The Secrets of Peaches (19 page)

Through April, Murphy, Leeda, and Birdie drifted in and out of the orchard like cosmic forces. Birdie and Murphy as twin stars, orbiting around each other. And Leeda, off at the edges of the galaxy, like a black hole.

On April 11, though nobody realized it, a pecan tree on the Darlington property crooked noticeably to the left. On April 19, a beaver took most of a Barbie that lay on the side of Orchard Road to use as dam fodder. And on April 19, as she stood on the porch unwrapping a stick of cinnamon gum, Murphy looked up and saw the strangest cloud floating by. It was in the vague shape of an arrow. It looked exactly like a one-way street sign. Murphy was so taken aback she swallowed her gum, the balled-up wrapper falling from her fingers.

B
irdie watched the orchard wake up the way she had every spring of her life. Things began to grow so fast she could almost see them move. Like every year, the peach flowers began to blossom, draping the orchard like a filmy pink dress. Thousands of tiny pink petals fluttered in the breeze. And as quickly as they came, they disappeared. The blossoms withered to leave only shucks, and tiny, hard peaches broke through the shucks and began to grow.

For the first half of April, Birdie was so caught up in spraying, and getting things ready for the workers to arrive, and in the buzz and hum and color of the life waking up around her that she didn't think of Enrico for long stretches at a time. For weeks he'd called and sent letters, asking at first if she was avoiding him and then, later, when the answer was obvious, if he had done something wrong. But what could she tell him? That together they were bad luck? That they couldn't keep wreaking karmic havoc on the people around her? Eventually he'd stopped calling and writing. She still hadn't told Murphy and Leeda.

Birdie had expected cleaning out the cider house to be the hardest, but it was amazing how easy it was to put certain things out of her mind. She was back to being the old Birdie, doing the same things she did every year. She could see her life, her springs, stretching out in front of her like a book she'd already read. And it was nice to have such a long, clear view.

She wasn't nervous the day the workers were supposed to arrive. She was as calm as the breeze. If Enrico was on the bus, she could handle it. And if he wasn't on the bus, she could handle that too. That morning, she moved her stuff into the dorms, into the room next to Leeda's, with excitement. Now that spring was here, things would go back right. That was just how the universe worked. She neglected to remind herself that according to her definition of the universe, some third disaster—disaster
Z
—was waiting in the wings. It was easier to believe the good stuff.

Leeda stayed in bed when Birdie and Murphy went out to the head of the driveway to greet the bus. It lumbered up the white gravel like a slow black beetle, expiring just a few feet in front of them, its door whuffing open. As soon as the workers came climbing down the stairs, Birdie and Murphy were wrapped up in hugs and kisses. And when the last person had hugged her and the crowd cleared enough for her to see who was missing, Birdie felt only a small moment of hurt. Like the hurt of a memory.

That night, they sat around the fire, feasting on southern Mexican cooking—corn on the cob, fresh tortillas, chilies, white fish dipped in spices—and catching up on the year. Even Leeda came out and sat for a while, her skinny arms crossed loosely like ribbons, elbows on her knees, smiling softly. Everyone
commented on how good Birdie's Spanish had gotten. Murphy used the little Spanish she knew. Emma, one of the workers who came every year, offered the girls beers, something she hadn't done last summer, and they squeezed lime wedges into them and sipped happily.

Poopie disappeared from the scene early. Birdie, who'd been sitting on the far side of the fire from her all night, watched her back as she walked toward the house.

Emma wrapped her arm around Birdie's waist absently as they all talked, and the whole evening felt like it had happened a thousand times before and that it was simply cycling back again.

Soon it was only Birdie and Emma and Murphy, staring at the fire and sipping their beers.

“What are you thinking, Avelita?” Emma asked her, leaning on her shoulder.

Birdie ran her fingers through her hair, smiling thoughtfully. “Just that everything's the same.”

“Yes.” Emma stared over her shoulder, back toward the peach rows they couldn't see in the dark, sipping her beer. “Nothing ever changes at this place.” She studied Birdie's face. “The only thing changed around here is you.”

“I haven't changed at all,” Birdie said.

“Oh, Avelita, you need to take a look in the mirror sometime.”

