Chapter 6

six

MARK

Lift . Twist . Pull .

You wouldn’t really think there’d be a preferred method to pick an apple, but there was.

We tried to teach the leafers—the seasonal tourists who frequented Kirby Falls to witness the changing leaves—the best way to fill their baskets and buckets, but it didn’t always take. Most of them just grabbed the apple and yanked. However, the best way to pick cleanly and keep the tree healthy was to lift, twist, and pull.

That’s what I was doing now, over and over, on the row of Honeycrisp apples near the rear of the property.

Judd’s had about fifty acres, but only a portion of those were open to the public for self-picking. None of the produce was sold commercially to factories or grocery stores, but we did press our own apples for the cider we sold at the refreshment stand.

We planted extra crops for the most popular varieties of apples, and these particular trees were on the edge of the undeveloped land. Just beyond the dark green leaves currently occupying my field of vision was the uncleared acreage that spread out in the distance until it hit the tree line .

Back in the 1970s, when Judd’s Orchard sold commercially to grocery stores and baby food companies and juice manufacturers, it had only been Nick and his dad and a few part-timers and seasonal employees running the farm. So they hadn’t spread out as much, and the last fifteen to twenty acres had just never gotten any attention.

It was smart of Candace to mention using it. It was pretty far from the Apple House, but it would make a nice pumpkin patch or lavender field one day. I’d even visited other operations that took tourists on hayrides out to their pumpkin patches, so the distance might not be an issue if Nick and Amy decided to move forward with one of Candace’s long-term recommendations.

One big obstacle, though, was the woman working efficiently and quietly at my side, picking bag slung over her shoulders.

It had been a week since the “staff meeting” where Candace had presented her big ideas, and Joan was still barely doing more than grunting in my direction. I knew she hadn’t joined her family for dinner at all this week because Candace had mentioned it this morning when I’d stopped by the office in the Apple House to say hi.

She’d been typing away on her laptop, sunglasses perched on top of her head, and wearing a pale yellow tank top that had me noticing her sun-bronzed skin before I’d forced myself to look away. We’d chatted for a bit. Candace had wanted to know if Joan was speaking to me yet. I’d tried to reassure her that it wasn’t out of the ordinary for her sister to keep to herself. But I could tell Candace was still worried over Joan’s reaction to her recommendations for the farm.

I hadn’t lied. Joan isolated herself at times. She could be personable and friendly, but those moments were few and far between. It was usually around kids at the orchard that Joan let herself be free with her smiles. She was good with children, despite how unpracticed she was with adults. But now she was shutting everyone out deliberately. And it was probably time to broach the subject, or I’d be lifting, twisting, and pulling for the next four hours beside a silent apple-picking sentry.

“You ever gonna talk to me again?” My gaze was still fixed on my task, but I heard the rustle of leaves to my left pause momentarily.

When Joan didn’t answer and the leaves resumed their movement, I rolled my eyes as I gently tugged another mottled-red apple .

“I don’t like to get involved in this stuff, but your family wants to talk to you, Joan. They asked for your opinion because you know best where this farm is concerned. Even if your opinion is to keep things the way they’ve always been.”

Joan abandoned her crouch and stood to face me, hands on slim hips, eyes narrowed beneath the bill of her Judd’s Orchard ball cap. “Oh, you don’t like to get involved in this stuff. Is that right? You didn’t seem to mind when you were helping Candy with her staff meeting and all her brilliant plans.”

I resisted the urge to sigh and instead scrounged around for some courage under that icy blue glare. “They’re good ideas. And you’d see that if you weren’t so busy being angry that your sister was the one who thought of them.”

She scoffed as she busied herself carefully dumping the apples out of the picking bag and into the basket.

“Candace wants to help,” I said gently. “She loves this farm too.”

And maybe she hadn’t been here for the last seven years, but it was obvious to anyone who wasn’t too angry and bitter to notice that Candace really did love this place. She was a hard worker—the first to volunteer for any task required and equally determined to help out so the shared load was lessened.

She’d helped her brother load up the produce for the farmers’ market when she hadn’t even been on the schedule. Then she’d worked concessions over the weekend with her mother in the refreshment stand. Candace made that social media calendar she’d mentioned, and she was dividing up the work with Brady. She was there, in the office, every day when the orchard was closed to the public. And then, Thursday through Sunday, she greeted out-of-towners and handed out buckets and sold merchandise and generally chipped in wherever she could. And she did it all with a smile on her face. She seemed to genuinely enjoy the tourists and spending time with her family. Nick and Amy were so happy to have their daughter back. There was no denying that.

