“So what did you have Bass doing?”
Sanna slowed to drive over an especially large bump in the aisle. They’d moved from the larger, older trees to the younger, smaller trees and the space between the trunks barely allowed for the truck to pass unscathed. A branch poked through his window, whipping him in the face with its leaves. Sanna’s lips quirked and she cleared her throat.
“He swept up the glass from the broken window, then helped me bottle a new batch of cider. He did a good job but he talks a lot.”
“You should see him after a Mountain Dew and a candy bar.”
“I’d rather not.”
“As long as he’s not contained within four walls, it’s actually quite the spectacle. The best is when the effects wear off. More than once I’ve had to carry him into bed because he’d burned through all his energy and couldn’t go one more step. It’s kind of adorable.”
“I’ll have to trust you.” Sanna focused on maneuvering the truck, clearly knowing every bump and overgrown branch, which made him suspicious of the one that had made it through the window.
“What did he talk about? Did he ask a lot of questions? Because he always does that.”
“He wanted to know if I still smell farts even though I’m so tall.”
Isaac laughed, and even Sanna broke into a smile. What a Bass question to ask. “I’m sorry, I told him to keep the fart talk to a minimum, but I imagine he couldn’t resist.”
“It’s fine. It’s better than my nieces and their yammering about some tween show they watch or boy band they listen to.”
“At least he didn’t sing the Farts and Butts chant.”
“Chant?”
“Oh yes, it’s as repetitive and earwormy as you’d imagine. I’ll spare you.”
This time she chuckled a little as she replied.
“I appreciate it. I never cared for an earworm.”
They emerged from the trees, and Sanna slowed the truck behind the barn, killing the engine and giving the truck a gentle pat before getting out. Isaac felt like he was making some progress, he just wasn’t sure toward what.
? ? ? ? ?
As the sun began to set behind the trees, Isaac and Bass returned to the trailer, showered, and changed clothes before dinner at the Lunds’ house. Wanting to show they cleaned up well, they both wore khaki shorts and polos, trying to dress the best they could with the clothes they had packed. Bass even stayed clean all the way across the orchard—a minor miracle Isaac knew enough to savor while it lasted.
They knocked on the door, and in moments Sanna swung it open wearing a simple blue, button-front dress, collared and tied at the waist, in which her figure—he noticed immediately—appeared more curvy than in her normal jeans and flannel work shirt. Her short hair, still damp from her shower, had a few new curls, softening her face, and her lips shone with a gentle sheen of gloss. Isaac nudged Bass.
“You look pretty, Miss Lund,” he said, giving her the flowers they had brought. Just wildflowers—weeds really—from near the trailer, but it was the best he could do.
Sanna’s mouth opened to respond, but had no words at the ready. She stepped back to let them in.
“Thank you,” she said. A smile finally broke her daze, and she pointed up the steps.
In the kitchen, Einars was setting out bowls full of food, plates, and silverware on a long wooden table that echoed the equally long counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the high-ceilinged room. The two-story ceiling reminded him of his grandparents’ barn.
“There’s the young man, all spiffed up,” Einars said. “Come help me finish dessert so it can bake while we eat.”
Bass went to help him while Sanna put the flowers in water. Isaac studied the huge, airy room and went to stand in front of a wall of watercolor apples—each one was set off by a colored background ranging from deep blue to fluorescent green to soft pink. He turned to ask Sanna about it, but she was still in the kitchen, pulling salt-crusted baked potatoes from the oven.
Bass kneeled on a bar stool and stirred sliced apples with cinnamon and sugar. On the counter were the fixings for a baked potato bar, with cheese, bacon, broccoli, sour cream, and minced chives.
“Are the apples above the fireplace meaningful?”
Einars bent lower to talk to Bass, as they layered the apples into a dish, forcing Sanna to answer the question.
“Those are all the apples we grow in our orchard.”
There were at least thirty. He hadn’t even known there were that many varieties of apple in the world.
“Did you paint them?”
“Some of them. Most were done by much older relatives.”
Sanna assembled her potato, piling it with cheese, bacon, and broccoli, then set the potato on a baking sheet. Isaac followed her lead, making one for himself and Bass—adding extra cheese to Bass’s—and setting them next to Sanna’s potato. Once all four potatoes were ready, she slid them into the oven to melt the cheese. While they waited, Einars ushered them to the huge table where he sat at the head with Sanna to his right, Isaac to his left, and Bass next to Isaac. Einars pulled their gooey dinners from the oven and served them onto waiting plates.
“Where’s your mom, Miss Lund?” Bass asked, a string of cheese dangling from his mouth. Isaac reached out to pull it from his lip. He looked to Sanna, curious about her response. But her lovely face was granite.
“We don’t talk about her.”
Bass looked down at his lap, and Einars coughed but didn’t acknowledge her terse response.
“It’s just a question, Sanna. He’s a curious boy, not a criminal,” Isaac said. He put his arm around Bass.
“Sorry.” Sanna said it, then quickly stuffed a huge bite into her mouth, eager to move past the question. Isaac kept his eyes on her, waiting for more. He didn’t like the way she brushed off Bass, especially if he was to spend so much time with her. She kept her eyes away from his. After their afternoon together, Isaac was starting to understand a bit more about her. She liked to keep people at arm’s length—shying away from his touch, smiling then shutting down. She could do that with him, but not with Bass.
“Tell me more about what you did in California,” Einars said.
Isaac pulled his eyes from Sanna to look at Einars. Bass, resilient, was back to devouring his dinner like nothing had happened.
“I work with companies to develop their online presence. Sometimes that means social media, sometimes that means a website, sometimes that means all of the above. I’ll learn about their business and customers, then develop a plan for them. I work with contractors to set up the websites and accounts they need and train their employees to use them.”
“Very interesting.” Einars chewed his food and nodded. “Social media, huh?”
He saw Sanna roll her eyes.
“Stuff like Facebook, Pa. Where Anders posts pictures of the girls.”
He nodded.