 

Birdie had forgotten to bring her warm flannely pajamas to the dorm, so after everyone had gone to bed and she'd kicked dirt on the fire, she walked across the dark lawn toward the house.
The smell of the night and the sound of the crickets reminded her of Enrico. Inside, Billie Holiday was drifting through the air from somewhere upstairs.

She looked in the laundry room for her pajamas, where she'd left them after folding them, but they were gone. She headed upstairs and looked in her room, but they weren't on her bed.

Birdie padded down the hall, standing in front of Poopie's door. She raised her hand to knock, but then she realized the music wasn't coming from there. It was coming from her dad's room. She heard a chair moving.

Birdie knew before she knew. The hairs tickled the back of her neck.

She turned to look at her dad's door, biting her lip hard, the blood rushing to her feet. She heard footsteps inside and moved to walk back down the hall, but the door opened too soon.

When Poopie came into the hall, they were a still life: Birdie, frozen. Surprised Poopie. And a hot pink nightgown.

I
t came back to Leeda quickly—the rhythmic motion of knocking the buds off the trees, the creak and swish of the branches, the
thud thud
of the buds falling past her ankles—as they cleared the excess buds to make room for the peaches that would grow. She remembered the rolling motion under her feet and the vague smell of peaches not nearly ripe. It wasn't a sweet smell, but a green one. Her arms moved like spaghetti as she swatted at the branches. It was the first day of clearing, and she'd come out to help not because she felt obligated, but because she was tired of staring at the dorm ceiling. She felt like she had spent the last few months watching the world as a movie going on outside her window. It got old.

She looked for Birdie and Murphy through the trees. She could see them, flashes of color among leaves and crooked branches. Murphy's blue jeans, Birdie's pink T-shirt, Majestic, appearing in patches of shade here and there, looking intently for fire ants and running away when she found them. Leeda wanted to keep track of Birdie and Murphy even if she wasn't really talking to them. It was a habit.

By noon, it felt like two days had gone by since eight a.m. Leeda dragged an arm across her forehead and slumped toward the nearest tree, still cradled in her picking harness. The tree was too small and thin to lean on, but she closed her eyes and let the tiny leaves enshroud her face. They tickled. She draped her arms gently along the branches, which bowed under the weight of her hands.

Leeda felt a pair of hands against the small of her back, propping her up. “Let's take a break,” Birdie said.

“Um.” Leeda stiffened. “No thanks. I'm…”

Whoosh.
Birdie yanked her downward. Leeda looked at her in bewilderment, then followed her eyes. Poopie had just appeared a couple of rows beyond them, her powerful hands moving quickly over the branches.

“What?” Leeda whispered.

“Shhh.”

Birdie took her arm with a vise-like grip and pulled her down the rows, looking down each one like she was looking down aisles at the supermarket, until she spotted Murphy in a navy blue baseball cap, knocking at the peach buds like a heavyweight champ. Murphy sensed them and looked over mid-punch. Birdie made an exaggerated gesture to come over.

A few minutes later, they were bursting from the woods on the far edge of the rows onto the shores of the lake. Murphy lurched up to the water's edge like a mummy, discarding layers of clothes as she went, and simply collapsed in. Birdie crept to the edge to dip a toe in, and Murphy lunged forward and tugged on her ankle. Birdie let herself be pulled down into the water. Leeda stood with her arms crossed instinctively, several feet
away. In another minute, they were running onto the grass, arms wrapped around themselves and shivering.

“Oh God, first dip.” Murphy sighed, her chest heaving. Leeda didn't say anything. She felt a sort of pride that the first dip had really been hers. They sank onto the grass, so soft it felt like a bearskin rug. Leeda pulled her knees up to her chest. Birdie wrapped her goose-bumped arms around her legs and rocked, bowing her head and breathing into the space between her legs and her stomach to warm her face with her breath.

“So what's up, Birdie?” Murphy asked.

Birdie rocked once, twice. “I have something big,” she said to her belly. Then her face popped up, looking at Murphy.

“You're eloping,” Murphy said.

“No.”

“Enrico bought you a house in Mexico and that's why he's not here bec—”

“Murphy…” Birdie looked so flustered—her brown eyes swimming—that Murphy clapped her mouth shut immediately. Leeda wasn't sure why Enrico hadn't come back to thin the trees this year. Birdie had mumbled something about school when Murphy asked.

