Chapter 13
The hay maze construction was already well underway when Rebecca arrived at Calloway’s Orchard.
It was a far cry from the way it had been done in their childhood, when volunteers and friends would get together and help out with the construction of a basic maze most people could easily find their way through.
Now a team of employees were hard at work, the field beside the rows of apple trees a hive of activity.
“Excuse me, do you know where Sabrina is?” Rebecca asked a tall twentysomething man holding a clipboard and wearing a headset.
He turned, and his eyes behind his thick-rimmed glasses lit up. “You must be Rebecca! I’m Byron. I’ve heard all about you.”
“Same thing goes for you,” Rebecca said. “Good things, of course. I’m glad she has someone to help her.”
“And I’m glad to be the one hired to do it. She’s amazing. Her vision can be hard to keep up with at times, but always worth it in the end. I’m learning so much from her.”
Rebecca laughed. “Seems like you really get Sabrina. Always a few steps ahead, always worth running to catch up.”
“Absolutely. Can I get you a hot coffee, warm cider, anything? It’s probably a good idea to bring something with you into the maze,” he advised. “It’s a bit of a long haul, and I’m afraid I still find myself getting lost sometimes.”
She accepted a cider and followed him toward the maze—but stopped in front of it and gazed around in wonder. “This is more than just a hay maze, isn’t it? This is true hay infrastructure.”
“Impressive, right?” He flipped a few pages of the clipboard until he came to a complex-looking map.
Then he checked his phone. “Okay, she’s right in the middle.
We just need to follow this map, and we’ll find her.
But don’t worry, we also have walkie-talkies.
” He tapped his headset. “Impossible to get truly lost.”
But it wasn’t exactly impossible. Byron took at least three wrong turns before Rebecca politely asked if she could look at the map. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Please don’t tell Sabrina I admitted this, but I am very bad with maps,” he said.
“Nothing to be ashamed of, Byron,” she said. “Our phones tell us which direction we need to go in these days. We don’t usually need to follow a map. Unless we’re in a hay maze.”
Byron laughed. “Exactly.”
It took some doing, and more than a few U-turns and back tracks, but they finally made it to the center of the maze, where Sabrina and her father, James, were surveying a large tower of stacked hay bales.
For a moment, when she saw James, who was tall, his dark-brown hair salted with white, his expression serious, Rebecca thought of the photo she had found of him and her mother as teenagers.
How close had they been? Then James turned and his expression lit up.
“Becky!” He was the only one she would ever allow to call her that, a throwback from her childhood with Sabrina, when he referred to them as a duo: Becky and Beans. “Have we gone too far this time, do you think? Tell us. The maze this year seems to have taken on a life of its own.”
“Never!” Sabrina said. “Trust the process. Right, Byron?”
“I trust you completely, boss,” Byron said with a grin, before he stepped away to talk to one of the hay maze crew members—who was actually wearing a hat and a T-shirt that read “Hay Maze Crew Member.” This was also new.
“Honestly, Sabrina, this is really something,” Rebecca said. “Every year, you and your dad say you’re going to make the best hay maze ever—but this time, I think you’ve actually done it.”
“And you say that to us every year,” James said. “That it’s the best one yet.”
“I always mean it! May you always keep outdoing yourselves. Although”—she glanced nervously at the teetering hay bales above them—“I definitely wouldn’t go any taller?”
“It’s true,” Sabrina said sadly. “We probably have to take down a few bales. There might just be such a thing as ‘too much.’ ”
“Words I never thought I’d hear you say,” Rebecca replied with a smile. “Now, how can I help? Put me to work.”
“We wouldn’t dream of it,” James said. “Sabrina and I were just about to head into the main house for a late lunch, but first we need to go check on a few last-minute supply orders. You go on ahead. Marion is expecting you.”
—
The Calloways’ kitchen still felt familiar—warm, spacious, and filled with the mouthwatering aroma of baking.
Marion Calloway was at the stove, her back to Rebecca, the sun flowing in through the kitchen windows reflecting the glints of silver in her long hair—curly and golden like her daughter’s, streaked with white.
She had passed her love of cooking and baking on to Sabrina, and seeing her here by the stove felt like going back in time.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Marion said, turning, crossing the room, and gathering Rebecca into her embrace. “You made it out of that maze. No such luck with the other two?”
“They’re just checking on something and said they’d be here soon,” Rebecca said.
“It is so good to see you.” The warmth in Marion’s tone was genuine, as always. “Sit, sit,” she urged. “Coffee first, while the soup warms and the bread cools, and let’s get caught up.” Rebecca sat and wrapped her hands gratefully around a warm cup of coffee.
“How are things going at the diner?” Marion asked. “Sabrina mentioned you were on the hunt for a contractor, but not having a ton of luck. Word on the street is you were thinking of hiring Eli Walsh?”
Rebecca focused on stirring cream into her coffee, appreciating that her friend had kept her confidence, but not quite sure how to answer this. She was grateful when James clattered into the kitchen—but the reprieve was brief because he had obviously overheard.
