The Secrets of Peaches (20 page)

M
urphy stopped, her arms aching sharply, and gazed off down the rows of peach trees, hoping to get a glimpse of Birdie. It was Easter Sunday, and the two were working alone in the rows while Poopie drove the workers to church. Murphy caught a glimpse of Birdie, several rows away, obscured by the thousands of tiny green leaves. The pink of her shirt peeked through now and then. Murphy stretched her arms high in the air and clasped her hands, arching back. She needed a break.

She made her way back to her garden and flopped onto her bench, looking around. She'd been checking in on it every couple of days since the weather had warmed up, and she was still amazed at how many weeds popped up in her short absences—their viney, spiky leaves poking out of the ground.

Still, the flowers were growing right along with them, miniature roses and hydrangea, lavender and peonies, magenta and red and pink and purple flowers. And not just in the garden, but all around, the orchard was bursting with green, and smells, and birds singing until long after dark. Maybe because of this, for the past few days, Murphy had been feeling less deflated by life in
Bridgewater. Ganax wasn't horrible. At least she had lots of free time to use her brain on other things. And Rex was, well, sublime.

Murphy, who'd always thought marriage was a farce perpetuated by society to keep people prisoner to each other, found herself fantasizing pretty often about someday, down the road, having some kind of funky, low-key wedding. They had spent many evenings on Rex's front porch, her head on his lap, just watching the world go by. There was something to be said for being able to do that. There was something to be said for being a spectator.

The birdhouse Rex had built her stood picturesquely at the end of the path. Murphy rubbed her hands together. She had the urge to see him. It was too gorgeous to ask Birdie for a ride home. She decided to walk.

She made her way toward the southwest edge of the orchard, where the grass at the edge of the property was crossed by a set of railroad tracks. The area was blocked off from the rest of the farm by a patch of tangled trees. Murphy ducked her head and moved branches aside as she cut through them, not hearing the radio until she'd come out on the grass again.

She stopped short.

There was a woman on the grass, stretched across a lilac-colored blanket. It only took Murphy a second to realize who it was, but still, she wasn't quite sure she could trust her eyes.

“Mom?”

Jodee McGowen rolled over and pulled down her sunglasses. She was listening to a battery-operated radio. A couple of sandwiches and a Diet Coke sat to her left. She held a book against her lap as she sat up.

“What are you doing here?” Murphy asked her.

Jodee shrugged. “It's Easter, baby.”

“Oh.” Murphy faltered. Jodee had said it as if it were obvious. But the last time Murphy and her mom had come back to the orchard for an Easter picnic had been years ago. “I didn't know you still came here.”

“Yeah,” Jodee said matter-of-factly, patting a spot beside her.

Murphy plopped down and took a swig of the Diet Coke.

“Sandwich?” Jodee asked, swiping a crumb out of the corner of her mouth with one long red fingernail.

Murphy took half the peanut butter sandwich and devoured it, then took another sip of Coke.

“You used to refuse to eat any sandwich but fluffernutters,” Jodee said. “You've gone soft.”

“You used to always say we'd get caught for trespassing,” Murphy replied.

“And look what happened.”

Murphy looked at the woods, trying to imagine a time the orchard hadn't felt like partly hers. Before Birdie and Leeda and Rex. It seemed like there had always been a hole there, waiting for them.

They ate companionably in silence for a while, taking turns with the soda.

“When you were little,” Jodee said, swiping her brassy hair back from her face, “you were always impatient to get to the picnic and then you were impatient to leave.” She smiled. “You were always ready for the next great thing…. It was always what's next? What's next? What's next?”

Murphy crossed her legs Indian style. “I bet that was annoying.”

“No.” Jodee shook her head. “No, not annoying.” She paused. “Actually, it just made me worry.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. I guess I always worried that maybe you'd
never
feel like you were standing in the right place.”

Murphy felt a tiny lump form in her throat. It was true. She'd never felt that way.