And I couldn’t ignore Candace’s sincere desire to see this place succeed—to do more than break even.

“She left.” Joan’s words were clipped—jagged and bitten off, like they nearly didn’t make it past her teeth on their way out. “She couldn’t get out of this town fast enough. She shouldn’t get to waltz back in here whenever she feels like it and make demands and changes. ”

I nodded because I could see where she was coming from, why someone like Joan—proprietary and possessive and fiercely loyal—would see Candace’s well-meaning attempts as affronts.

I made sure my tone was soft and lacking all judgment when I said, “When does someone get to come home? What’s the timeline that would have made it okay for Candace to return and be involved? When would you have welcomed your sister back?”

Joan sighed, equal parts resigned and bitter, and then closed her eyes and tilted her head up to the sky, sunshine highlighting the planes of her narrow face. “I don’t fucking know, Mercer.”

“Candace means well,” I offered.

“I know that,” she said before opening her eyes and frowning at me. “Why do you keep calling her Candace?”

I blinked. “That’s her name.”

Joan made a face.

“That’s what she likes to be called,” I argued, then swallowed uneasily as Joan kept right on watching me. I wasn’t sure what she saw written across my features, but I sure as hell hoped it wasn’t the ever-expanding crush I had on her sister.

The more time I spent with Candace, the more unsteady I felt. She was pushing me outside my comfort zone, making me want more—making me wish I was braver and bolder. She was endearing in a thousand ways.

The crush I’d had in adolescence didn’t really compare to knowing the very real version of her now. There was so much more beyond popularity and objective beauty. Grown-up Candace had layers and depth that a teenage boy couldn’t understand or appreciate. I’d seen past the friendly extrovert to the woman who got nervous talking to her own family. She carried secrets behind fake smiles, and the mystery of her made me curious beyond the boundaries of being co-workers.

Finally, Joan’s scrutinizing gaze relented, and she said, “Well, what do you think we should do since you’re captaining Team Candace? ”

I ignored the snark and pretended we were having this conversation like adults—like we should have done a week ago with everyone present. “Her ‘Friday night food truck’ idea is extremely low-risk, and she’s happy to handle the scheduling. It’s a no-brainer. And I think we should try the pumpkin patch. And the u-pick blackberries behind the Apple House for next summer. I’ll get those situated. You won’t have to do anything. Let’s see how a few of the special events go. Candace said she’d run those in the evenings. Again, you won’t be expected to help.”

“I don’t mind working?—”

“I know,” I cut her off before she got defensive again. Joan was finally listening. I didn’t want her to shut everyone out again.

“It doesn’t have to be everything all at once. Candace didn’t march in there and make demands,” I reminded her evenly. “She gave us options and short-term and long-term goals. We can implement those as we see fit. We could hire seasonal workers after a time?—”

“I am not having strangers in my fields, Mercer,” Joan interrupted.

I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Apparently, I—a non-Judd—was lucky I got to work in these fields at all.

“Okay. But maybe someone up at the Apple House or the refreshment stand. Surely you could trust other folks to sort and wash and run the press. Then your parents could cut back on their hours a little. Or we could stay open five days a week instead of four.”

Joan appeared thoughtful. She was a hard-ass but she loved Nick and Amy something fierce. She was always worried they were working too much and overdoing it.

“I’ll think about it,” she finally said.

“And talk to your family?”

Joan gave another put-upon sigh. “Fine. I’ll talk to them. But I’m not working the farmers’ market with Candy. Brady is bad enough. You can stay on the schedule with her.”

I never imagined I could get these sisters to reconnect. I wasn’t a miracle worker, after all. I was just a man who was tired of an awkward situation at a job I loved most of the time.

Maybe a part of me was more invested in helping Candace than I should have been. And maybe another little part of me didn’t really mind her being my booth partner at the farmers’ market.

“I can do that.” Before I thought better of it, I added, “But you know, it wouldn’t kill you to get to know your sister, Joan. She’s not?—”

“Jesus Christ,” she groaned loudly in frustration before striding off down the row.

Sighing, I realized I probably shouldn’t have pushed. My gaze caught on the twenty or so apple trees that still needed to be harvested, the giant apple cart half full and the tractor waiting to deliver it back to the Apple House for grading and sorting.

