It’s a lofty fall afternoon. Sunlight drifts down from the trees, along with the occasional pale yellow or cinnabar leaf. Every step I take seems to crunch. I feel like my breath could turn to mist, but it’s not quite far enough from summer. Soon, though. Ketterbridge gets cold fast. Even now, my lungs sting a little as I breathe in the chilly air, but it’s kind of nice. It wakes me up, keeps me focused.

I’ve finally wrapped my head around Kasey’s advice against overthinking and Aiden’s advice to trust myself. I decided not to spend all week worrying, but I did do some refresher research on what we’ll be talking about, so that I can be sure I’m answering Ellen’s questions correctly. And she will have questions. It’s Ellen, after all.

No one answers when I knock on Kent’s door, but it’s unlocked. Small towns. Kasey came back from New York locking everything. It took her some time to remember that this town is the size of a peanut, and that doing so is pretty much unnecessary.

The house is empty, so I cut through the back and check Aiden’s attic. His door is unlocked, too, and no one answers when I rap my knuckles against it. I let myself in and take a lap of his place, but it’s empty.

I’m halfway back down the stairs when I spot him, stretched out on his back beneath the old cherry tree. An open book on his chest, his head tipped to the side. Grass poking his cheek. The shade from the cherry dances across his face in soft-edged patterns.

I sit down quietly at his side. I know that Aiden doesn’t get a whole lot of peaceful sleep, so if I have to get him up, I’m going to do it in the gentlest way possible. I toy with his chestnut hair, then work my fingers deeper into it. Send the barest brush of my nails down his skull, give him a very light scratch. Then another, and another. A little massage for him to wake up to.

After a few moments of this, he turns his head and presses his face into my palm. Stubble on my skin, scratching the faint grooves of my lifeline and loveline.

“Hi,” he murmurs, his eyes still closed, a tiny smile on his face.

“Hi.” I lean down and kiss him; the smile sticks to his lips for the whole length. When I pull back, his blue eyes blink open and find me. He sits up on the grass, yawning. The book slides from his chest into his lap, and I take it from him.

It’s a slender paperback, worn and frayed. A smudgy little design is stamped onto the corner of the title page - the logo of a secondhand bookstore, maybe? It’s hard to say for sure, because the shop name is in German. Something picked up during Aiden’s travels, I guess.

The book itself is in English. Aiden watches as I thumb through the first few pages.

“Reading poetry?”

“Yep." He taps my nose with a long finger. "Someone got me into it when I was younger.”

I make a face at him, then skim through the book. I haven’t heard of this poet, and I’m curious about what kind of poetry Aiden likes - besides mine, that is. He was open to a page near the middle. I flip to it and run my eyes over what he was reading.

The footsteps taken inside of me,

they run fast and echo long and loud.

I hear the floorboards in that house

creak still

under my feet,

and sometimes it is all I can do

to sit quietly in the middle of that cacophony.

I stop, blinking, and read the lines again.

“Um. I might want to borrow this at some point.”

“Whenever,” Aiden answers, smiling. “I’ve read it like a hundred times, anyways.” He leans his back against the cherry tree, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your first day with Ellen?”

“I am ready, but I can’t find anybody.”

“Oh, right. They got held up at school, one of Ellen’s other teachers had to talk to Kent about something. They’ll be back soon, though.”

One of Ellen’s other teachers. Aiden’s choice of phrasing sparks some nerves in my stomach.

“Well, I decided what we’re going to do, and I was hoping, you know. If you’re free right now.”

Aiden tilts his head to the side, surprised. “You want me to come?”

“Yeah, I think you’d have fun, and I know that Ellen and I will have more fun if you’re there. Also I’m actually taking her somewhere, and if she runs off, you’re faster.”

Aiden laughs, then checks his watch.

“Alright, yeah. Just need to grab my jacket from upstairs. Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“How mysterious.”

“Seriously?” I lean back, indignant. “You have a lot of nerve calling me mysterious.”

Aiden grins and pops to his feet, then extends a hand to pull me up. “Fair enough. Give me two minutes.”

He jogs back down the stairs just as Kent steps out onto the lawn, polishing his glasses on his shirt.

Based on his expression, I suspect that it didn’t exactly go well with Ellen’s teacher.

“Jamie.” He sounds relieved. “I was worried you might back out.”

“Nope, I’m ready! Is it cool if Aiden comes with us?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Better, in fact. Don’t let her out of your sight, okay? She’s fast, and-”

“Kent, we’ll be fine.” Aiden pops him one on the shoulder. “You can take a few hours to relax.”

