Chapter 3
three
MAC
I was watering the African violets out in the sunroom when I heard a commotion from the backyard.
After the apple-cannon incident two days ago, I was sort of expecting a retaliatory attack. It wouldn’t have been surprising to see Brady standing in my backyard with a twenty-four pack of single-ply, ready to toilet paper the whole house. His only hobbies seemed to be running his big mouth and annoying the hell out of me.
But it wasn’t Brady Judd completely dismantling the standing birdfeeder.
“Damn it,” I mumbled.
I set down the small watering can on the end table and walked to the other side of the room. The fall breeze ruffled my hair as I slid the door open on its tracks.
I clapped three times and hollered into the yard. “Get on out of here!”
The big black bear didn’t even look up from where it stood, pulling the top of the birdfeeder over toward the ground. The metal pole it was attached to groaned and bent under the animal’s massive strength. I tried yelling and clapping some more, but the bear spared me a single bored glance before it sat down heavily with its haul of birdseed that I’d just put out this morning .
As the beast shifted to paw at the contents of the feeder, I noticed its left ear. I sighed and shut the door, knowing there was no use bothering to try to scare it off.
When you lived in the mountains of Western North Carolina, a bear sighting was not out of the ordinary. Usually, bears were shy and more interested in the contents of your trash can than in interacting with humans. This particular black bear had been visiting our property for several years. The chunk out of her ear made it easy to keep track of her. Occasionally, in the late winter, she’d appear with a bear cub or two in tow. But since it was early October, she was alone, and from the looks of things, stocking up on reliable food sources.
My grandma Nola loved this pain-in-the-ass bear. Despite the troublemaking, I knew she’d want to hear about our little visitor.
My grandparents were currently in St. Petersburg, Florida, living that retired life. They usually spent the spring months traveling the country in their RV, returning home to Kirby Falls for the summer and holiday celebrations. Since they were away so much of the year, their house needed looking after. I’d been living in the big farmhouse overlooking the pond at Grandpappy’s since high school. The arrangement worked for all of us. I had my own space—the whole second floor—for nine months out of the year. And when Grandpa Junior and Grandma Nola were home, we coexisted pretty easily. They were fun grandparents, always had been.
I finished watering the rest of my grandfather’s plants and then grabbed my phone and took a seat. The sunroom was large and open. It was glass on three sides but heated and cooled along with the rest of the house. With the afternoon sun streaming in, it was a little warmer than the kitchen it was attached to.
I snapped a picture of the animal still going to town on the birdfeeder and fired it off with a text.
Me: Your friend is back.
My phone vibrated with an incoming call almost immediately, telling me my grandmother wasn’t at dinner with my grandfather or visiting friends in the condo community where they lived part of the year.
“Is my sweet bear having a good dinner?” she said in lieu of a greeting, her voice a soft coo for the giant, furry troublemaker .
“Yes, she’s happily destroying the birdfeeder I just refilled this morning.”
“Speaking of destruction of property ...”
My groan was loud enough that the damn bear looked over from her place in the grass.
Grandma Nola chuckled. “Word on the street is you shot up Judd’s with a paintball gun and an apple cannon. You sure do keep busy, MacKenzie Eloise.”
“First of all,” I replied tartly, “word on the street? Seriously, who says that? And I did not paintball Judd’s Orchard.”
“I noticed you didn’t address the apple-cannon part.”
I shifted in my seat a little before replying, “Okay, I did do that. But I went over the night before last and cleaned up all the exploded apple bits.”
“That’s my girl,” my grandmother replied warmly.
“You should really stay out of that nosy Facebook group,” I advised.
“I know. I love it.”
I fought a smile at that. My grandmother was a wildcard. She was sassy and willful and probably my favorite person in the whole world. She supported and believed in me no matter how much I didn’t deserve it. Of course I loved my parents and my sister and my cousins, but Grandma Nola was my ride or die.
Clearing my throat, I changed the subject. “Shouldn’t you be off playing shuffleboard or something?”
