“Do you like Dan?” Her smile widened and she elongated her pronunciation of his name, almost singing it.
“Yes. He is a very nice person.” I hoped my answer sounded as diplomatic as I’d planned. My feelings for Dan were complicated enough without trying to explain them to a ten-year-old that I barely knew.
“No, I mean, do you like him, like him? Like a—” Melissa’s question was cut off by her mother’s voice.
“Melissa Ann Burgess!” she called across the diner. “Stop minding other people’s business and get over here. It’s time for your brownie.”
Melissa’s smile dropped. “Sorry,” she muttered.
“It’s okay. You have nothing to be sorry about.” I reached out and patted her arm. “A brownie sounds really good. I wish I could have one.”
“You can’t,” she said with a sigh. “It’s a special brownie just for me.” She slid out of the booth without further explanation and walked over to the counter where her mother was waiting. After my recent discovery and conversation in Dan’s apartment, I watched again with renewed curiosity as Erica removed a brownie from a cellophane wrapper, cut it into four even pieces, and proceeded to feed it to Melissa between sips of milk. When she was done, she kissed her daughter on the forehead and sent her to the back of the restaurant.
After Melissa disappeared through the door leading to the kitchen, I quickly gathered my things and approached the counter. Erica grabbed the cellophane wrapper, tossed it in the trash behind the counter, and swept the crumbs away with her hand.
“How were your waffles?” she asked while wiping away the crumbs on her hand.
“Good,” I mumbled, not meeting her eye. I used the opportunity to snatch the wrapper out of the trash can and read the label.
It was the logo I recognized from Mavis’s bakery, Four and Twenty Blackbirds, and another name I recognized: Annie’s Green Gables.
“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” she asked after whipping around to catch me rooting through her trash.
“I could ask you the same question,” I hissed while shaking the cellophane wrapper at her. I was completely aware that conversation had hushed in the restaurant at Erica’s outburst. “Are you giving your daughter weed brownies?” I asked in an even lower whisper. Erica eyed me for a long moment before casting her eyes around the diner. Finally, she rolled her eyes, snatched the wrapper out of my hands, grabbed me by the wrist of my good hand, and pulled me toward the back of the restaurant, shouting at a server across the room to watch the counter for her.
“Where are you taking me?” I hissed again as I was dragged through the kitchen and into a small hallway, where we finally stopped in front of a closed door. Erica released my wrist and put a finger over my lips before slowly opening the door to an office. Curled up under a blanket, fast asleep, was Melissa. Erica pulled the door closed.
“Is she okay?” I whispered.
“She is now.” Erica sighed. “When Melissa was four, she got an infection. She was sick for a very long time, and we almost lost her. Once she recovered from the infection, she began to have seizures—lots of seizures. She could barely leave the house. The doctors say it was caused by the fever, but we’d been fighting to keep it under control. Four years ago, we were at our lowest point. Our baby was on enough medications to kill an elephant, and most of our time was spent shuffling her around to specialists that we couldn’t afford. My mother suggested that I talk to your grandparents. They offered us a solution, and since we didn’t feel like we had anything to lose except our daughter, we gave it a chance.” She paused and her eyes welled up with tears. “And it worked. I mean, not at first; it took time. George and Harriet helped us find a doctor who was willing to work with us, and after two years her seizures nearly disappeared.
We were able to wean her off her prescriptions, and we had our daughter back. It was like a miracle.”
Erica was quiet for a long moment. Her eyes were scanning my face for a reaction, and I could sense her trepidation.
“I’ve been to the greenhouse,” I told her. “All of it.”
“So you know…” She didn’t sound relieved.
“Yes, I know.” I nodded.
“So”—she sighed—“what do you plan to do about it?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t know what the right thing is. Dan told me about my grandparents, why they hired him, and what the marijuana is used for, but seeing it… seeing Melissa…” I shook my head. “I don’t know. I guess this is why everyone in town is so worried about me owning the farm.”
“Yeah,” she confessed. “There is so much depending on that farm.It’s not just the people it helps—and there are a lot of us—it’s also the glue that holds this town together and keeps us afloat. Not to mention the legal aspect. My husband is the town sheriff. Everyone is involved.”
My head was spinning at this revelation.
“Aren’t you worried about getting caught? I mean, the whole town?”
“I worry every day. Some days more than others, but it’s worth the risk.” She turned her head toward the office door. “It’s not just my daughter. People come here from all around, with all kinds of disorders. The town’s economy is thriving…” She crossed her arms across her chest and sighed. “We certainly couldn’t have expected it to last forever, but with the Kings passing so suddenly and you showing up…” She shook her head and looked away. A tear streaked down one cheek.
“Erica”—I placed a hand on her shoulder and she met my eye—“thank you for trusting me with this. I don’t know what the future holds for me, this farm, or this town, but I promise I will never do anything to hurt you or Melissa.” Her tears flowed furiously before she caught me completely off guard by pulling me into a tight hug. Erica never struck me as particularly affectionate, but as we stood outside her office hugging while she gently sobbed on my shoulder, I gained a deeper understanding of her initial reaction to me at the will reading. She reacted out of fear and love for her family. I truly began to understand what a special place this town was, and it made my admiration grow for the grandparents I’d never known and the man I wanted to know.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ibeat King Richard to the punch and got downstairs and into the kitchen just in time to hear him screaming at the sun. Dan was already there, drinking his morning tea, and startled when I entered.
