Gran musters the troops, and my entire family gathers for breakfast less than an hour later. Before we begin the brainstorming session, Gran places a hand on mine. “I have to apologize to you, Sam.”
For a moment, I think she’s going to bring up everything we talked about on the phone. As much as I want to be up front with my siblings, I’m not sure I’m ready for that.
“I overheard Jane on the phone telling Ginny Quick personal things about you and Diane right after I talked to you this morning.” She shakes her head, clicking her tongue. “I sent her packing. So you were right to be concerned about her.”
“Actually, it was Colleen who had a feeling about her,” I say. “But thank you. I guess Ginny might’ve been jealous.”
“Going forward, I will certainly get references and get Big John to run a background check before I let anyone else stay here. Luckily, Hetty is a jam-making fiend. It’ll be hard to replace her when she goes back to college.” She claps her hands. “Now let’s get to it. How is Sam going to win Diane back? We need a grand gesture for the ages.”
They come up with some excellent ideas, but nothing seems right. Not naming Baabara’s next lamb after her, nor building her an editing suite off the pole barn, nor promising to bring her breakfast in bed for the next ten years. My gut tells me that I need to do more than show up with a declaration of love and grovel for being an idiot and not telling her sooner, so I thank my family for the input and promise to tell them what I decide.
Something’s eating at Diane, and I think I have to figure out what it is before I can make a successful argument for why we can be together. The problem churns in the back of my mind all morning as I drive along the southern edge of Greene County from one appointment to the next. But it’s not until I crest a hill giving me a view of row upon row of apple trees that it finally hits me.
Her grandparents’ orchard. The loss of it to a developer must have upset her more than she admitted. Maybe she’s ashamed that she didn’t have the money to save it?
It’s easier than ever to keep my mouth shut during my final farm visit of the day because I just want it over with. I write down every question, every detail the feed corn grower says—because there’s no way I’m going to remember this conversation—take soil and water samples, and hightail it out of there so I can get to Kaaterskill Orchards before sunset.
Something tells me that I’ll find inspiration at the place where Diane was the happiest, and I make it there just as the sun’s flirting with the curves of the Catskills to the west. Walking around the multi-gabled farmhouse set on a rise, so similar to my grandmother’s house, I try to picture Diane as a kid. She probably didn’t spend her summer days thinking of ways to get back at bullies when the school year started like I did. Did she shell peas with her grandma on the porch? Pick wildflowers that they’d arrange in a milk bottle? It’s hard to picture now, with annuals stuffed in pots and bright pillows on the porch glider, out of place for a working farm and likely placed by the realtor for show.
It’s only when I turn to face the orchard that I remember: Diane climbed trees. So, Gomer at my side, I wend my way down the lanes created by the neatly planted rows of apple trees, hoping that a walk in a place she loves will help me figure out what to do.
I’m lost in thought, going over the past two weeks, when Gomer stops so abruptly I almost trip over him. Head cocked to the side, he stares into the branches of one of the larger apple trees and whines softly.
And then I hear what’s caught his attention: the staccato rap of a woodpecker’s bill. Pulling out my phone, I open the Merlin app and edge closer to the tree, peering up through the branches. I catch a flash of red and white, but it’s too high up to get a good photo with my phone, so I start the sound recording. Moments later, the drilling stops, and the bird lets out a high-pitched kwee-ahh.
When I hit the button, the app identifies the bird as a Red-headed Woodpecker with 98% certainty. The photo that pops up shows a red head and a white breast, tracking with the colors I saw when the bird jumped from branch to branch. After I hit the button confirming that “This is My Bird,” instead of the burst of confetti I usually get when I add a bird to my life list, my phone rings with an unfamiliar number.
I’m so discombobulated that instead of sending it to voicemail like I usually would, I answer. “This is Sam Bedd.”
“Hello, Mr. Bedd. My name is Jessica Ward, and I’m calling from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology.”
Looking around, feeling like I’m being watched, I say, “Okay?”
“Sorry to bother you, but we are monitoring sightings of the Red-headed Woodpecker. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
Following her prompts, I forward the recording I made to her and then answer all her questions about what I’ve seen of the bird and the location.
“Is this your property, sir?”
“No, uh, my girl—” I falter, realizing that I can’t really call Diane my girlfriend if I don’t even know where she is. “Um, a friend of mine grew up here, but the property’s for sale.”
After walking back to the driveway, I read off the name of the realty company, adding, “It’s zoned for development, so the orchard may not be here for long.”
“Oh, hell no,” the woman says under her breath. “Um, can you hang on for a few minutes, please, Mr. Bedd? I may have some more questions, but I need to talk to my supervisor.”
I settle on the porch steps to wait, but the moment Gomer rests his head on my thigh, Jessica is back. “Thanks for waiting. I think that’s all we need. We appreciate your cooperation.”
“Hey, uh, I actually work for the CCE. Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“Oh, cool.” She asks what division I’m in, and we chat a bit about her research. “Most people don’t want to hear the nitty-gritty, but we’ll be filing a stay on that property sale so the Bureau of Wildlife can sue to change the zoning. The Red-headed Woodpecker is on the endangered list. That orchard’s not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER 22DIANE
It’s only been two days since I left Bedd Fellows Farm, and I miss it and the man I’ve been sharing a bed with way more than I should. It’s not my farm, the Bedd’s are not my family, and Sam isn’t even really my boyfriend. We just shared a couple of steamy weeks in the sack.
As well as months of Trivia Crush.
That company should start a dating app.
Unfortunately, my mood has bled into my videos, which are as washed out as the rain-soaked barnyard I’m shooting at the moment. My camera is positioned in the doorway of a storage shed across from a barn. The couple who works this organic vegetable farm are packing CSA boxes as well as produce they’ll take to a farmer’s market early Saturday morning. By shooting through the rain, I was going for a cool, moody effect like Li Ziqi creates on her channel, but what I’ve got so far is more in a mood. A bad one.
We got a few usable shots before the farmers finished packing and retreated to the house for lunch. They invited me to join them, but I don’t think I can handle the peopling that would require.
Which has never happened to me. I’m always up for getting to know new people. But leaving the Bedds broke something in me, made me feel more alone than I have since my grandmother’s funeral.
I’m about to pack it in when suddenly a door slams, a cat comes running down the lane, and a chicken takes off flying. With the wide lens set up on the camera phone, I manage to catch the chaos on film, including the moment that a donkey pops his head around the corner, tossing it as he brays loudly.
Then, a familiar face fills the frame.
Straightening, his name’s on my lips with a wing and a prayer. “Sam?”
The rain picks up, but he just stands there, the corners of his mouth tipped up as he raises his arms to the side. “I’m so glad I found you.”
My thumbs clumsy with shock, I almost knock over the tripod as I stop the recording on my phone and swipe the app away. Taking only a moment to straighten the tripod while my heart beats heavily with the words bad idea, bad idea, I make myself step around the camera and face him. “What are you doing here?”
He looks a little hurt, even drops his gaze to his feet for a moment, but then he takes a deep breath and faces me. “I couldn’t let you leave without knowing.”