“Nope. Just lying by the pool with a mojito. Plenty of time to call and give you shit.”
I snorted. If I listened closely, I could hear cabana music playing through the pool speakers.
“Braggart,” I accused.
“Jealous,” she retorted happily.
“Damn straight.”
She laughed .
“Have a good evening, Grandma. I love you.”
I heard her straw suck up the last of her mojito and smiled.
“Love you too, sugar. Replace the birdfeeder for my bear.”
My eyes drifted to the beast and I rolled my eyes. “I will.”
“And stay out of trouble, young lady.”
Grinning, I replied, “I make no promises.”
We said our goodbyes and hung up. My amusement lingered until I heard the unmistakable crunch of plastic outside. RIP birdfeeder.
Apparently, I’d have to make a trip to the hardware store this weekend. Clearly, that bear wasn’t going to feed itself.
The following day, I strolled up to the little trailer we used as a ticket booth at the main entrance. It had a long counter across the front and two windows for Grandpappy’s visitors to purchase entry to a variety of entertainment. We had the corn maze, hayrides, apple-cannon shooting, the pumpkin patch, the sunflower maze, and, finally, the pick-your-own-apple side of the operation—the reason why I’d dropped by. I knew Larry was on the schedule to work the ticket booth this morning. She’d be on her own until lunchtime when business would pick up and Lori, one of the part-timers, would be in to help out.
“Hey, Larry, do me a favor,” I said by way of greeting.
My cousin glanced up from inside the trailer where she was counting out cash from the till. Her winged liner was spot-on, as always, and if I was a betting woman, I’d say she was wearing her beloved black combat boots. Larry’s dark hair was in a little topknot, and she eyed me as I propped my arms on the counter and stared up at her.
“What do you need?”
I laid my chin atop my forearms and made my eyes real big. “Lower the u-pick bucket cost by a penny.”
Larry sighed. “A penny? Again, Mac? Come on. ”
“It’s important. I’m thinking of the farm.”
“This is a waste of time.”
“Competition is healthy,” I argued. “Capitalism, baby.”
She rolled her dark eyes heavenward.
“Just do it, Larry.” I pulled out the big-cousin scowl. We were the same age, but that was beside the point. “And don’t tell Will.”
Larry shook her head but reached for the chalkboard sign propped up in her ticket booth window. “You and that Brady Judd have a problem. It isn’t natural or healthy to be so obsessed?—”
“Don’t start,” I interrupted and began backing away. “I’ll see you for lunch. Pizza with Becca. I’m buying.”
“Fine,” she called, visibly buoyed at the thought of Apollo’s delivery with our new friend. “And I want pineapple on my half!”
I kept walking and lifted my arm, giving her a thumbs-up.
Becca Kernsy had shown up back in August as a tourist on an extended work-from-home vacation, but I had a feeling that girl was here to stay. My family was half in love with her. Except for my cousin Will. That man was gone—head over heels and never coming back. I couldn’t wait for the day he realized it. Will needed something to shake him up, and Becca might just be up for the task.
Work stayed steadily busy throughout the day and into the evening. Leafers were in town in droves. They spent their tourist dollars in our small town while they took in the sights, snapped Instagram-worthy photos of fall leaves, and visited Grandpappy’s for apple picking. Since it was October, the pumpkin patch and corn maze were especially busy, too.
My regular duties as a full-time employee included rotating in and out of different positions. One day, I might work in the General Store alongside my parents, Robert and Patty, or the next, I could be scheduled to man the corn maze entrance or the apple cannon. I usually filled in where I was needed. I didn’t have a specific role on the farm like most of my family members.
My aunt Maggie wielded her spatula over at the Orchard Bake Shop, making pastries for the morning rush and cakes for special occasions. Maggie’s husband— my uncle William—was the head farmer and stuck to tending the fields. My cousin Will was sort of the overall manager at Grandpappy’s. He handled the accounting and ordering and just generally had to put out fires all over the place. I did not envy him that position. Sure, it would be nice to know what my schedule looked like from week to week. And maybe having some authority on the farm was something to aspire to, but with all of that came responsibility. Duty and obligation and accountability made things messy.