“I…saw something…last night.” Her face went cherry red in a wave, beginning with the apples of her cheeks, fanning outward to engulf even her temples.

“Poopie and my dad. Um. Poopie…in my dad's…They're…Oh.” Birdie ducked her chin against her neck. “I caught them. Together.” She looked up and nodded. “Together.”

The words nearly knocked the wind out of Leeda. Murphy
became the face of what she felt inside, her mouth dropping open in slow motion. “You're not serious.”

Birdie dropped her forehead back against her knees and shook her head.

“Bird, how do you feel about that? I mean, besides having the willies, because I do. I can't stand to think of your dad naked, and—” Murphy closed her lips tight because Birdie was looking at her like she wanted to die.

“Are you mad?” Leeda asked.

Birdie plucked some clover from the patch she was sitting on and threw it over her shoulder: left shoulder, right shoulder, left shoulder. She finally shrugged.

Leeda knew Birdie had never really gotten the hang of being mad at anyone. At least, on the surface. Usually she kept it deep inside until it blew like a volcano.

They just sat there for a while. Finally Birdie said very quietly, “Do you think Poopie wanted my mom to leave?” Her bottom lip trembled.

Murphy got on all fours and crawled over to Birdie, still drippy, and slung an arm over her shoulders.

“I thought she and I…I thought we had this thing.” Birdie let out a long breath. “I just feel like a sucker. It's like they have this thing with each other and I'm just floating around over here, oblivious.”

Murphy sank back on her palms on the grass, then scratched Birdie's back with one hand. “I guess Poopie is more of a wild woman than we thought.”

Birdie shot a surprised, defensive look at Murphy.

“I'm not saying anything else,” Murphy said, pretending to
zip her lips. But Birdie was back at picking the grass, thoughtfully, maybe ruefully. “Except…” Murphy began, then stopped, eyeing Birdie warily. “Nothing.”

A noise came from behind them and Emma, Raeka, and Isabel emerged from the trees. Emma had her hand in her hair, letting it down so it fell around her shoulders like black velvet. Bits were plastered to the sides of her face with sweat. She had a waterproof disposable camera dangling from her wrist. Raeka already had her shirt up over her head. They all froze, Raeka bumping into Emma and pulling down her shirt. The two groups stared at each other in shock. Finally Emma said,
“Hola.”

“Hola,”
the girls said back, low.

“¿Vienen aquí a nadar?”
Emma said in Spanish. “Do you come here to swim?”

Leeda and the others nodded. “Yeah,” Murphy said.

Raeka gestured to the other two women.
“Nosotros también.”
“We do too.” Leeda thought of all the times they'd come here, naked, secluded, thinking it was the only spot on earth that belonged just to them. But Raeka grinned, red-faced and sweaty, and pulled off her shirt. And just like that, the bubble surrounding the lake for Leeda and Birdie and Murphy was broken. The three women went wading into the water, their teeth chattering. And after a minute, Murphy and Birdie drifted back in after them. The women gestured to Leeda, who shook her head and smiled politely.

They all swam around in circles, talking in Spanish and English, clutching themselves, shivering but unwilling to get out. They started splashing one another and laughing. To Leeda,
they looked like Ponce de León's troupe, finally arrived at the fountain of youth.

When they crawled out, they sat on the grass, gathering around Leeda like flies. Emma stood up.

“This is nice photo.” She ran and grabbed her camera where she'd left it on the grass and stood at the very edge of the lake, backing up with her heels almost touching the water. She motioned them closer together, palm straightened and perpendicular. Leeda wondered if she could tell where she and Murphy and Birdie had fractured. But then, maybe there were ways Emma, Raeka, and Isabel were fracturing too.

After the women had gone, yanking on their shirts again and linking arms, Murphy flopped back on the grass and Birdie leaned back on her elbows. “I liked Mexico,” Birdie said out of the blue, softly.

She sounded wistful, but Leeda thought how lucky she was. She wondered what it must be like to know what you had.

 

The next morning, Leeda woke to the familiar sounds of last spring and summer—the workers moving in the kitchen, frying eggs and chatting. She lay there, very still on her side, as she heard them stomping out to trim the trees. She felt sick and stayed in bed. She didn't make it out to work in the peach rows again.