My day just got a whole lot longer. Shit.

Fifteen minutes later, Brady came tromping across the grass wearing a bright red picking bag.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. Lift , twist , pull .

“I felt a disturbance in the force,” he replied, grinning.

I stared.

Brady shook his head, obviously disappointed that I didn’t find him amusing right now. I was tired and I was hot, and Joan had bailed on our afternoon task, leaving me to handle it alone.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “Joanie told me you might need some help.”

My gaze strayed absently in the direction she’d stomped off, and then I huffed out an incredulous laugh. She’d been pissed enough to stalk away from me but still made sure I wasn’t busting my ass alone.

“You know, Brady, your family could really stand to work on their communication skills.”

He stepped over to the ladder and basket his sister had abandoned and started reaching for apples. Lift , twist , pull . “Tell me about it.”

“I couldn’t help but notice that you are back on the farmers’ market schedule with me,” Candace said, cutting me an amused glance before she’d even said hello. “What happened? Did you draw the short straw?”

She was, once again, already boxing up the produce we’d be hauling downtown to the farmers’ market this morning. I’d even woken up twenty minutes early to make sure I beat her here.

I smiled and joined her behind the worktable in the Apple House. “Just lucky, I guess.”

She laughed, her even white teeth flashing briefly before she focused back on her task.

I wasn’t about to tell her that her sister was still being a pain in the ass and refused to take a shift with her. So that left Candace paired with me every three weeks. September 1 was just around the corner, so we only had a couple more of these Saturday mornings scheduled together before the downtown market closed up for the season.

After a few minutes, Candace said, “Thanks for being willing to babysit the new hire.”

I closed up a box of Honeycrisp before replying, “It’s not exactly a hardship. You grew up here. You know what you’re doing.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Seems like it’s all coming back to you.”

“Thanks, Mark,” she said, sounding grateful. “And I didn’t get a chance to thank you for stepping in during the meeting the other day and bailing me out. I appreciate it.”

Truthfully, I’d been relieved that Nick and Amy had vied for Candace’s attention following the meeting. I’d seen Candace’s expectant gaze and the gratitude waiting on the tip of her tongue.

But for some reason, I hadn’t wanted her thanks .

Working with family was tough. Watching Candace slowly slip out of her professional role that day had been difficult. She’d sat there, tense and unmoving, through Joan’s remarks like it was her due. I was in the unique position as an outsider, and while I wouldn’t have normally inserted myself into their family business, I could see that they needed a new perspective to balance things out. And the very fact that I didn’t usually speak up had the added effect of ensuring I was heard.

“I wouldn’t call it a bailout,” I said, not looking her way. “More of calling a time-out. Have y’all talked more about your plans yet?”

Candace shook her head. “Not really. Mom and Dad are adamant that I do whatever I want, but I don’t want to step on any toes. So far, we’ve settled on the things I can manage myself, like scheduling events. I have another handout for today’s market, this one advertising birthday parties and a hard-cider-and-apple-pairing event with Firefly on the Friday before the Orchard Festival. But that’s all I’m really willing to move forward on right now. Still haven’t heard from Joan.”

I made sure my sigh was internal. I’d had that conversation in the fields with Joan three days ago. Maybe she was still thinking. More likely, she was trying to figure out how to swallow her pride.

“I think that pairing event will do well,” I said. “Let me know if you need any help with it.”

She smiled. “Thanks. I think I’ll be alright. We’re having it over at Firefly since I’m still working on the liquor license for the orchard. I’ll just need to bring over the apples we’ll be using and some extra to sell.”

I was already mentally adding the event to my calendar. Not that it was all that busy, but I wanted to make myself available. Be a good co-worker. I didn’t want Candace to have to tackle this first one on her own.

And if there was some other reason I was risking interacting publicly with Kirby Falls residents or looking forward to spending time with Candace, then that was something I’d worry about later. Like when this was all over and Candace was back in New York, where she belonged.

The rest of loading up and setting up went by easy enough. Candace wanted to act like she was the new kid on the block, but she was knowledgeable about the orchard and knew what she was doing. She didn’t need to look to me for instructions, most of it was second nature for her.

An hour later, when we were sipping our Cubhouse coffees at our booth on Main Street, waiting on customers, I decided to ask Candace about her life in New York. I knew bits and pieces from what Nick and Amy mentioned, but I was curious about her.

“So, what made you settle in New York?”