I just showed up when I was supposed to and did what I was told. There was freedom in that. I didn’t love working with the tourists, but who really enjoyed their day job? It wasn’t like I’d gone to college and studied business like Will. I didn’t have a specialty or specific skill to offer. I was just another cog in the machine that kept Grandpappy’s moving, and that was good enough for me.
One of my regular tasks was working the seasonal farmers’ market in downtown Kirby Falls. Grandpappy’s had a booth there, and we set up weekly, selling homegrown produce and goods from the bakery, like jams and jellies and scone and muffin mixes. I usually had to take a farmers’ market shift every few weeks.
And, lucky me, tomorrow was Saturday. I was expected bright and early.
I arrived on Main Street the following morning with two travel mugs of coffee and very little patience. I didn’t know why my weekends downtown constantly lined up with Brady’s or why our tents were always next to one another, but that seemed to be the way of things. He was working the Judd’s Orchard booth with his sister Joan. I could hear his big mouth before I even got halfway down the block.
Maybe if I ignored him, we could get through the next five hours without bloodshed or a black eye.
“Will came early and set everything up,” Larry said when I joined her.
I rolled my eyes. This wasn’t new, but it sure as hell was getting old.
Will, former professional athlete and overachiever extraordinaire, thought he was the only one capable of doing anything. He acted like Laramie and I were just dumb teenagers who couldn’t be trusted to drive the farm truck, much less set up the market booth. I knew he meant well, but sometimes I didn’t need to be reminded that I was a directionless twenty-eight-year-old who still lived with her grandparents. The very same grandparents I shared with Will. He treated me more like a wayward employee than a cousin. But Larry and I were used to it at this point. We loved the guy, but he drove us fucking crazy.
“Of course he did,” I groused, passing her the thermos with dark roast and hazelnut creamer.
“Thank you,” she moaned appreciatively, popping the lid and taking a deep inhale.
Despite having three more minutes on the clock, early birds were already wandering down Main Street and approaching booths. The road was closed to traffic so that pedestrians could mosey.
We sold to tourists and chatted with locals easily enough for the first hour or so. Eventually, Sheila Jessup—retired schoolteacher and active busybody—approached Judd’s tent next door. She was loud enough that I could hear her asking about the vandalism, undoubtedly eager for gossip for the town’s Facebook group that she ran, as well as the local podcast she recorded weekly. I noticed she sure wasn’t buying any apples.
I rolled my eyes as Brady’s equally loud voice indulged her in all the gossip she’d been seeking.
“Just let it go,” Larry murmured from my side.
“I didn’t say anything,” I grumbled.
“Yeah, but I can hear you grinding your molars. For the sake of my sanity and your tooth enamel, just ignore him.”
Honestly, I hadn’t planned on inserting myself one bit. I did have self-control, despite what my family thought. But Brady just would not shut up.
“Yes, ma’am,” he exclaimed at full volume, drawl as thick as molasses. “It’s just such a betrayal to be so blatantly attacked by someone in the community.”
“Oh, I do agree,” Sheila cooed sympathetically. “Our neighbors should be sources of friendship and comfort.”
My gaze drifted to the side against my will, and I caught Brady leaning back casually in his chair, a solemn nod aimed back at Mrs. Jessup.
As if sensing my attention, he glanced my way and smirked .
I could probably trace back a number of my angry outbursts over the years to the way Brady’s lips tilted up arrogantly at the corners. Like cause and effect. Pavlov’s slobbery dog and that damn bell all over again. And today was, regrettably, no different.
Heat gathered behind my sternum in a furious swarm, like hundreds of restless hornets ready to direct their wrath onto a specified target. I’d always hated that Brady could get such a reaction out of me, but I wasn’t going to sit here listening to him talk around me, insinuating crimes, placing blame, and spreading rumors, all without defending myself.
