Peaches

depression. Even cookies do not have the same appeal they used to. Have you seen E.?
    D uring the first week of August the orchard work began to slow. Everyone trickled out of the trees imperceptibly earlier each day until Leeda realized that they were actually making it in before noon every time. There just weren’t that many ripe peaches to pick.
    It wasn’t until then that Leeda looked around at the trees and noticed how empty they were. Only the Jefferson and O’Henry rows were left, the very last peaches to bloom. Another twelve days and that would be it. There was a sense of relief that so far the peaches had been free of brown rot, but everyone could tell the orchard wasn’t yet out of the woods.
    The orchard was strange without Birdie appearing everywhere you looked. She’d been restricted to the house for a week, working in the office and cleaning, helping Poopie cook. Most of this information Leeda and Murphy got from Poopie herself, who sat on the porch with her and Murphy from time to time, her eyes round and sympathetic, her cross glinting in the sun, rocking back and forth and filling them in.
    It was harsh. There was no other word for it. And when Murphy pointed this out to Poopie, she closed her mouth and refused to comment. But it was obvious she agreed. And when Leeda asked her to tell Birdie to open her window between three and four every day, she didn’t say she would.
    But on the second day, when Leeda looked up at the window, it was open.
    Leeda was an amazing shot. Always had been. She got it in the first try, setting off a flurry of barks and two butterfly-eared dogs peering down at her, their front paws up on the window defensively. And then Birdie appeared in a silhouette, waving to her.
    “Don’t you feel like a huge piece is missing without Birdie?” Leeda asked, lying on Murphy’s bed. They were listening to the Libertines, which Leeda hated. “And can we change the channel?”
    Murphy shrugged. “Sure.” She didn’t talk about Birdie the way Leeda did. But Leeda knew she felt the same way; she’d at least figured out that much about Murphy. It wasn’t the same without Birdie. Even she and Murphy didn’t seem to have quite the same connection as when Birdie was around. It was like it all didn’t work quite right without the three of them.

    E. is lost without you. So are Murphy and me. But Murphy says E. looks like he’s been hit by a tire iron, whatever that is. Murphy says hi. How much longer is your tail going to be stuck?
    Three more days. If haven’t succumbed to despair by then. Dad is killing me. Have buried myself alive in a crust of disdain. That’s García Márquez.
    Murphy was walking across the grass one afternoon when Honey Babe and Majestic appeared, sprinting toward her, jumping at her ankles and licking all around her lower legs.
    “You guys are disgusting,” she said with a smile, crouching and pushing them away. She stood and started back across the grass alongside the dorms toward her garden. Honey Babe and Majestic ran on ahead of her on the tiny footpath, turning around from time to time to wait for her. The three of them broke through the last few feet of brush together.
    Over the past few days the garden had exploded. The roses were vibrant and red and luscious and velvety, lining the edges. The hydrangea glowed neon blue. Murphy stood on the edge of it, sizing it up. Other than a few weeds she planned to pull today, it was perfect. She couldn’t remember anything she’d done that she felt more proud of.
    Honey Babe and Majestic lay down under the trellis while she knelt and dug up the last few strings of grapevine, occasionally resting back on her heels and gazing at the dogs or up at Birdie’s window.
    “Aren’t you supposed to be keeping her company?” she asked. The dogs tilted their heads at her quizzically. “Dumb dogs.”
    Murphy hadn’t tossed any messages up to Birdie. She hadn’t stood outside her window, trying to catch her attention like Leeda. With the end of her sentence approaching, Murphy felt herself closing up like petals at night, thinking of going back home to life as normal. If she let her mind calm down and really thought about it, she realized how fearful she was starting to become.
    She let her eyes drift up to Birdie’s window again, and this time there was Birdie’s silhouette in the window. Murphy raised a hand to wave sedately. Birdie waved back, then disappeared.
    Murphy looked back at the dogs, who were