmost crate, stretching on his tiptoes. Didn’t he ever just stand still?
“Stop . . .” Did he actually want to be named after a fish? “. . . Kid.”
He froze.
“Come over here.”
He walked and stood directly in front of her like a soldier.
“First, which name do you prefer? Bass or Sebastian?”
“Bass. No one ever calls me Sebastian.”
Sanna nodded. If he was okay with it, then she would be, too.
“Second. Stop touching things. Those are filled with glass.”
“I’m supposed to be helping.”
Sanna looked around. This was what she dreaded. She didn’t know how to talk to this kid. She didn’t know how to keep him occupied, and what could he do to help her? She really didn’t want him touching her stuff. Everything was precisely how and where she wanted it—already in these few minutes, he’d threatened her entire setup. Not even her dad meddled with her barn. Then she spotted the broom.
“There. Sweep the room carefully, and make sure to get all the glass bits from the corners.” She pointed to where she had pushed all the broken window and beaker glass yesterday when she was preoccupied with the spilled juice.
In moments, Bass was quietly shushing around the dust and shards, so Sanna took a deep breath to focus on what she wanted to accomplish, grasping her journal. While he swept, she could pick up where she left off yesterday or maybe dive into that lovely greenish cider she’d dreamed of last night. Opening the pages and pulling out her notes, she ran her finger down the paper, refreshing her memory. Only once she picked up her pen to jot a few ideas down did she notice the sound of sweeping had stopped.
Bass stood staring at her, the broom tucked into the crook of his arm as if it were holding him up.
“What are you doing?” he asked before she could mutter the same words to him.
“I’m working.”
“But I thought you were making beer. That just looks like you’re writing.”
If Sanna had been a bird, all of her feathers would have ruffled immediately. Topmost of her—admittedly many—pet peeves: people who treated the world like their personal ashtray, reckless Illinois drivers, neighbors who thought it was okay to ask when she planned to marry. But above all of those annoyances, the king of all pet peeves were people who didn’t know the difference between beer and cider. Ignoring the fact that Bass was ten and shouldn’t know about alcoholic anything anyway, Sanna prepared her speech.