Jodee sighed. “I always wanted to stay still. I always thought being happy with what I had was one of my strengths, you know…. But to always be looking for the right place and never finding it…that's kind of…sad.”

Murphy picked the grass. She could feel some sort of words of wisdom coming. She peered toward the trees again, thinking of making a break for it. “Mom, if you're heading for some sage advice, I just…I'm not—”

“Murphy, I found it.”

Murphy didn't ask what. She just grabbed more grass, like she was three.

“I was looking for coupons for Taco Cabana.” Jodee took the last sip of the Diet Coke grimly and crumpled the can. “You always recycle those without asking me.”

“Buy one, get one free?” Murphy asked glibly. Jodee shot her a straight, absolutely serious look. Murphy looked at the tiny green blades in her hand.

“You got in.”

Murphy held her palms together, rolling the blades back and forth.

“Can I ask you something?”

Finally Murphy looked up. She hated how seriously her mom gazed back at her. She hated how it made her feel like she was five years old.

“Do you think I'm happy you're staying?” Jodee's voice took
on an angry edge, and her mouth gave a little tremble around her words. “Do you think I was happy when you told me you didn't get accepted?”

Yes,
Murphy thought. Of course. Only now, it looked sideways to her. For the first time, it occurred to her that maybe she was wrong about that.

“How could you put me through that disappointment?” And then tiny tears began to gather at the corners of her mom's eyes, and Murphy wanted to melt into the grass like a drop of rain.

Jodee swiped at her eyes, leaving skinny trails of mascara. “I didn't work as hard as I have to give you a life that's not one hundred percent what you want it to be. Isn't that obvious? Or are you still more of a kid than I think you are?”

“I
want
to stay….” Murphy protested, feeling anger boil up. “
You
always thought I should stay.”

Jodee sniffled, looked around like someone needed to witness what she was hearing. “Do I look stupid?”

Murphy rolled her eyes and let out a deep sigh. She was on the verge of getting up. It wouldn't take much to push her.

“Murphy, if you give up the things you want most now, when do you go after the things you want? When does that happen if it doesn't happen now?”

“I love Rex.”

“I know you do,” Jodee breathed. “I really know you do. But you wanna know what I think?”

Murphy cast a glance at the trees. “What?”

“I think that's not why you're not going.”

Murphy stared hard at her mom.

“I think…” Jodee went on. “You're using that boy as an excuse.”

Murphy blinked at her for another second, then laughed. “That's so stupid.”

Her mother's face had gone stony and superior. “I think you're scared, after all this time with the ‘I'm too big for this town.'” Jodee waved her hands in the air in a mocking way. “You kept saying the minute you got the chance,
bam
!” Jodee slid one hand across the other. “We wouldn't see your curls flopping on the way out. But I think now that it comes down to it, you're scared that you're not too big at all. I think you're scared you're not big
enough
.” Jodee shook her head. “And it just breaks my heart.”

Murphy stood up quickly. She felt twisted up enough to hit something. “Whatever,” she said, and turned to hightail it into the trees. She knew it was a horrible comeback. But nothing else came to her.

 

She half walked, half jogged home. A bunch of letters were poking out of the top of the mailbox, but Murphy let them be. She sank onto the stoop and looked around.

Almost everything she could see in the Anthill Acres parking lot was at least as old as she was, which was true even for some of the rusty soda cans still lying flattened and half buried in the gravel. The barbecue pit was flooded with murky water. Several people had had their Christmas lights up for as long as Murphy could remember.

Murphy was a soda can stuck in the mud. She was drowned under the puddle of water in the barbecue pit. She was Christmas lights left out too long.

And she couldn't leave.

W
hen the car door slammed out in front of the house on May 2, Majestic made a beeline for the crevice behind the fridge. Birdie could see her little tail poking out, trembling, as she got on her hands and knees and scooped her up with one arm. She was amazed by the dog's stellar instincts.

“Let's do it in the living room,” Poopie called, coming down the stairs.

