Love and Peaches (17 page)

B
irdie ran around all morning, getting the workers ready to go. There was so much to do that Birdie hardly had to think about the actual leaving. Before she knew it, the bus was pulling in.

She felt the moment upon her suddenly. And then she was wrapped up in hugs and
te amo
s and
Dios te acompaña
s. God be with yous. Within five minutes, they all had squashed themselves into the bus and the door was closing behind them. Birdie looked over. Poopie was crying, with Birdie's dad's arm wrapped around her, waving.

The bus pulled out, its passengers looking like a group of kids leaving an amusement park. There were loud shouts, songs, and a radio playing. They pulled to the end of the driveway, slowed for a second, turned right, and they were gone.

Poopie turned, sucking in great gulps of air between her tears, and walked into the house. Birdie felt her dad's hand on her shoulder.

They didn't say anything to each other for a few seconds; they just watched where the bus had been. Birdie's dad gave her
shoulder a squeeze. And then he turned and followed Poopie inside.

Birdie stood aimlessly for a moment, and then she wandered into the peach trees, walking until she came out on the other side at the lake.

She clambered up onto the rock at the edge of what used to be the water. The hot summer had almost dried it up. Murphy had jumped off this rock when they'd first gone swimming together. Leeda's mother had lost a Barbie in the deep crevice that nearly split the rock in half. Birdie sat, looking at the muddy grass, twirling her ring around her finger.

She had been to a church once where someone had laid their crutches at the foot of a statue of the Virgin Mary. The story went that the person had been healed and had walked away, free of the thing they'd been bound to for so long. She pulled her ring off, staring at it thoughtfully. And then she held it over the crevice and dropped it in.

She wanted to leave a piece of herself here. Maybe that would be enough.

 

At the house, she stood at the bottom of her tree, staring up at it. She climbed up the ladder and unmade her bed. She grabbed an armful of books and started to carry them down.

Slowly she took the house apart, piece by piece.

“D
o you think they want this?” Murphy asked, holding up a cookbook with a French guy wearing a beret and holding an armful of pastries. “I mean, I think it's from 1960.”

Leeda looked up from where she was crouching in front of the pantry, her hair pulled back in a thin white scarf that was tied at the nape of her neck, her face freckled from the sunshine but pale white underneath, like she hadn't slept. She shrugged.

Murphy gazed at the book then loaded it into the open box in front of her, next to the rest of the contents of the shelf. Little by little, they were packing up the Darlingtons' house.

“What did they do when they saw how many you had?” Murphy asked.

“The lady at the front desk was speechless.”

Leeda had taken her animals to the pound the day before. She looked like someone had punched her in the stomach. Murphy had never seen her looking quite so empty. She moved like a piece of string.

They heard the clatter of Birdie upstairs, packing her room.

“I'm sorry, Lee.”

Leeda laid her hands on her knees, chasing her breath. She couldn't seem to catch it, though.

Murphy loaded the last cookbook into the crate and picked it up. She carried it to the door, dropping it on the porch and dusting off her hands.

Her eyes drifted to the driveway.

“Crap.”

Judge Abbott's car was parked next to Leeda's. He walked toward the dorms and disappeared around the corner. Murphy debated running back into the house, but she decided on making a break for the endless peach rows instead, running across the yard into the trees far enough to be hidden from sight.

From where she crouched, she had an obstructed view of the yard. She saw the judge walk across the grass to the house and poke his head through the open door, reluctant and polite. Leeda appeared a moment later and shook her head, her hands in the pockets of her shorts. He looked around then started walking, to her surprise, into the rows toward her. Murphy hit the deck, lying belly down on the grass. He disappeared into some trees to her left. Murphy laid her cheek on her hands and waited, watching an ant walking up and down a blade of grass. The smell of dirt tickled her nose. She could hear the judge's distant footsteps. And then suddenly a pair of shiny brown loafers was in front of her face, and she realized the distant footsteps must be Walter's. These shoes belonged to Judge Abbott.

Murphy looked up, shielding her face from the sun, and then stood.

“Hey, Judge.”

“Murphy.”

“What's going on?” She stuck her hands in her pockets and looked around, her face stone.

“I was wondering if you'd like to go to a movie with me tonight. Maybe have dinner. Talk a little bit.”

“No thanks.” Everything about Judge Abbott annoyed Murphy. The way he looked at her so intently. His loafers. He reminded her of her third-grade teacher.

The judge looked nervous, sheepish, and deeply sad. “I called you.”

Murphy just tugged absently on a nearby branch.

Judge Abbott looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I…I've been wanting to give you these.”

He put a little box into her hands.

Murphy took the box and stuck it in her back pocket, expressionless. If she had been hurt or angry with him, she would have thrown them back in his face. But she wasn't angry. She just felt kind of bad for him. “Okay. Thanks. Well, see ya.”

