She was alone in her mother’s kitchen last December, sore from neck to fingertips as she stirred the fifth batch of snickerdoodle cookies for her parents’ church’s annual Christmasbanquet. The scent of hairspray wafted down the hall as her mother sprayed her curls in place. Her father was finishing up another long day at Evergreen Farm, loading some of the last trees onto cars for the season. The dough was giving Skye such fits that the old wooden spoon cracked clean in half. As she looked for a replacement, she almost didn’t open that last drawer—what would traditionally be called the junk drawer in other homes but was too immaculate for such a slur. And yet on impulse, she did. But instead of a stirrer, the item that caught her eye, folded neatly beside scissors and tape and sewing needle, was an open piece of mail with the letterhead of Evergreen Farm—glinting just like that coin in her pocket—and a statement of her father’s yearly salary typed neatly in the body of the letter. The low number was jaw dropping.
At the bottom of the cover letter was Theo’s signature.
She packed up her bags in Washington and moved back to Virginia the following week.
Be calm, Skye. Be cool.
“Have a seat, Theo,” her father said. “Let me get you a drink—” He let go of his arm and made to push aside a couple couch throw pillows, then groaned as he gritted his teeth and doubled up his grip on his elbow.
“Sit down, Dad.” Skye moved around the coffee table and lowered him to the couch before he could protest. The firmness in her own voice must’ve startled him enough to obey. She sat on the edge of the coffee table, eye level. “That’s it. You’re going to the hospital. Now.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re not fine. You’re clearly not fine and if it’s broken you’ll need a cast, maybe even surgery—”
“Oh, and I’m sure you would’ve thought my knee needed surgery fifteen years ago, too, but look at ’er now.”
Skye squeezed her eyes shut as he slapped his knee, the same knee with the torn ACL that slid out on occasion and caused him to fall and roll on the ground like an NFL player with—well, a torn ACL. “All it needs every now and again is a little tune-up—”
“Rubbing Vaseline on your knee every six months isn’t a tune-up, Dad. If I had a word to express howunhelpfulthat is—”
“Inutilewould serve well, I believe,” her mother chimed in as she passed them, handing Theo a cup of lemonade, then moving toward the closet.
“You bet your bottom dollar it isn’t helpful,” her dad said, giving it another slap. “In fact,” he said, struggling once more to rise, “I think I’ll give it a little tune-up right now...”
Skye felt the groan growing within her, threatening to erupt any moment. She clenched fists and teeth as her body tightened. She was going to have to do it. She was going to have to haul this man over her shoulders, throw him into the truck, and drive him down the mountain. Or worse, call an ambulance.
“Mr. Fuller, did you get a chance to pick up that Lowe’s order I requested?”
The crackling in the room faded.
Skye and her father peered at Theo.
Her father frowned. “What Lowe’s order?”
“Oh, you know. The one for the lumber for the new tree shed. I believe I called it in last week.”
“Last week?” Her father’s frown turned urgent. “You made an order at Lowe’s last week? Well, I didn’t—they’ve had it aweek?” He started reaching behind him, feeling for the “going out” jacket so often laid on the back side of the recliner.
Theo, cool as a cucumber as he sipped the lemonade, watched Mr. Fuller rise from his chair. “Well, if you haven’t gotten to it, I could run down myself—”
“Maggie!” he called, stretching his neck toward the kitchen.
“Right here, dear,” Skye’s mother said, standing at the front door, raincoat on and a duffel bag over one shoulder. She held open a second raincoat for Skye’s father. “Skye, I’ve switched over the laundry, moved the Crock-Pot into the fridge, packed an overnight bag, and made some sandwiches for the ride. Can you be sure to lock up after we leave? Theo, do you mind assisting Ralph to the car? It’s slick out there.”
He nodded. “Certainly.”
They passed a smile to each other as she turned toward the door after her husband. Skye could practically see the high-fives they were making with their eyes. Lowe’s was all the way down in Abingdon, quite conveniently all but next door to the hospital. All her mother had to do at this point was stop at the hospital and throw the passenger door open beneath the emergency-room sign while hospital staff handled the rest.
“Oh, and Theo?” Her mother turned as if a thought just occurred to her.
“Yes, Mrs. Fuller?”
“The seedlings came in today and a heat wave is expected next week. Those seedlings, as I’m sure you’re aware, will need to get in the ground immediately.”
Theo looked slightly startled. “Oh. Yes. Of course.”
“And the tractor will need to be seen to.”