They stretched Majestic out on the couch, Birdie with the back legs and Poopie with the front. Dr. Cawood slid the tip of his scissors in between the dog's leg and the tiny cast. There was a long drawn-out snip and then Majestic's one little leg was free. The vet did the same to the other.

Majestic leapt off the couch and barked at them, then ran into the kitchen. Birdie walked Dr. Cawood to the door. When she came back down the hall, Majestic was running joyous laps around the kitchen table, panting and growling. Poopie was doing the dishes.

“You want help with those?” Birdie asked.

“Okay.”

The silence was punctuated only by sloshing suds and clinking glasses. Birdie looked out the window at the empty rows of peach trees. The workers had gone until June, but it felt like they were still here. Majestic slid up to their feet and yipped at them to play.

“Looks like she's over her grief.” Poopie tried a tiny smile on Birdie.

“Looks like it,” Birdie muttered, her eyes on the glass in her hands.

Poopie seemed to wilt. She too hung her head in the direction of the sink, but she went on. “She won't know what to do when you start school, though. Whole new reason to grieve.”

Birdie scrubbed the glass spotless, way longer than she needed to. “I'll still be around,” she said flatly, without a hint of warmth. “Majestic and I are stuck with each other.”

Poopie looked up at her, tilting her head. “Why stuck?”

Birdie shrugged and scrubbed.

Poopie took a deep breath, laid her hand on the counter, and turned toward her. “Birdie, I know you're angry with me.”

“I'm not angry,” Birdie said.

Poopie slammed a hand on the counter. “Yes, you are. Just tell me you are. Yell at me. Do something.”

“I don't own the orchard yet. I can't fire you.”

Poopie looked like she'd been slapped. Then she raised herself up, straightening her back and lifting her chin.

“If you want me to leave, I will.”

Birdie twisted the dish towel in her hands. “You left me already.”

Poopie was very still for a moment. And then she nodded
thoughtfully and started for the stairs. Birdie looked back over her shoulder to watch her climb them with Majestic at her heels.
Traitor,
she thought to the dog. She listened to Poopie's feet padding down the hall upstairs to her room. Then she heard the sound of Poopie pulling something heavy out of the closet. It filled her heart with sudden dread.

Birdie laid down her towel and walked over to the stairs, taking two steps up, then stopped and listened, holding her breath. She could hear Poopie moving things around. She walked up two more steps and listened again. Then she walked up to the landing and hovered there, staring at her bedroom door, then down at Poopie's open one.

She crept down to the doorway. Inside, Poopie was stuffing clothes into a big black suitcase.

“What are you doing?”

Poopie sniffed. “Packing.”

“Why?”

Poopie, kneeling, put her hands on the floor and hung her head. “Because I don't know what else to do.”

Birdie was frozen. Tears trembled underneath her eyelids. She covered her face with her hands and sank against the doorjamb. “I thought you were retiring,” she croaked. “I thought that's why you were acting so weird all this time.” She knew she sounded like a little kid, the way her voice rose and fell jaggedly. She pulled down her hands and looked at Poopie. She couldn't stop crying. “I thought you were leaving for Mexico.”

“No.” Poopie shook her head violently. “Retiring? No. Birdie, I would tell you the minute I knew.”

Birdie looked at her with the obviousness of her reply.

Poopie rubbed her hands together like she was praying. “Your dad and I didn't know how to tell you, Birdie.” Birdie was shocked to see Poopie's hands trembling. “He wanted to tell you right away. But I thought it might…ruin how you saw me.” She shook her head. “You already have a mom. But I never had a daughter. I only have you.”

Birdie's body went slack. She felt a current of relief shoot through her. The anger was still there, but beside it was the knowledge that it wasn't one-sided. That she hadn't been wrong about them. She was in the middle of an anger, relief, anger sandwich. Poopie shot up and moved beside her.

“You judged me,” Birdie said, all tear streaked and runny nosed now. “About Enrico. When you were doing the same thing.”