“Murphy, I always wanted you. I wanted to be your dad. I talked to your mom about it when you were really small, after I'd figured it out. But I had gotten married by that point. And she said she didn't want you to be second to anyone. And she didn't want to do the test then to make sure. I respected her wishes.”

“Please.” Murphy held up her hand in a stop motion. “I don't want to know. I don't care. It's water under the bridge.”

“I promise you, Murphy, I never would have made you second. When my wife died…it felt like enough was enough. But Jodee didn't feel…”

Murphy started walking. She walked straight down the row, across the grass, and into the house, closing the door behind her.

 

“Ballerinas.”

“What?” Jodee McGowen stood in the kitchen looking lost. She stared at the ballerina earrings Murphy had laid on the counter.

“Ballerina earrings. That's what the judge just gave me.”

“Murphy, I know you're mad. But Miller has always looked out for you. All those times you got in trouble? You know that. And he's always wanted to be part of your life, but I always resisted. And then he was married and, you know…”

“I'm not mad about any of that.”

“Then what is it?”

Murphy looked down at her fists, clenched on the counter. “Why did it have to be someone like that, Mom? Why does it have to be him?”

“What are you talking about? Why not him?”

“He's so…awful! He wears loafers. He's got a house in a subdivision. He's a sellout. Just an ordinary, boring sellout.”

Her mother looked bewildered. “Sellout?” She leaned a hand on the counter and narrowed her eyes, her words coming out twangy with emotion. “You'd rather he be someone who skipped out on you. That's better than somebody reliable? Somebody…good? Someone who tried to be there for you. That's what you're saying?”

Murphy didn't know. She felt all twisted up inside.

“Murphy, don't you expect more for yourself than just…being unencumbered?”

Murphy wanted to respond bitingly, but everything she thought of sounded too dramatic. She was free. She didn't owe anyone. “I can do anything I want,” she said.

“What about the things that matter more?” Jodee asked.

Murphy bit her bottom lip, unconvinced, angry.

“I don't want these,” she said, handing her mom the earrings. “And I don't want him. Can you please just give these back and tell him that?”

Her mom looked at her, resigned. Murphy knew the look well.

It was the look of someone expecting more from her.

I
t was surprising how many people showed up on the day the Darlington farmhouse was to be demolished. Some people came whom Birdie had never seen. She wasn't sure why they would have come at all. An auction for the property was set for Saturday, and maybe some of them had come to see it all firsthand. But ultimately, it was hard to say why they were all there.

It was only a house. It was only a day.

 

The bulldozer sat at attention, ready to go. Walter was holding Poopie's hand. Leeda and Murphy and Birdie's mom stood behind Birdie, but nobody touched her. Nobody tried to hold her hand. She must have been giving off the impression of being an island.

From where they all stood in the grass behind a yellow piece of tape, Birdie watched the contractor come out of the house for the last time and walk down the saggy front stairs. Casually, he walked over and talked to a man standing by the bulldozer. The man looked up at the driver, said something, and nodded to him.

Birdie had resolved to stand there and take it like an adult. She didn't decide to do what she did. She just did it. When she saw the operator reach for the key of the bulldozer, she ducked under the tape and ran for the house.

At first she thought she might lie down on the front porch and be a human shield. But instead, moving on some deep impulse, she opened the door and ran inside, slamming it behind her. She ran up the stairs to her bedroom. She swooped down into the corner by the window, wrapped her arms around her knees, and began to cry.

Birdie cried like she hadn't cried since she was five years old. She cried for the workers that were gone, and for Honey Babe the dead dog, and for the caves under the house, and for Enrico. She cried for the simple fact that people lost things that mattered.

She knew they were outside thinking she was ridiculous, but she didn't care. She planted her hands on the wooden floor of her room and cried her heart out.

When she finally looked up from her knees, Poopie was kneeling beside her. Behind her were her mom, Leeda, and Murphy. They didn't look like they thought she was ridiculous.

“Avelita,” Poopie whispered. “Avelita, there. It's okay.”

Birdie stared at Poopie for a second, then wrapped her arms around her neck and cried some more. Poopie didn't laugh at her or tell her to buck up. She rubbed her hair like she completely understood. Like she understood everything.

“Are they gonna knock the house down and kill us all?” She sniffled through her hair against Poopie's shoulder.

“We could go down with the ship,” her mom said, reaching
down to stroke Birdie's hair. Birdie laughed through her tears and sat back, rubbing her eyes.

“I feel like a little kid,” she said, sniffling and looking down at the floor.

“That's okay,” Poopie said.

Leeda and Murphy crawled forward and sank back against the wall next to Birdie. Poopie and Cynthia did too, on the other side.

They sat staring at the opposite wall, thinking their own thoughts, which all revolved around the same basic things.

“I could go for a Nicorette,” Murphy said, and Leeda snorted. Birdie laughed too.

A few minutes went by until they pulled one another up.

One by one, they filed out.

