“We’ve hired some new people here. I’m thinking about taking a break from Fletcher International.”
“From what I hear, you’ve got the money to do it.”
“Yeah,” I manage a laugh. “We tried to get you in on the ground floor. Remember?”
“That life’s not for me.”
My stomach is tight. I don’t know why this feels hard to say. “It’s actually why I called… I don’t think it’s the life for me either. Not anymore.”
“I was wondering when you’d call to tell me that. I guess you had your reasons for waiting.”
I’m not sure what he means. “Yeah, well, I’ve been thinking about that summer in Harristown…” I’ve been thinking about Noel. “It was…” The best summer of my life?
“Hot… grueling.” He’s hassling me, and I laugh.
“It wasn’t all bad.”
“I’ve got a lot of work coming up in the next year. It’s time to rotate the trees.”
The welcome in his tone boosts my confidence. “What does that mean?”
“Means I need help. Peach trees produce a maximum twenty years if you’re lucky. We’re on year fifteen of these. I’ve got to start planting new ones and phase the old out. It’s a lot of work.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work.” My stomach is tight with anticipation. “The foreman’s cottage still vacant?”
He chuckles, “I’ll have it ready for you.”
“Give me a few days to settle up here, and I’ll drive down.”
I want to ask about her, but I don’t. I say goodbye and we disconnect. Seeing Noel again is like imagining a dream. I try to think of what I’ll say… My heart beats faster. What is she like now? I want to leave today, but I have to talk to Patton.
I quickly send him an email setting up a time to meet, then I head to my penthouse to start packing.
21
Noel
Seven years.
It’s been seven years since Miss Jessica gave me this old shed, and I’m finally opening the front door.
I got pregnant, dropped out of business school for a year to have a baby, went back to business school, graduated, and got my master’s degree.
Now I’m finally going to have a physical store.
As soon as I clean out the rats.
Akela’s right beside me, ears at attention. Her shoulders bristle like she senses the teeming rodent hoards lurking just beyond the rickety door…
I grit my teeth, squinting my eyes and raise the broom higher. My heart thunders in my chest, and it’s now or never. Placing my boot squarely in the center of the door, I give it a hard shove as I shout. “No rats!”
Like that’ll make a difference.
I jump back, and the door barely moves an inch.
All is quiet.
My shoulders drop with my exhale, but I summon my courage once more. “Okay, girl. This time we’re getting in.”
Akela dances side to side, and I pat her head. I step forward ready to kick, and she resumes attack stance.
Boot against the wood, I shove harder, screaming once more, “Please, Jesus! No rats!”
The door flies open, bouncing off the wall… and I jump back.
Again, nothing happens.
The inside is silent.
“Darcy Hayes said it doesn’t matter how talented you are. She said the judges only care about your dress and your hair… and how you smile. And how you walk.” Three and a half feet of golden-haired happy trots up behind me, not even pausing for a breath.
“Tara Dove.” My voice is quietly on guard. “I told you to stay at the house.”
“I have to sell sponsorships, Mamma! Darcy Hayes said her uncle Digger bought three full-page ads from her already!”
I step forward carefully, shining my giant flashlight along the wooden floors of the old shed. They’re covered in a layer of dust so thick, they look gray instead of brown.
“Digger Hayes has always been a show-off.” I walk to a large cardboard box in the middle of the room.
My daughter’s small voice goes whiney. “She’s gonna win with that kind of head start, and she can’t even sing You Are My Sunshine!”
“Dove.” I pause to face her. “That pageant is a year away. You’ve got plenty of time to sell sh… stuff.”
She blinks up at me with blue-green eyes that will never stop looking like her daddy’s, and her rosebud lips are pouty. “Darcy said you hate Princess Peach because you didn’t win it.”
“Of all the…” Shaking my head, I give the box a nudge with my boot. “I don’t like pageants because they’re just a bunch of opinions. They’re not reality.”
Or in the case of Princess Peach, one person’s bank account.
I give the heavy box a harder nudge, waiting to see what happens next. So far, it seems the stories of rats in this shed were greatly exaggerated.
“Why are you in here, Mamma?” Dove walks to an old desk moldering away against the wall. “Uncle Sawyer said he’d clean the shed for you.”
Feeling around the walls, my fingers land on a light switch. I flip it up and down, but nothing happens. “Uncle Sawyer’s got enough on his plate with planting all those peach trees. I’m perfectly capable of—ahh!”
A little white mouse streaks across the floor, and I squeal, hopping onto the desk. Akela charges after it, skidding to a stop at the crack in the floor and dancing around it.
“A mouse, Mamma! A mouse!” Dove shrieks loud enough to break glass, and I hop down and scoop her onto my hip, grabbing the flashlight again and heading for the door. “It was Angelina Ballerina!”
“I think we’ll let Sawyer come set some traps this evening.”
My daughter twists in my arms, looking back with round eyes. “If Uncle Sawyer catches the mouse, can I keep it in my room?”
“Mice shouldn’t live in houses.”
“That one does.”
Sliding her down my hip, I hold her hand as we walk up the hill to the farm house. Akela jogs along beside us. We only take a few steps before Dove starts to skip.
I glance down at her shiny blonde curls bouncing and smile. “What’s got you thinking about the pageant already?”
“They handed out sponsorship forms in class today. Mrs. Jenny said we all need to participate. It’s tradition.”
“I’m not sure about that.” Lifting her under the arms, I help her hop up the back steps to the kitchen, one by one.
“She said my grandma won every pageant she ever thought about. Is that true?”
“It’s true.”
“Do I look like her?”
I wasn’t expecting that question. “A little.”
“Woo hoo!” She pumps her little fist over her head as she bolts through the door. A quick detour, and she runs straight to my brother standing at the bar. “Leon’s home!”
She flings her arms around his legs, and he swoops her up onto his hip. “Hey, bird brain. What’s three times three?”
“I’m not a bird brain!” she cries. “Nine!”
“What’s four times five?”