“Yes, I wanted to ask, why wouldn’t you hire Cort?” James joined them at the table with his own cup of coffee, while Sabrina breezed into the kitchen and said, “The reason for that exists inside our friendship cone of silence. But she did end up hiring him. Right, Becca?”
“I did,” Rebecca confirmed—somehow knowing this would not be where the conversation about Cort ended.
“Well, that’s good,” Marion said, but she still gave Rebecca a thoughtful look before bringing the fresh bread to the kitchen island, on a cutting board with a crock full of butter that looked like it had just been churned.
James hopped up and brought pottery bowls for Marion to ladle the soup into. “You used to tutor Cort in English lit, right?”
“Dad, this topic is off-limits,” Sabrina said.
“No, it’s okay,” Rebecca said, telling herself that in this town, you had to normalize casual conversation about Cort Adams. “Yes, I did. A long time ago.”
“He mentioned it when he was here in the winter, turning our attic into a loft bedroom. You’ll have to come take a look, it’s gorgeous.”
“We have a view of the entire valley from there. It really is lovely,” seconded Marion.
“And, yes, Cort spoke very highly of you when your name came up. Said he thinks your influence helps him be a better parent to his little Pip, who is adorably bookish. Not interested in sports at all, which is just fine with Cort.”
“You’ll never meet a sweeter, smarter boy,” James said.
“And, man, do I know from experience that being a high school athlete stays with you for the rest of your life. I still have a trick knee from my days as the Bramley High quarterback. But, yes, he was indeed saying that you instilled a love of good books in him that has only made his life better. I’m sure he’s thrilled to have the job. ”
Rebecca’s cheeks felt hot. She pulled at the neck of her thick sweater.
“Well, I was thrilled to give it to him. I didn’t ask him at first because I just assumed, with quality work like his, he wouldn’t be available.
But he is, and he’s starting tomorrow.” Eager to change the subject now, she added, “And this soup smells amazing.”
“Mulligatawny,” Marion said. “We had an apple recipe contest last year, at the Autumn Festival, and Mr. Patel’s was the winner. His secret ingredient is a grated Granny Smith. It’s become a family favorite.”
“I was thinking we should create a line of soups,” Sabrina said. “Can’t you just picture it, all of them with a certain Calloway apple as a secret ingredient?”
Rebecca turned to Sabrina’s parents. “Does she ever stop with the ideas?”
“Never, ever. She’s building an empire and we’re just along for the ride.”
“Well, I personally would buy enormous quantities of this soup,” Rebecca said. “I almost forgot about all my favorite comfort foods, until I came back here. I missed the town more than I realized.”
“She looks just like her mother, doesn’t she, James?” Marion said. “Especially when she’s deep in thought like that.”
“She sure does,” James said.
“That’s the second time someone has said that to me today,” Rebecca said, thinking of her grandmother’s friends at the rummage shop.
“It’s nice. I’d forgotten what it was like to be in a place where people have memories of Evie.
” She was about to mention the photo to James, but something stopped her.
She’d find the right time to ask, but it didn’t feel like now.
They ate their soup and bread, chatted about the maze and the town, their plans for the Autumn Festival, who was wearing what to the gala. “We have to go dress shopping,” Sabrina said to Rebecca.
“I doubt I’ll go,” Rebecca said. “You know dances aren’t really my thing.”
James stood to help clear up their empty bowls and suddenly grimaced.
All three women at the table looked at him. But he shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said. “Pain in the trick knee, never know when it’ll flare up.”
“You’ve been working too hard, that’s why,” Sabrina said. “You should take this afternoon off. I’ve got things well in hand with the maze.”
“Are you kidding? Setting up the maze is my favorite part of the year. I don’t want to miss a second of it. Stop trying to put me out to pasture, dear daughter. You can’t get rid of me so easily. And you don’t have to do everything just to prove that you can.”
Father and daughter shared a look Rebecca still had trouble decoding. “I just don’t want you to tire yourself out,” was all Sabrina said.
Rebecca stood, too, the now-empty breadboard in hand. “Here, let me help.”
“You’re our guest,” Marion admonished. “No need.”
“And speaking of being our guest,” James said, “will you come to dinner this weekend? I just got one of those smokers shaped like an egg!”
“Making brisket is now his entire personality,” Sabrina said. “Not that any of us are complaining. It’s so good. And Mom and I have a lot of fun coming up with sides to go with it.”
Rebecca told them she’d be there, then said her goodbyes and headed off down the driveway.
It was late afternoon now, and the sun sloped through the rows of apple trees as the scent of the sun-warmed ripening fruit filled the air.
She reached up and plucked one from a branch.
As she did, she found herself thinking of Cort, and the apple she had picked and handed him the day before.
She thought of the Calloways, too—and then of her mother.
You didn’t grow up in a place like Bramley Hollow, where the people were as connected to one another as branches and leaves on the same tree, and not become a part of each person’s growth, their lives.
Everyone in this town was separated by the merest of degrees—but still, she wasn’t sure why that photo of James and her mother made her so nervous.
Why she wanted to bury it, like a seed, and hope nothing came of it.