“Nah, I’ve gotta do some paperwork for the store.” Kent puts his glasses back on and fixes me with a serious look. “Jamie. Please make this work. She needs this. I need this.”

Oh, god. No pressure, or anything!

“I’ve got it, I promise. You just do your paperwork. We’ll be back soon.”

Ellen appears behind Kent, peeking up at me around his knees. I reach a hand for her, and she darts over, but Aiden intercepts her halfway there, swinging her up into his arms. She laughs, grabbing a handful of his shirt.

“Where are we going, Jamie?” she asks.

“Let’s go find out,” Aiden tells her, already heading for the door.

Kent looks at me again. I know what this expression is: he’s running through a list in his brain, stuff he maybe needs to tell me or double-check. But in the end, he doesn’t say anything.

He quickly touches my shoulder, then moves out of the way.

~~~~

The last time I was this far outside of Ketterbridge, Aiden and I were in a seedy dive bar, rescuing a half-conscious Ralph from a group of bat-swinging maniacs. Let’s hope that this trip goes a little differently.

It’s bright and clear outside, which is why I chose today. The rest of this week is supposed to be nonstop rain. We drive past long stretches of sunlit fields. Eventually the fields become rolling hills, and I turn us onto a muddy road. Ellen leans forward to read the painted wooden sign as we drive past.

Betty Kirke Farms - Apple Picking Today!

I haven’t gone picking since I was a kid, but I remember it being fun. I know that Ellen hasn’t been, and neither has Aiden, so. I’m nervous, hoping that they’ll both have a good time.

There are a lot of families here, milling around the open barn at the entrance, picking up loaner baskets from the farm staff. I brought us a few bags, so we skip that line and head straight out to the orchards.

We stop on the crest of a hill. Below us: rows and rows of swaying apple trees, their branches heavy with bright red fruit. People move around the low-hanging boughs, filling up baskets. The women who work the farm are spread out among them, helping kids reach the high-up apples, chatting with parents. The mountains that surround Ketterbridge loom on the distant horizon, half-swathed in wispy clouds.

Ellen absorbs it all with wide eyes, which feels like a good sign. My plan is to let her run around and take in the lay of the land before we get going. Maybe burn off some of the energy that had her bouncing in her seat the whole drive over.

Aiden and I follow in her wake as she explores the blackberry brambles and the veggie patch. He’s smiling to himself, blue eyes roaming, his head tipped up to the sun. I thought he might like this. There are people here, but it’s nothing like being in town. I know how far a little bit of external quiet goes towards Aiden’s peace of mind.

I kind of thought I’d miss the soccer shorts, but he looks cute as a fucking button, as always. The well-fitting jeans go nicely with the backwards snapback. I have to take my eyes off of Ellen to appreciate the view, but it’s okay. Aiden is keeping watch on her, making sure she doesn’t get too far away as she chatters excitedly with other children, pointing at their bursting apple baskets and asking them enthusiastic questions.

Most of the visitors are sticking to the orchard, but Ellen is a little explorer, and soon enough, something beyond the apple trees catches her attention. She takes off at a full sprint, weaving around the fallen fruit spotting the grass.

Aiden and I catch up to her at the base of a huge, arrow-straight tree. Ellen is the only one who seems to have noticed it, even though it’s so starkly different from all the others. I guess people miss it because it’s back behind the barn? I’m not sure how you could, though.

This tree is one of the few things I remember from doing my own apple picking as a kid, and it’s also why I chose this specific farm. It’s gorgeous. Ellen stares up into the canopy of saw-toothed leaves, her head craned all the way back.

“What is this?” she asks.

Aiden glances over at me, clearly curious as well. The giant stands alone, and the trunk is too big for even Aiden to close his arms around. It makes the trees in the orchard look like infants.

“It’s an American chestnut,” I answer. “It’s a tough tree to find growing in the wild, at least in North America. There used to be three billion of them just on the East Coast. Now there are only about one hundred.”

“What?” Ellen swings around to look at me, spreading her arms out like the tree needs immediate protection. “One hundred? What happened?”

“A long time ago, people imported other plants that had a fungus. It made the chestnuts sick.” I crouch down to Ellen’s level, and she turns back to face the tree, her hand hovering over the bole. “Don’t worry, you can touch it. This one isn’t sick. If it was, we’d see spots on the bark. The wood would be soft. You’d be able to push a hand right into it.”

She touches her fingers to the fissured bark, her eyes wide.

“That happened just because the trees got sick?”

“No, that happened because people rushed to try and stop the sickness before they understood it. They cut off infected branches, but they were spreading the fungus on their axes and releasing the spores into the air. Spores can travel really far on the wind. They sprayed the trees with chemicals that made them sicker. And then when they couldn’t stop it, they cut down most of the remaining trees to harvest the wood before the fungus could spoil it. Humans are always in a rush to solve everything. We could learn a little patience from the trees.”

Ellen stares at the chestnut, then looks at me.

“Why is this one okay?”

“Some chestnuts have a natural resistance to the fungus, and the fungus doesn’t like our climate, on this coast. The tree is young, by chestnut standards. Could be any of those reasons.”

“So - this is one of the last ones?” Ellen asks, biting her lip.

“Not necessarily. There are people trying to save the chestnuts by cross-breeding them with other kinds of plants.”

“What’s cross-breeding?”

Just as Kasey predicted, Ellen has given me a place to start. We talk about cross-breeding, what it means and how it works, what it can be used for. We head back to the orchards and pick bags full of apples, then talk about fruit and what function it serves to a tree. We talk about how trees can pull moisture right out of the air in foggy climates. How they get what they need to produce the sugar that makes the fruit sweet.

I don’t notice it’s getting dark until the Edison bulbs decorating the barn flicker on. We dip inside to get some apple cider and pumpkin donuts. The sugar boost replenishes Ellen’s energy reserves, and she starts running around again, crouching to get better looks at the root systems and the brambles in the fading light.

Aiden surprises me by slipping his hand into mine as we walk after her.

“El, don’t go too far ahead,” he calls, and a nearby parent stops to smile at us.

“Which one is yours?” she asks.

I answer without thinking, pointing at Ellen. “Right there.”

“They have so much spunk at that age!” The woman peers through the darkness at Aiden, then at me. “But you look so young to have - how long have you two been together?”

Ellen doubles back just in time to hear and misunderstand the question.

“Since high school!” she answers for us, and the mom puts a hand to her chest.

“Oh, I see, high school sweethearts! And still holding hands!” She turns to me and winks. “I wish my husband was as romantic as yours!”

There’s a moment of extremely awkward silence after she moves on. I look at Aiden, my cheeks on fire, and find him biting back a grin. I shrug helplessly, but he only laughs and winds his arm around my shoulders, pressing a lingering kiss against my temple.