Poopie tilted her head sideways, perplexed. “What judging? Judged you?”

“You put the santos outside my room. After…” Birdie perched on the edge of the bed.

Poopie looked lost for another minute. “Birdie…” She shook her head. “Those aren't about judging.” Poopie grabbed Birdie's hand and pulled her back, sat her on the bed, and sat beside her. “Being with someone—like that—is always a risk. That's what those are. Just help.” Poopie shrugged. “I don't even know if they work. I just want to believe that they do.”

Birdie sat in silence for a while, taking it in.

“You don't think…” she began, then dropped to a whisper. “That God killed Honey Babe and Aunt Eugenie because of me, do you?”

Poopie put her hands to her mouth. And then she laughed. When Birdie looked at her, she turned serious. And then she
laughed again. “I'm sorry. No, no, I don't. And Birdie, I love you. I have already judged you, a long time ago.” She put her arm around Birdie. “You are perfect.”

Birdie felt clouds lifting in her head. She didn't know why it took Poopie to lift them. But all of a sudden she realized that maybe the whole thing was crazy.

“What else do you want to know?” Poopie asked.

Birdie looked at her. “Are you in love with my dad?”

Poopie shrugged. Then nodded.

“How long?”

“I don't know. I didn't see it happening. I had different plans. Always to go back home. Always putting it off. There was one way I thought life would be and another way it was happening. But I couldn't see how far what was happening was taking me away from what I thought.”

Birdie cleared her throat. “Did you want my mom to leave?”

Poopie hugged her. “No, honey. No, of course not.”

Birdie studied her face. She believed her. It didn't change the hurt. It didn't make Poopie and her dad okay. But it made Birdie feel a little less betrayed.

“Dad wants me to take over the farm.”

“He'd live if you didn't.”

“I want to, though.”

Poopie wrapped her arms around her and hugged her. “That's easy, then.”

“I broke up with Enrico.”

“I know. Why?”

Birdie found herself on the verge of crying again, but she smiled sheepishly. “I have no idea.”

The front door cracked open and they heard Walter coming up the stairs. He walked into the room with his mouth open to say something to Poopie and then saw them both tear-streaked and leaning against each other. He cleared his throat, looked at the ceiling, and then turned around and walked into his room.

Poopie and Birdie looked at each other, and even though it was more pitiful than funny, they laughed.

 

That night, Birdie walked to the dorms and sank down with her back to the building, underneath what was once Enrico's window. She thought about the warmth of his body and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering from the soles of her cold, wet feet. She tried to make it enough to just be near where he used to be.

Heading back toward the house, Birdie made a wide arc left to circle through the pecan grove. She came to a dead stop a few feet away from the first tree. Around Methuselah's shaggy middle, about three feet up from the ground, was a red vinyl ribbon.

Red ribbons marked the trees slated to be chopped down. Over the years, her dad had placed them on a few trees that, for one reason or another, had needed to go. Birdie reached out to touch it, her chest aching.

She envisioned her heart buried under Methuselah, like Leeda had said. She pictured the tree standing above her grave. But the picture nagged at her. She was imagining the epitaph. Most people's had stuff like
loving mother, dear husband, giving spirit, beloved daughter.
Hers read:
Birdie Darlington, Held down the fort
.

When she trailed back to her room about an hour later, she stared at the phone.

She dialed his dorm and got his voice mail. “It's me. Birdie. Darlington. I'm…sorry.” That was it. She hung up.

 

Birdie was up before dawn. She'd left her window open all night, and the orchard had filled her room with the smells of swelling green peaches, shaggy pecan bark, and magnolia leaves. Birdie wasn't sure why, but it was all mixed up with the memory of jacarandas, dry sand, cactus, cayenne, cinnamon.

She crept down the hall, careful not to wake anyone, careful to position everything exactly right.

When Poopie woke and opened her door, it would be to a line of wooden saints in the hallway, all staring at her. They weren't a judgment, but a wish and a blessing.

They both needed all the help they could get.