Leaning against the counter with her phone in her hand, Jeanie looked up from the glowing screen of her phone and peered out the kitchen window just above the sink. “What’s that?” She nodded toward the glass, and both Lucas and Mark sidled up next to her to see what she was looking at.
There was a generous swatch of open space just beyond the window, and while it wasn’t quite a lawn, it wasn’t anything a mower couldn’t fix. But Jeanie wasn’t focused on the grass that had grown wild across the backyard. She was directing her attention toward a copse of trees—a dozen straight rows running back an acre or two.
“Orchard,” Mark said. “A pretty big one, too.”
“A cherry orchard,” Lucas clarified. Jeanie turned to her dad. There are cherries? He nodded at her eager expression. “Go ahead, check it out.”
She slid her phone into the pocket of her pajama pants and gave them both a faint smile before slipping out the kitchen’s side door.
“Man,” Mark said after Jeanie was out of earshot. “She’s gotten big. You don’t see a kid for a year and it’s, like, you hardly recognize them.”
Mark’s statement stopped Lucas’s heart. Was that what he had to look forward to; hardly recognizing his own daughter after she returned to New York to go back to school? Even if he saw her every summer, that was nine months out of the year that he’d be without his kid. She’d grow up out of his line of sight.
“Yeah,” he said, watching Jeanie through the glass as she moved toward the trees.
He would lose her. If he didn’t make this work, if this project fell through, he would have nothing. The only thing he’d have left would be memories. Mere shadows of Jeanie’s former self. Of his former life. Of what he’d once had but would never have again.
9
* * *
Sunday, February 14, 1982
One Year, One Month Before the Sacrament
AUDRA WASN’T A fan of Valentine’s Day, but she baked heart-shaped sugar cookies anyway. She spent all morning decorating them with pink icing, as if doing so would give promise to something new, something she had always wanted but never had the chance to take for herself. Deacon’s talk of spirituality had given her pause. It had been a little creepy, but she couldn’t deny the pull she continued to feel. So they were reverent, spiritual; that didn’t mean she had to be. Turning away from Deacon and his friends just because they had alternative beliefs—whatever they were—would have been petty. Deacon was offering companionship, a sense of understanding that she hadn’t experienced before. Rejecting such a gift on account of him believing in spiritual awareness and self-enlightenment struck her as an unforgiveable sin. She gazed at the sugar cookie held in the palm of her left hand, the word LOVE scripted in pink across its face. She was afraid, but maybe her fear was a sign that this was just what she needed. Throw off the bowlines. Walk into the unknown. Be fearless. Open your eyes.
She spent more money on groceries than she ever had before, buying enough food to feed what struck her as an army. The love army, she thought, and cracked a grin as she unloaded her shopping onto orange Formica. She roasted a couple of chickens, made a green bean casserole, tossed a salad, and followed the recipe for fresh baked bread out of an old copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking. The plate of heart-shaped cookies was the finishing touch—an unspoken love letter to Deacon and his friends. Okay, it relayed. I’m scared, but I’m willing to listen. I’m tired of being alone.
She made all the preparations without the slightest idea of whether they were still on the beach, avoiding the thought that maybe they had packed up and left. She refused to believe that her chance to change her life had come and gone. When she slipped through the trees and into the clearing, her heart leaped at the sight of those two red tents. They shivered in the unrelenting wind, their hue darker beneath clouds pregnant with rain. Deacon looked up from the fire, Lily and Sunnie flanking him. He didn’t get up to meet her this time, allowing Audra to approach on her own. When she reached the warmth of the bonfire, she pulled her shoulders up to her ears and gave the trio an unsure smile.
“I was hoping that you’d all join me for dinner,” she said, her eyes fixed on the flames that warmed her in the fading daylight. “If you all are hungry,” she added with a murmur. “I just thought it would be nice.”
She waited a beat, then dared to glance up at them, her stomach unknotting when Deacon gave her an unabashed grin. He leaped up from where he sat, coiled his arms around her, and gave her a spin. “You’re glorious,” he told her, his lips whispering the words against her cheek. “An angel. The most beautiful girl in the world.”
A tiny tremor shivered through the arteries of her heart. Beautiful. The word swirled through her head. The most beautiful. Her bottom lip trembled as a ribbon of emotion unspooled inside her chest. Rather than feeling flattered, she found herself wrapped in a band of grief. Deacon’s words made her weak. His sincerity made her desperate. His touch made her numb with years of self-imposed isolation.