stay. And he would’ve. And things would’ve gone on like they always had. But I still loved him, and I wanted him to be happy. I knew he could never be happy around here. And I knew you needed more than sporadic visits or life on the road. So I made the only choice I felt like I could. I told him to stay away. I told him to go chase his dreams, to find what happiness he could out there, but I told him to forget about us. I knew you’d never have a chance to heal if he kept coming in and out of your life.”
Even though I understand why she did what she did, I’m not certain I can see why she kept it from me all this time. She let me think he abandoned us because he loved his dreams more than he loved us. In a way, that was true. But he would’ve kept coming around if she hadn’t told him not to. And I’m just not sure how I feel about it now, how I feel about him. And her.
“Mom, why are you telling me this now?” I ask, my tone rife with frustration.
“Because I could always see how it hurt you when he would come and then go, but I never saw how much it hurt you that he left and never came back. But I’m seeing it now. And I don’t want you to live your life based on a single event when you don’t have all the information.”
I don’t even know what to say to that. I want to ask her what the hell she’s talking about or if she’s been taking someone else’s meds. But I don’t. Because the more I think about it, the more I think I know what she’s trying to say. And the more I think she’s trying to help me not lose someone I’ll regret losing for the rest of my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE- Jenna
A loud bark at my right ear provides me with a very rude awakening. After spending a nearly sleepless night tossing and turning, agonizing over the situation with Rusty, I’m not entirely surprised when I roll over to look at the clock and see that it’s almost noon.
Einstein, my eerily intelligent, solid white Labradoodle, barks again, throwing his muddy paws up on the side of the bed and scratching at me with his blunt claws.
“Einstein, no!” I chastise.
He stares me down for several seconds, panting heavily. Finally, he slides his feet off the bed then turns and trots to my closet. He brings back one tennis shoe, drops it on the floor beside the bed and barks again.
“It’s too early to walk,” I tell him, flopping back down on my pillow. I hear his toenails on the hardwoods and a few seconds later the thonk of another shoe hitting the floor. Another bark. “Einstein, I said no!”
Another scrape from a big paw has me up and out of the bed. Angrily, I grab his collar and tow him toward the door. That’s when I hear the sound of a loud engine pulling up in front of the house.
I stop and listen. Einstein is absolutely still as he watches me. He’s a very smart dog and this behavior isn’t like him. A little thread of alarm snakes its way down my spine.
I hear the engine shut off. Then a door slam. Then another. And then someone is shouting, “He’s in orchard. This way.” The voice is heavily accented and unfamiliar, making me think it’s one of the pickers.
But if someone is hurt out in the orchard, why is a picker at the house doing the talking rather than my father?
Apprehension brings me fully awake. I reason to myself that it’s probably because Daddy is still in the orchard. He’s not the type of person to leave someone who’s hurt. He’d send someone else for help. He probably called 911 from his cell phone and then told one of the pickers to go wait for the paramedics to arrive.
Jumping out of bed and rushing to the window, I pull back the pale pink sheer curtain and peek through the slats of my blinds.
There’s an ambulance in my driveway. I catch the departure of a dark-haired guy, dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt (obviously the picker) leading two uniform-clad emergency
Even though I understand why she did what she did, I’m not certain I can see why she kept it from me all this time. She let me think he abandoned us because he loved his dreams more than he loved us. In a way, that was true. But he would’ve kept coming around if she hadn’t told him not to. And I’m just not sure how I feel about it now, how I feel about him. And her.
“Mom, why are you telling me this now?” I ask, my tone rife with frustration.
“Because I could always see how it hurt you when he would come and then go, but I never saw how much it hurt you that he left and never came back. But I’m seeing it now. And I don’t want you to live your life based on a single event when you don’t have all the information.”
I don’t even know what to say to that. I want to ask her what the hell she’s talking about or if she’s been taking someone else’s meds. But I don’t. Because the more I think about it, the more I think I know what she’s trying to say. And the more I think she’s trying to help me not lose someone I’ll regret losing for the rest of my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE- Jenna
A loud bark at my right ear provides me with a very rude awakening. After spending a nearly sleepless night tossing and turning, agonizing over the situation with Rusty, I’m not entirely surprised when I roll over to look at the clock and see that it’s almost noon.
Einstein, my eerily intelligent, solid white Labradoodle, barks again, throwing his muddy paws up on the side of the bed and scratching at me with his blunt claws.
“Einstein, no!” I chastise.
He stares me down for several seconds, panting heavily. Finally, he slides his feet off the bed then turns and trots to my closet. He brings back one tennis shoe, drops it on the floor beside the bed and barks again.
“It’s too early to walk,” I tell him, flopping back down on my pillow. I hear his toenails on the hardwoods and a few seconds later the thonk of another shoe hitting the floor. Another bark. “Einstein, I said no!”
Another scrape from a big paw has me up and out of the bed. Angrily, I grab his collar and tow him toward the door. That’s when I hear the sound of a loud engine pulling up in front of the house.
I stop and listen. Einstein is absolutely still as he watches me. He’s a very smart dog and this behavior isn’t like him. A little thread of alarm snakes its way down my spine.
I hear the engine shut off. Then a door slam. Then another. And then someone is shouting, “He’s in orchard. This way.” The voice is heavily accented and unfamiliar, making me think it’s one of the pickers.
But if someone is hurt out in the orchard, why is a picker at the house doing the talking rather than my father?
Apprehension brings me fully awake. I reason to myself that it’s probably because Daddy is still in the orchard. He’s not the type of person to leave someone who’s hurt. He’d send someone else for help. He probably called 911 from his cell phone and then told one of the pickers to go wait for the paramedics to arrive.
Jumping out of bed and rushing to the window, I pull back the pale pink sheer curtain and peek through the slats of my blinds.
There’s an ambulance in my driveway. I catch the departure of a dark-haired guy, dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt (obviously the picker) leading two uniform-clad emergency
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