~~~~

“Dad!” Ellen shouts, charging into the kitchen. Kent jumps in his chair, blinking as his focus is abruptly yanked away from the paperwork spread out before him.

“Hey, baby.” He catches her as she scrambles up onto his lap, her foot knocking some papers off the table. Kent cringes as a chunk of his organized arrangement tumbles to the floor. “Wait a sec, I’m in the middle of-”

“Dad! Did you know that scarring on the uphill side of a tree means that there might have been a forest fire? The leaves and twigs fall downhill and gather on the uphill side of the trunks, and they make little fuel pockets.”

“Oh, that’s-”

“And we saw a chestnut! Can you believe?”

“Hang on, honey, I need to focus, I’ve got a lot of-”

“But I need to tell you! Aiden let me ride on his shoulders to get the high-up apples! We got so many! Jamie said we can make a pie later!”

She waits, her face hopeful. Kent glances between Ellen and the half-finished payroll sheet on the table, then seems to make a decision.

“Okay, yes. I want to hear all about it, but go put away your shoes and jacket first.”

He gets to his feet as Ellen vanishes back into the living room. Yawning deeply, he bends to gather up the fallen papers. Aiden and I move to help, but he waves us away.

“Sorry, Kent,” I say, wincing. “We probably shouldn’t have gotten the donuts. I thought that the sugar would wear off on the drive back.”

But when Kent straightens up, he’s smiling widely.

“It’s okay. It’s nice to see her so happy.” He looks at the confused pile of papers, then sighs and flicks a hand at it. “I guess I’ll finish that tomorrow, assuming-” He breaks off, suddenly frowning. “Wait a minute. It’s too quiet out there. What’s she doing?”

We follow Kent towards the living room, but he stops in the doorway and throws up a hand.

“Oh, my god,” he murmurs.

Ellen is sprawled out on the couch, asleep with one of her shoes still on. Her face is smushed against the pillows, one arm dangling over the side.

“She’s out,” Kent breathes. “Okay. Everyone quietly get out of here. Maybe I’ll get something done tonight, after all.”

He grabs my wrist as I turn to go back into the kitchen.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and I smile to myself the whole way up to Aiden’s room.