If she was surprised by my question, she didn’t show it. “Well, I went to Columbia for undergrad and grad school, so I was already in the city. Then I got an internship, so it just made sense to stay. There were more job opportunities there, and I’d finally gotten used to living in a big city.”

“That makes sense. You liked it though?”

Candace took another sip of her apple crisp latte and licked a tiny dot of foam off her upper lip.

I swallowed and glanced away.

“I did like it—do like it there. It’s fast-paced and exciting. There’s always a takeout place open no matter the time of day. I used to take my lunch break and go for a walk in Central Park or visit a museum. I was never bored, that’s for sure. It’s different than home though. I like having space here. Quiet. Room to breathe, you know?”

I nodded because I did know. College in Raleigh, North Carolina, had been fine. It was bigger than Kirby Falls, but not unmanageable. But I liked the pace of where I lived now. I loved the mountains and the land and growing things. I couldn’t imagine living somewhere like New York, with all its steel and concrete and noise and people.

It was interesting to me that Candace still thought of Kirby Falls as home. Seven years somewhere else might start to sway your allegiance. But maybe that was just the transplant in me talking. I wasn’t born in Kirby Falls, but I considered it home all the same.

“What do you miss most?” I wondered.

She hummed a little and took another sip from her paper cup. Then, face bright, she turned to me and lightly nudged my knee with hers. “I’ve got it. There was this little pie shop three blocks from my apartment. It was never very busy, and they stayed open late. I liked working there on Saturdays and grabbing a slice of pie on my way home. The owners were an older couple from this small town in northeast Georgia. We used to talk about sweet tea and the mountains and everything we missed about home.” Her hazel eyes drifted over my shoulder as she considered. “They were sweet to me. And they made the best pie. Don’t tell Mom I said that.”

I grinned. “What was your favorite kind?”

“Key lime. No, actually, this Oreo mousse pie they made once a month. And you had to get there early or it would sell out.” She seemed wistful, attention distant, until her gaze snapped back to mine. She gave me another knee nudge that was casual for her, but had me hyper-aware. “What’s your favorite kind of pie?”

Candace waited for my answer like it was a big deal. Like she was unearthing something mysterious and monumental about my personality. I was a little worried about letting her down when I admitted, “Apple pie is my favorite.”

But she nodded agreeably, and her knee touched mine once more. “Classic choice. I approve.”

As silly as it was, I liked having her approval. We were just talking about pie. It didn’t really mean anything. But with the feel of her leg against mine, and the weight of her attention and focus, I was having trouble shepherding my thoughts.

It had been so long since I’d met someone new—someone who didn’t think they knew everything about me. Wenn had been the last friend I’d made, and we didn’t share our histories or personal lives. Hell, he didn’t ask what sort of pie I liked. He just brought me whatever he was baking that week and hoped I wasn’t allergic.

No, it had been quite some time since I had a person ask me something—innocuous or otherwise—about myself.

Briefly, I considered telling her about the pie shop in a strip mall over in Miller Creek, about fifteen minutes away. Pied Piper’s was a family-owned place, and they made really good pie. I usually picked one up for holidays to bring to the Judds’. Amy always invited me for Easter and Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I never wanted to show up empty-handed, no matter how many times she told me to just bring myself .

I could just let Candace know about Pied Piper’s. She was back in town. The place had only been open for a couple of years. It was unlikely that Candace knew about it. But some part of me—maybe the part that had her warm leg against mine and her lavender scent in my lungs—wanted to invite her to go...with me.

I knew Candace wasn’t here to stay. And I knew we didn’t know each other very well—we never had—but we were learning. We worked together. We had the orchard and this town in common. I probably (definitely) had a crush lingering somewhere in the background, but I could recognize that this new feeling was different. I hadn’t known her back in high school, not really. I’d only been attracted to the idea of her—friendly, kind, popular, beautiful.

Now, she was real. And she was still all of those things, but she was also more. I knew that she was a hard worker, not a complainer, and laughed surprisingly loud. She was affectionate and casual about it. She loved her family and was a genuinely good person, every bit the daughter the Judds had bragged about over the years. She didn’t take herself too seriously, and she had a surprisingly mischievous streak. She was upbeat and playful. Hell, she’d named the mounted fish in her office Lance Bass.

And I knew that her favorite pie was Oreo mousse.

I was a little surprised that a pie shop was what she missed most about the city. Not work or friends or her apartment. No mention of a significant other either.

