“Sanna, why don’t you pull out a few bottles of cider for dinner?” Einars said.
Glad for the distraction, Sanna brought out three large bottles she had in the fridge, all from the same batch—toasty brown. Not the most appetizing color, but it was the best match to go with a dinner like this one. It was a nearly still, unfiltered scrumpy style that was layered and complex, but not sweet and not dry. It wasn’t acidic, so it didn’t compete with the tomato sauce, and the subtle apple notes didn’t confuse the palate with too many conflicting flavors. It was refreshing and smooth, a dark amber in color with bits of sediment floating around. She poured it into stemless glasses for each of the adults and enjoyed how the evening light got trapped, making the liquid glow when she held it up in a beam of evening summer sunlight.
She set the remaining open bottles on the table and tried to catch her brother’s eye. Anders shoveled his food in without a word, still flipping through papers, tut-tutting as he discovered a new bill.
“Anders, put that away. We’re eating,” Einars said.
“We need to talk about these,” Anders said.
“Later. Now is the time for eating and conversation. We all worked hard today and deserve some good food and better company, which is saying much given Mrs. Dibble’s exceptional culinary talents.”
Mrs. Dibble blushed and seemed to flutter her eyelashes at Einars, then filled his plate so he could eat with his one working arm. They all started eating, and Isaac sipped his cider, looking immediately to Sanna.
“You brewed this?”
Sanna cringed at the term brew, but didn’t feel like going into the difference between brewing and fermenting—so she nodded and focused on her food. That way, she couldn’t pay attention to how his long fingers held the glass in his hands as he studied the color. He may as well have been studying her. She felt exposed and naked as he took another sip. Did he like it? Hate it? Not everyone liked cider, and normally she didn’t care. She didn’t want to care now. Instead, she built the perfect forkful of Parmesan, lettuce, and crouton rather than watch him—but that didn’t stop her from hearing the clink of glass on his teeth as he took a much longer sip.
“That’s astounding,” he said. “It goes so much better with the meal than any red wine I’ve ever had.” He smacked his lips and took another sip. “It really lets the food shine.”
Sanna had to respond. She couldn’t ignore him no matter how much she wanted to. She couldn’t keep eating, then escape with a plate of dessert to the loft as she usually did. She couldn’t rewind time to the beginning of the summer when she only thought about the next cider she wanted to blend. Or ignore that the memory of him washing her hands after her dad’s accident had played through her mind before she’d fallen asleep every night that week.
“Thank you.” That’s all she could muster and hoped it would be enough. She could feel her father watching her, and Mrs. Dibble half listening to their very one-sided conversation. She sipped her own cider and enjoyed the burst of soothing rich brown that rushed her senses. Toasty really wasn’t the right term. It was lush and alive, like peat or a balanced dark chocolate.
“Sanna, this is amazing.” His voice was soft and rumbling as he tried to keep the conversation from prying ears and eyes. When did their chairs become so close? They had an entire table. His voice in her ear was rich, just like the cider was in her throat. She couldn’t help but look at him, and his face was so close. Everything about him was rich and balanced. He was the physical embodiment of this cider. Would she discover more layers the longer she knew him? He was close enough that the flecks of gold in his eyes sparkled at her like the cider’s missing effervescence. He was close enough for her to smell the cider on his breath, the color of it making her light-headed and giddy. She’d never experienced her cider that way. Would it be even more potent if they kissed? She leaned away to capture her runaway thoughts.
“It’s my favorite of the current batches.”
“Batches? You have different types?” He took another long drink. “Anytime you want a sampler, I’m here for you.” Sanna’s mouth curved. He had no idea how little she needed a sampler. She always knew exactly how it would taste before she tried it. “I mean it.” Then he set his hand on her arm, the fingers warm through the thin cotton of her sweater, and the room turned upside down. Her nerves exploded and then calmed to a simmer instantly.
“I’ll remember that,” Sanna whispered, and pulled her eyes away from him and back toward the food that hadn’t changed, but her appetite had. This was too much for her—all the new emotions and interactions overwhelmed her order and she couldn’t sort out what was what. Did she want to know Isaac better? Being near him could calm her, at least when it wasn’t scattering her nerves like shards of glass on a sidewalk. She swayed toward him, then caught herself and pulled back.
Her hand traced a circular stain on the table the diameter of a mug and remembered the day the Donor left. She and Anders had been building snow forts in the orchard. Their dad had plowed snow into a huge mound earlier in the day so they could carve tunnels in it like prairie dogs. The sun had disappeared even though it wasn’t even five o’clock. Their noses and cheeks were flushed—or blooming with snow roses, as their father used to say. They clomped up the wooden steps, snow coating their clothes like an extra sheet of insulation, and stopped at the top to remove all the layers, then carried them to the rack set next to the fire for the purpose of drying out their snowy coats and snow pants.
Their parents weren’t anywhere.
“Pa?” Sanna called. She wanted hot cocoa, and her mom didn’t like it when they made a mess. “Mom?” Taking charge, Anders filled two mugs with milk, warmed them in the microwave, and Sanna mixed in lots of hot cocoa powder, careful to wipe up any that fell on the counter. They had carried their steaming mugs to the table and set them down when a sound came from the loft.
Anders raced up the steps before Sanna. He was always beating her at things. Sanna followed him, but before she could reach the top, Anders spoke.
“Sanna, stay downstairs.”
She didn’t listen. When she reached the top, she saw Anders crouched over a lump on the floor. As she got closer, she knew the lump was her dad. His body shook, and sobs tore the painful silence.
“I told you to stay downstairs.”
“What’s wrong?” She crossed the loft to them. “Is he hurt?”
“Go, Sanna.”
But her dad shook his head as he straightened. When Sanna’s eyes met his, she ran to him and wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back, the tears on his face wetting the top of her head, her hot cocoa forgotten.
He pulled back and opened his arms to include Anders.
“Mom is gone. She’s not coming back. Ever.”