Chapter 24: First Apples

On the fourteenth of October, Poppy turned one under the biggest Honeycrisp tree on the farm.

Byron had set up three folding tables on the grass and hung a string of paper lanterns between the branches.

The apples were ready that week, a month early, and the whole orchard smelled sweet.

Poppy sat in a wooden high chair he had built in the barn, with a pink striped hat on her head and both fists in the air.

She had her father's gray eyes.

I had seen it since the day of the letter.

I still caught it sometimes across a room, and had to stop.

The guests came up the gravel road in ones and twos.

The silver-haired woman brought a pie and a card with a check inside.

She told me the check was for the trust and not for the party.

The young deputy came in his own clothes, with his hat in his hands, and shook Byron's hand twice.

Byron's lawyer came with a crate of pears, because he said it was only fair to repay the Honeycrisps.

The nurse from St. Brigid's came too.

She was the one who had held my hand through the wedding stream, and I had mailed her an invitation in August.

She walked straight to me and hugged me for a long time without saying anything.

"She's gorgeous," the nurse said at last. "You did it."

"We did," I said, and I looked across the grass at Byron.

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