Peaches

Leeda knew that if she had Murphy’s brains, she’d be using them for something—like surpassing her sister.
    “Oh, please stop. I feel like I’m back in school.”
    They all lapsed into silence for a moment and suddenly Rex looked at Leeda, as if he’d just remembered she was there.
    “What do you think Leeda will be?” he asked Murphy, wrapping his arm around Leeda’s shoulders contritely. She braced herself for disappointment.
    Murphy nodded definitively. “A movie star.”
    “Queen?” Rex suggested.
    “Queen sounds fabulous,” Leeda said flatly. But Rex poked her ribs and, like a little kid, she laughed and felt stupid for being jealous.
    “You can be queen of Darlington Peach Orchard. Here.” Murphy pulled a peach out of her pocket and tapped Leeda on the top of the head with it. “Rex and I declare ourselves your loyal subjects.”
    “That’s a paltry offering. The Darlington Orchard is almost extinct.”
    This made everybody silent, and Leeda felt bad again. Murphy plucked grass and scattered it on Leeda’s knee.
    There was a shadow over the rest of their picnic. Leeda felt softly worried, like the worry had settled in at the edges of her mind. It only reminded her that she’d never felt more accepted or loved, and that she was happy. And it couldn’t possibly last.

    From her window, Birdie watched the festivities in the garden. Rex, Murphy, and Leeda looked like a cozy threesome without her. In fact, it looked like they didn’t miss her at all.
    Since Walter had locked her away, she’d cleaned the whole house from top to bottom. She’d talked to her mom twenty million times and passed messages along to her dad about things Cynthia wanted from the house for the new one she was moving into.
    Birdie had maintained her sanity with her little notes from Leeda, and the knowledge that they were out there miserable without her (like the notes had said). But now she could see how obvious it was that life outside was moving on without her, and she was beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t always be that way.
    She’d spotted Enrico once, when she was down in the kitchen washing dishes, glancing out the window over the sink. He’d been hauling a bushel of damaged peaches off in the direction of the cider house. It had made Birdie even more keenly aware thatthe last days of the harvest were passing her by. Sitting up in her window watching the picnic, she nibbled on her nails, agonizingly restless. Already she had lost too much time.
    “They could hear that sigh clear across Bridgewater,” Poopie said, standing in the doorway. “What’s wrong, Birdie?” She walked across the room and sat on the window seat beside her. She shook her head. “It’s sad, I know. The orchard…”
    Birdie picked her fingernails. “Dad sent over papers to Mr. Balmeade.”
    “I know about them,” Poopie interrupted. Birdie wasn’t surprised. Poopie knew about everything. “The workers think this is the last summer.”
    “You won’t leave Dad, will you?” Birdie had never even considered this a possibility. Her skin prickled as Poopie shrugged.
    “I need to work.”
    Birdie breathed raggedly. She tried to change the subject because she couldn’t handle this one anymore. “I’m sick of being inside, Poopie.” Honey Babe was on a pillow on her lap, and Birdie ran her silky tail through her hand, twining it around her fingers and clenching it in her fist.
    “I just don’t understand why Dad thinks this is good for me. I’m gonna end up like that lady in Jane Eyre. ” Birdie was referring to a character in the story who was locked away in the attic because she was insane and finally ended up lighting the house on fire. She and Poopie had watched the movie on A&E.
    “You’re not gonna be like the lady in Jane Eyre, honey.”
    “How do you know? People just get more eccentric as they get older.”
    “You should tell him how you feel.”
    Birdie stiffened. For a moment she thought Poopie was talking about Enrico.
    “You never tell your father what’s going on in your head. He needs to hear it, even if he doesn’t want to.”
    Birdie’s shoulders drooped. “He doesn’t listen. I mean, I do everything right.” Birdie’s voice cracked. “But it doesn’t matter. I mean, even when I’m not locked up, I’m locked up. And you might leave…” Birdie swallowed.
    Poopie frowned and stood up, looking annoyed. Birdie gulped. Was she being too whiny? Before she could say anything else, Poopie