Honey stayed where she was for a moment, staring after them even after they disappeared into the trees.
Then, with a renewed sense of purpose, she got to work.
She rolled up her sleeves and knelt beside the well. The morning sun was still low, casting slanted shadows across the rim. The backlog was dense, coins stacked on top of coins like sediment. She plunged the scooper deep, until it scraped against the bottom of the well, searching for something—anything—that predated the orchard’s decline.
She tipped the gleaming pile of pennies into the grass and plucked one off the top. An ache formed in her stomach as the words scrolled across her computer screen.
I wish my mom would come back.
She swallowed hard.
Another coin.
I wish she would tuck me in tonight.
Another two.
I wish I could have stopped her leaving.
I wish I’d told her I was sorry.
Again and again, the wishes added up, and with each one, Honey’s heart cracked a little more, but she couldn’t make herself stop. When she’d reached the bottom of thepile, she stood up stiffly and, without even gathering her things, headed back to the house.
The wishes played over and over in her head.
She did what she always did when she needed to silence the noise in her head.
She alphabetized the dry goods. Scrubbed the inside of the microwave. Re-rolled the kitchen towels into neat little bundles, then unrolled and refolded them again. Still, her mind echoed with those same words.
Come back.
Stay.
Please.
At some point, she found herself with company. Pickles bleated softly in the corner and startled her. Instead of shooing him away, Honey crouched beside him. She reached out, and the goat nosed into her palm. She rubbed his tiny head with shaky fingers.
She picked him up and held him close. Resting her cheek against its soft fur, she found herself with wetness in her eyes, and she let the tears flow into the baby goat’s fur.
Some things you couldn’t organize away.
Chapter 13
Honey
A light tapping sound jolted Honey from what may have been the most restful sleep of her adult life.
Instinct took over. Her arm flailed toward the nightstand, reaching for the canister of pepper spray she kept in her top drawer. Instead, she grabbed air and a handful of stuffed bear. She opened her eyes and took in her surroundings.
Right.
She was not in her city apartment, braced to defend herself against a would-be intruder with surprisingly good manners. She was in the Hale family farmhouse, in a bedroom painted an alarming shade of pink, with something warm and faintly hay-scented curled against her side.
“Don’t let me disturb your rest,” Honey said to the goat.
The tapping came again.
“Coming,” Honey called out as she threw the covers aside and gathered Pickles in her arms. He bleated once in protest.