Before I could mull that over or come to a decision about inviting her out for pie, someone approached our table.

Candace’s knee returned to her side of the booth as she straightened to greet them. “Hello, Mr. Ammons. How are you?”

Nelson Ammons was our former biology teacher from Kirby Falls High School and a frequent farmers’ market visitor. “Hello, Miss Judd. Welcome home.” And then with a nod in my direction, he said, “Mr. Mercer.”

“Good morning, Mr. Ammons,” I replied easily. He was always polite but not much of a talker.

Our first customer of the day went about selecting a half bushel of our Gala apples from those arranged on the table .

Surreptitiously, I glanced at Candace. I recalled the way she’d stiffened up a few weeks ago, in that very same seat, after encounters with well-meaning locals—the ones who remembered her as Candy Judd, valedictorian and most likely to succeed.

She was watching Mr. Ammons cautiously, like he might bite. But after a moment, he simply pulled out his leather wallet and passed over exact change for his apples before nodding politely in our direction and then moseying off.

Candace stared after him, her lips parted and an expression caught somewhere between confusion and relief. Mr. Ammons hadn’t brought up her accomplishments or her performance in his class. He hadn’t even called her Candy.

“I always liked biology,” she murmured softly.

“Me too,” I said.

Still staring off in our former teacher’s general direction, Candace mused, “Lo used to complain that he was so monotone that she couldn’t stay awake. But I liked how calm and collected he seemed to be. I had an easier time understanding when someone spoke gently.”

Lo was undoubtedly Lauren Walker. Well, Lauren McClain now. She and Candace used to be inseparable. They were as different as night and day, but they’d been close growing up. I wondered if they were back in touch since Candace was home.

“He was a good teacher,” I agreed.

I’d been in that class with both Candace and Lauren freshman year, but I didn’t expect her to remember that.

Candace bit her lip and surprised the hell out of me by asking, “What are the odds you had Mr. Ammons’s class with me?”

“Pretty good,” I admitted, but I softened the truth with a smile.

She covered her face with both hands, and I laughed.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled loudly behind her fingers.

Amusement lingered but I made sure my tone and my touch were soft and reassuring as I gently pried her hands from her cheeks. “It’s okay. ”

Candace grasped my hands in hers, and I fought a jolt of awareness. She was an affectionate person, effusive and open with others. It didn’t really mean anything that she was holding me tight and keeping me close. She couldn’t know how rare this was for me. How good it felt to have her hands on me, even with the awkwardness of teenage memories hovering between us.

Candace’s grip was firm and purposeful now. Her gaze met mine unflinchingly. I could see the bravery in it—the intention behind it too.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you right off,” she apologized earnestly.

Apparently, we were doing this. I hadn’t planned to ever bring up how she’d awkwardly reintroduced herself to me weeks ago in her parents’ front yard. I thought it would be easier for both of us to ignore it.

My embarrassment seemed to take a backseat to hers. Candace’s cheeks were fiery, and she looked truly mortified.

“So very sorry,” she insisted before untangling our fingers after one more deliberate squeeze.

I ignored the loss of her touch and moved my hands back to my side of the booth.

“It’s really okay,” I repeated, and bravely tapped her knee with mine. “I looked a lot different back then.”

Candace smiled, clearly grateful. “And the Mercer thing threw me off. That’s what everyone calls you now.”

Not her though. I liked hearing my first name on her lips, especially knowing she was the only one who said it.

“I still feel terrible,” she groaned.

“Don’t. It’s fine, I promise.”

But she still looked miserable. We needed something to put us back on equal footing once more.

I wondered if she remembered that time in the hallway, right before graduation. Our one and only interaction back then. Probably best not to bring it up .

After a glance toward the Grandpappy’s table, I leaned in close to Candace. I ignored that hit of lavender that lived on her skin, and how it felt for our shoulders to press together, and whispered, “Laramie Burke is at the booth right next door. I don’t know if you know this, but she went to high school with us.”

Candace pulled back, a surprised look on her face as she took in my mischievous grin. “Are you giving me shit right now?”

“Yep.”

Then she started laughing. Her pleased amusement was so loud that it turned heads from across the street.

I loved it. I loved that I could make her sound like that—free and happy, and totally unselfconscious in her joy.

I wasn’t a particularly funny guy. My humor was pretty dry, and mostly I was quiet and kept to myself. Candace was such an open, friendly person—such a charmer—that it was a little bit intoxicating to know I had the ability to put such a big smile on her face.