An instant later, I stood and faced the Judd’s booth, arms crossed and ready for a fight. “Maybe you just like the attention, Brady Judd. Did you ever think of that?” I heard Larry groan dramatically behind me. “Maybe you paintballed your own Apple House to get sympathy, media attention, and sales. That’s the theory I’m leaning toward.”
The front two legs of Brady’s chair hit the ground, and he turned to face me, bright blue eyes sparkling. “Now, why in the world would I ever do a thing like that?”
I tapped my chin like I was thinking hard. “You have always been jealous of Grandpappy’s. I have no doubt you’d cheat in an effort to outperform your rivals.”
He grinned, delighted. “So you think I’m outperforming you?”
I smiled too, all teeth. “Not a chance, Axe Body Spray.”
Brady frowned and ducked his head toward his armpit as if to sniff and then caught himself, replying haughtily, “Well, luckily, the sheriff’s office isn’t interested in your opinion.”
“And from what I’ve heard, they aren’t interested in yours either.”
My friend Mary Beth worked down at the sheriff’s office answering phones, and she’d told me that Brady called every day to check on the case. The deputy assigned to it tried to avoid Brady at all costs and had even given Mary Beth a standing order to tell him that the deputy was out of the office on important police work .
Brady gasped like I’d wounded him, clutching figurative pearls like a giant man-baby.
“She’s got you there,” Brady’s sister Joan stated diplomatically from his side. “Now, if you two are done scaring off all the customers, I’d really like to get back to work. I have no interest in hauling all these apples back to the farm this afternoon.”
I blinked and then looked around. Sheila Jessup was long gone, her retreating form already mostly down the block.
Brady scowled at me as if I was the one who’d gotten him in trouble with his no-nonsense big sister.
I scowled back just as hard.
“Obsessed,” Larry singsonged when I finally regained my seat.
“Not. A. Word,” I said pointedly, the angry hornet’s nest now a dull buzz in my veins.
My smartass cousin mimed zipping her smiling pink lips and tossing a key over her shoulder.
The tension broke when a customer approached. A leafer , judging by the tall boots and the bright white sweater tied artfully around their shoulders. Larry and I—and Brady and Joan, for that matter—got back to work, and I managed to ignore the neighboring tent and its occupants for the rest of the day.
At one point just before closing up shop, Larry’s best friend, Kayla, wandered over from the direction of the parking garage. Kayla had been a classmate of ours, and we’d known her since Sunday school before that. She and my cousin had always been close. They were even neighbors, living side by side in a duplex over on Elliott Street.
Kayla was tall and gorgeous, with long blond hair and big blue eyes. She resembled the stereotypical surfer girl with sun-kissed skin and a laid-back attitude. Back in school, she’d played volleyball and been a lifeguard in the summers. She was well-liked and popular, and we’d always gotten along.
“What’s up, y’all?” Kayla said casually as she approached .
Larry made a surprised little squeak that had me glancing her way as I greeted Kayla.
Eventually, Larry formulated a passable “hello,” and I wondered vaguely what was up. Maybe they were in a fight or something.
“Did you make it home okay the other night?” Kayla asked, directing the question to my cousin. “Sasha said you were trashed.”
“Yeah, of course.” Then Larry laughed brightly, and it was so fake that I wondered if Kayla would call her on it. She knew Larry just as well as I did, after all.
There was definitely something going on.
Kayla and Sasha worked over at Magnolia, a bar on the end of Main Street that catered to tourists. Respectable locals didn’t go there, but Larry did visit occasionally when Kayla was on shift. The bar was polished to within an inch of its life, and they only served wine, craft beers, and fancy cocktails. It was the local establishment version of someone who’d gotten too big for their britches. But they made a killing during tourist season, which was growing longer and busier every year.
