Twenty-seven years of resentment suddenly made sense.
But one question remained.
“The apples.”
Monica blinked.
“What about them?”
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I glanced toward her open garage.
Every missing basket of fruit was there.
All of it.
“You never planned to sell them.”
The anger slowly disappeared from her face.
“When I inherited this house nine years ago, I told myself I would tell Daniel about Luke.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because then I saw him with Ben. I watched them in the garden year after year. Every year I waited, telling myself there would be a better time.”
“You should have told him.”
“I know.”
Her voice became quieter.
“When Luke came here, I thought we’d finally do it. Then Daniel died before Luke ever got to speak to him.”
She looked toward my house.
“I saw you come home from the funeral. I saw Ben holding Daniel’s cap.”
“Ben is