As the day went on, I pointed out two more classmates, a former lunch lady, and our assistant principal, all enjoying the farmers’ market. Candace cackled and whacked me on the shoulder each time I whispered conspiratorially that she might not remember them, but they’d been acquaintances of hers once upon a time.

The teasing worked to smooth things over. I didn’t want her to feel bad about what had happened her first day back in Kirby Falls.

People needed a chance to move on from the mistakes they made, especially when they were genuine in their remorse. It was hard to hold this one against her.

There were folks out there who didn’t believe in sorry . They’d rather hold a grudge and give unnecessary weight to minor transgressions than ever move on. But I’d never been one of those people. I’d rather move forward than be stuck in the past out of nothing more than spite.

“Are you going to do that every time we see someone from school?”

With the echo of her laughter making my grin linger, I looked over from where I was condensing our remaining stock. “Nah, I’ll cut it out eventually. ”

She grabbed a box from the pavement behind our seats and passed it to me, so we could start packing up for the day. “You said it yourself, you were different back then. I should be off the hook. Plus, I’m not totally sure the woman you said was Dolores from the lunchroom was actually her.”

I chuckled. “I guess I’m not the only one you forgot.”

We’d had fun today. I liked that I could tease her about this now. It soothed the twinge of hurt from that first day. Now we had this inside joke between us. It didn’t really matter that I was the butt of it.

We hadn’t rewritten history, but we’d put it in new packaging. One that wasn’t quite so sharp around the edges.

Grabbing a carton for herself, Candace stood beside me and started carefully loading our unsold produce to return to the orchard and sell in the pre-picked bins at the Apple House. “But you’ve obviously changed. Not just in appearance,” she added quickly.

When I turned my head, I caught her eyes tracing down the length of my arms, lingering on my biceps, before watching my forearms flex from the grip I had on the box in my hand.

Her attention snapped back to the apples she was loading up, but not before I caught her blush and the way she’d checked me out.

I fought my pleased grin and busied myself with my own task. I liked having Candace’s eyes on me. I liked her flushed cheeks and whatever direction her thoughts had taken.

But before I could really enjoy the possibility that Candace might be attracted to me, she sort of stammered, “And—and you’re a dad now, right?”

Surprise had me pausing with the box of apples in my hands. I quickly turned away to stack it with the others and to catch my breath. Of course, she’d found out. Of course, she’d asked. My life wasn’t a secret. It was fodder for small-town gossip. Naturally, it would have found its way to her in the weeks since she’d returned.

“Uh, right,” I finally managed, but it sounded more like a question than a confirmation. I still couldn’t look at her .

My business was common knowledge, but I couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked me about Lyndsey outright. The Judds never brought up her or Hannah after the divorce. They gave me space.

Brady had asked early on—right after Hannah had taken Lyndsey and moved to Tennessee—if I wanted to grab a beer and talk about it. I’d said no, and he hadn’t mentioned it again. I’d been grateful that Brady and his family hadn’t persisted, hadn’t asked after the little girl who wasn’t really mine, because I didn’t want to lie to them.

The Judds were good people, and they supported me through a shitty situation and gave me privacy all the while.

So it had been quite some time since anyone had inquired about my former life. And it was the first time the lie had occasion to stick in my throat.

Hannah’s truth was not mine to tell. She had her own family and her own life, and I never wanted to make things hard for Lyndsey. I loved that little girl. Losing her was hard enough. Reliving it now felt like some funhouse version of events, where the reality was distorted and impossible to decipher from the lies.

But I didn’t want to lie to Candace. I didn’t want her to have this impression of me—that I had a daughter I didn’t talk about or acknowledge. That there was a baby out there whose picture wasn’t in my wallet and whose presence I simply ignored.

I endured the gossip and the bad opinions of me because they came from people who didn’t matter.

However, I couldn’t be honest with myself and say I didn’t care about what Candace thought. Somehow I didn’t imagine she’d be able to ignore whatever it was she’d heard about me.

We stayed quiet and busy while we loaded up and headed back to the truck. My response obviously hadn’t encouraged any more conversation on the topic. I could see Candace watching me from the corner of my eye as I drove back to Judd’s.

I’d let a single choice define me for the rest of my life. And for the first time in a long time, I was reminded that trying to do the right thing didn’t always work out.