Hell, Grandpappy’s did the same thing. We wouldn’t survive without tourist dollars, so who was I to judge uppity Magnolia Bar?
“Did you have fun with Sebastian?” Larry asked suddenly.
Kayla laughed. “Was that his name?”
I detected an audible swallow from my side. “Uh, yeah,” Larry confirmed.
“Anyway,” Kayla said after a moment of awkward silence, “you want to grab lunch after the farmers’ market? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”
Larry was tense, but she nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good. Unless you need some help loading up, Mac?”
I looked at the very few items we had left on the table. “No, I can manage. Y’all have fun.”
Kayla told Larry to meet her at Montell’s Sandwich Shop down the street when she was finished and then strolled off, phone already in her hand as she focused on the screen .
Larry and I sat quietly until I all but blurted, “Want to tell me what that was all about?”
She shifted in her seat. “Not really.”
“Laramie Annabeth,” I scolded.
“Jesus, fine.” She sighed. “Last week, I was hanging out with Kayla while she was bartending. She met some guy and went home with him. I decided to stay at the bar and enjoy myself, but I may have possibly overindulged.”
Surprise lit my features. Larry was fun-loving and extroverted and exuberant, but she was not one for public intoxication. “Were you dancing on their fancy tabletops or something?”
She winced. “More like puking and passed out in their fancy powder room.”
My shock turned to concern. “What the hell, Larry? Why didn’t you call me to come get you? How did you get home?”
“I got a hold of Becca, and she took care of me.”
My cousin looked sheepish and a little ashamed. I liked Becca a lot, but I couldn’t figure out why Larry would have called her instead of me.
“Oh.”
“I knew you were at the bonfire,” she rushed to explain. “And, honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking. I was so far gone.”
“Any particular reason you felt the need to get shit-faced?” I asked, proud of the gentleness in my tone when my instinct was to be accusatory.
Larry just shook her head.
I watched my cousin for a moment, the expertly applied makeup that gave her confidence and the vulnerable hunch of her shoulders suddenly at odds. I felt an ache in my chest at her obvious hurt and discomfort. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything. I know we give each other a hard time and joke around a lot. But you’re my family and my best friend. I love you.”
She didn’t look at me as she replied, just kept staring at the ground as she picked at the decorative rip in her black jeans. “I know that. ”
Larry was often so carefree and joyful that I rarely saw this side of her. It was stark and unsettling, and I didn’t like feeling powerless in the face of it. How did you help someone who was reluctant for it? Could you wrap them up in your love and protect them from the world if you didn’t know what you were protecting them from?
Finally, her head rose, and she gave me a smile—a fraction of the one I was used to seeing from her, but a smile nonetheless. “I love you too, you maniac. And you better check your phone. I saw a notification pop up a minute ago.”
I took the distraction for what it was and didn’t call her on it.
Reaching for my phone on the tabletop, I scrolled through and swiped away various notifications. There were a few emails. A new article had been posted for this travel e-magazine I liked. Finally, my eyes caught on a particular social media notification, and I felt that hornet’s nest buzz to life. I’d changed my alerts the other day to let me know anytime Judd’s Orchard posted on Chatter. For ... reconnaissance purposes. And it was a good thing I had.
@JuddsFamilyOrchard: With all due respect, imagine going to work every day and polishing your apple cannon.
Larry leaned into me to look at the screen. “Yikes. Shots fired.”
I glared at her for the pun and then started typing.
“Maybe you should take five before you reply. Just, like, a brief cooldown period. For safety,” she advised.
“Whose safety?” I asked. “His or mine?”
“Why not both?” she answered with a cheesy grin.
“Yeah, I’m not going to do that.”
I reread my reply before hitting post. Didn’t want any typos for Brady to draw attention to. Lesson learned. That had been a bleak day a few months back.
But, nope. This looked all good. I grinned wickedly.
@GrandpappysApples: @JuddsFamilyOrchard, With all due respect, aka none ... that’s it. That’s the post.