Birdie turned around to look at her room. She didn't know where she was going now, but she knew it felt like jumping off a cliff. For the first time ever, she couldn't see what was waiting for her.

She turned and followed.

 

All in all, thirty-two people watched the Darlington farmhouse get knocked to the ground. A few of them cried. Several of them shook their heads, thinking it was the end of some kind of era they hadn't even known was an era. Within fifteen minutes, they saw a hundred-year-old house reduced to a pile of rubble on the ground.

Afterward, everyone stood and stared at one another like creatures in shock. And then they began to trickle away to go about their lives. If you had asked them tomorrow what they'd
done the day before, half of them would have had to think for a minute to remember that yes, they'd gone to see a demolition.

Only a few of them thought they saw shapes in the clouds on the drive home. And the shapes were faint—of things they couldn't quite name and hadn't seen yet.

L
eeda peered through the open doors of the trailer, making sure everyone was situated. Mitzie and The Baron were the backmost two ponies, and The Baron snuffed at her, stretching out his neck to sniff her shirt and give it a tiny nibble. Leeda placed her hand assertively on his muzzle and gave him a nudge so he wouldn't chew a hole in the fabric. She leaned down and nosed him, smelling his scent.

“They'll take good care of you,” she said. Still, she couldn't look him in the eye. Closing the trailer doors, she turned and walked inside. The living room, but for a few pens that needed to be disassembled and taken outside, was pristine and quiet. It felt empty, like a room that had just been vacated, even though the animals had been gone for days. But it looked perfect.

She checked the answering machine one more time—nothing but a few saved messages from Eric, the last one saying he'd see her at the airport in four days. She went upstairs to grab her purse. She sat on the bed. The house felt as silent as if it were buried underground. Leeda had never heard such quiet in her life. She had never felt more alone.

She thought, since this was her last chance, that she might take something more of her grandmom's with her. One last magpie item for the road. She opened the top drawer of Eugenie's chest and looked through her jewelry, searching for something small and cheap, without any value to anyone but her. The jewelry box had two compartments, one on top of the other. Leeda pulled off the top layer and stopped, peering down at an envelope.

It was another letter. Leeda studied it curiously. She wondered why it was apart from all the others.

She slid it out of the yellowish envelope, opened it, and read.

Leeda stared at the letter, utterly blank. Mandie Rae? Her brain moved slowly over the very simple truth, as though the wheels in her head had started running slower. A woman. Her grandmother had loved a woman.

Leeda swallowed. She sat for several minutes, absorbing it. She stared at the full signature again. It was probably the reason
Eugenie had kept this letter hidden and separate. Her lover had had the courage to sign her full name.

Leeda let out a shuddering, angry sigh.
They had never had a chance,
she thought, her head spinning. Not with Eugenie being who she was. It would have been a slim chance for anyone. But for Eugenie—perfect and respectable—it would have been almost impossible.

Finally she put the letter into its envelope and folded it into her pocket, holding it tightly in her fist.

A heavy weight bore down on her as she walked to the trailer. Maybe part of her had hoped something else for the two of them, despite what history told her. But it was the difficulty of their love that dragged at her. It was senseless. In a different kind of world they could have let themselves be happy. But in the world her grandmom had lived in, brick walls had stood firmly between Eugenie and true happiness.

Leeda pulled on her raincoat, hoisted up her bags, and headed out the front door, locking it behind her with a knot in her throat.

She put her stuff in the passenger seat and climbed into the driver's side, looking behind her to make sure the trailer was okay before starting the ignition and slowly backing out. A few knickknacks sat on the dashboard where Leeda had placed them to make room in her purse for a water bottle. Her Miss Piggy. The half a crayon. Some bark.

She drove about twenty-five miles per hour, so it took forever to get down Main Street. Then she was crawling out Anjaco Road, past the grainery, and toward the fairgrounds. A sign loomed up on her in rainbow letters:
AUCTION TODAY
!

She had seen the sign a million times. There were auctions at the fairgrounds every Saturday. Today, she knew, they were auctioning the orchard. Because of the weather, the grounds would be muddy. It would be miserable. Just the way it should be.

The sign crawled past her, and then she was on empty road, just trees on either side.

Her mind turned back to it, though. Again and again, she came back to the sign. On her right, the town dump, where people left used tires and appliances and all their trash, was approaching.

Suddenly, forgetting the trailer behind her, Leeda made a sharp, sudden turn into the dump. She swiveled in her seat to make sure the trailer had stayed hitched.

She sat for a moment, staring at the windshield wipers breathlessly, the knot in her throat huge, tears springing to her eyes. And then she swiped at them, sniffed, gathered herself, and pulled a wide U-turn, back onto the road the way she'd come. She pressed harder on the gas. As she drove faster, an irrepressible smile grew on her face, and her heart raced in pure, unadulterated fear.

She had just realized there was somewhere else she was supposed to be.