"Squatting?" he asked.

"No one knows this, but no one has collected rent. The gas and power-I don't use much, but I'm behind on the bills. Bills come in the mail to someone none of my neighbors has ever heard of and I get a money order from the Corner Store and pay a little something and miraculously, it keeps running. No one questions me. And now I have some money so I should make it right. And I'm scared. What if..."

Noah laughed. "Nora, that house was abandoned years ago-that's why it wasn't kept up. There are at least a few of them in town. Utilities are on?"

She nodded and chewed her lower lip. "Oh, my God-what if I'm evicted?"

"It's shelter," he said. "I'll try to figure out who owns it, but sometimes it's better not to ask a question if you can't stand the answer. It's probably owned by the state or bank. One tiny house with one bedroom-it can't cost much in utilities."

"But someone could notice I'm behind one of these days and shut everything off," she said. "And what if it happens in winter?"

"Call me if that happens, meanwhile use a little of this money to catch up on the utility bills as much as you can," he said with a smile. "We're there for you, Nora. We don't have much, but we always have lights and heat. You can bring the apples."

Tom had a lot of friends from high school still living in the area, many of them working on family ranches, vineyards or farms; most of them married and some already parents. He had missed his ten-year high school reunion; he'd been in Afghanistan. His Marine Corps friends were either still serving or separated and returned to homes all over the U.S. And, there were a few deceased-he kept in touch with some widows and parents of fallen marines.

As for a social life, he occasionally drove all the way to the coast for a beer where there might be datable girls. He hadn't met any particularly tempting women, however. And there was always Jack's, but Maxie was so intent on cooking up a good evening meal for him that he had to head her off before she even planned one in her head. "Friday night I think I'll go out," he'd say. "Maybe hook up with some of my old friends." Maxie was always delighted to hear that. She wanted Tom to have some fun. But what she didn't know was that he seldom hooked up with anyone.

One thing he did do was give his only female employee a ride each morning and afternoon. She had stopped protesting and he found himself looking forward to those few minutes coming and going, fascinated by the updates on her family situation. She had met her father and began either talking to him for a few minutes a day or emailing from Noah's church office.

"There's a lot to process," she told him. "It's shocking how much I have to learn about myself-how my experiences growing up influenced some of the choices I've made."

"As in bad choices?"

"Sure, some. But Reverend Kincaid has been wonderful in helping me navigate this minefield and tries to prompt me to find some of the good choices I've made. Like the choice to be a loving mother. Now, I don't know about you and your views of fatherhood, but I always thought I'd be stuck with the kind of mother I turned out to be and to tell the truth, I was afraid I'd stink at it. It never occurred to me I had a choice."

"I think some people are naturals, though," he said.

"Oh, I'm sure. Your grandmother, for example. If I could be like her one day..." And then she smiled at him with a smile that so lit up her pretty face he thought it was a miracle he didn't drive off the road.

He realized they were becoming friends, the most unlikely friends imaginable. If she were a little older and less encumbered, they might even be more than friends. That was out of the question, of course. Tom was not in the market for an instant family. He was especially unwilling to take on the kids of some unknown guy or guys.

It was too bad she had that baggage because there were things about her that really blew his whistle-like her undeniable beauty. She had rich mahogany hair-long, silky, thick. She usually kept it in a ponytail but had a habit of letting it loose, shaking it out, combing it with her fingers back into the tie that held it. And her eyes were smoky, a kind of odd brown shade that grew almost gray in the bright light. And those slim, dark brown brows-she could lift just one and it became provocative. Sexy and even suggestive. He loved that she took her breaks in the orchard rather than the break room in the barn-she said fall was her favorite season and it would be gone too soon. And it touched a place deep inside him when she said working in the orchard was like a fantasy she hadn't even dared dream of-a luxury.

Almost everything about her appealed to him. Except her past, of course. And the ready-made family-he didn't even know where they'd come from.

He would enjoy their chats, get a kick out of her sometimes teasing, sometimes challenging personality. Here she was, struggling and down on her luck, yet she didn't take any of his guff. He liked that in a girl. All that being said, he'd keep looking. He'd find the right woman one day. And he wouldn't be completely surprised if she turned out to be a little like Nora.

Until he did, he not only picked her up and drove her home, after a week of that he began to go all the way into town to get her. And he tried not to keep an eye out for her during the workday, but still managed to find things to do near wherever she was picking.

Maxie took a run over to the coast for some shopping and since she was gone, Tom went to the kitchen to make himself a huge sandwich full of meats, cheeses, lettuce, tomato and pickles. He cut it in half, wrapped it in a couple of paper towels and set off for the orchard. He went to where he'd last seen her picking, but she wasn't there. Her ladder stood abandoned. He walked deeper into the orchard and finally he thought he heard her humming and he moved toward the sound.

Very soon he realized it wasn't music-she was crying. His pace quickened as he looked for her. "Nora?" he called. But she didn't answer; her sobbing became closer and more ragged. He felt panic rise; his fear for her surpassed all other thoughts.

Finally he saw the satchel in which she carried water and lunch and the shadow of her bent knee on the far side of an apple tree. Her crying was very close. She was sitting on the ground, leaning against the tree, her face covered with her hands. Three long strides brought him to her and he instantly fell to his knees in front of her.

"God, are you hurt?" he asked.

She shook her head and turned her red, wet eyes toward him. But she didn't answer, she simply cried.

He put aside the sandwich and gently grabbed her shoulders. "Nora, talk to me. Tell me what happened, what's wrong."

She just shook her head and sobbed.

He pulled her against him and held her. He whispered to her, shhhh and, it's okay. He rocked her a little bit. And finally, through her tears she choked out, "I remember." And then she cried some more.

Tom had always hated it when girls cried. He had always thought it either weak or manipulative. But when Nora gripped the front of his shirt in her hands and held her face against his chest, weeping, he found it curious that those thoughts didn't even come to mind. His shirt was getting all wet and he didn't care. And while he wished he knew exactly what caused these tears, he was willing to soak them up until she was ready. All he wanted was to take care of her. He wanted to comfort, stop the tears, ease her worry, feed her half of his sandwich.

He held her for a long time before she took a few deep, uneven breaths. Against his chest she said, "All of a sudden I remembered. I was up in the tree, on top of my ladder, and I remembered." Then she leaned back a little bit and still gripping his shirt with some desperation she added, "I just remembered. Jed...my father...said that he was divorced when I was four but stopped coming for his visits when I was six and for all these years I believed my parents divorced when I was six. I remembered so clearly, coming home from first grade and asking if Daddy was coming home." She shook her head. "I lost two years of my life. Two whole years. And I just got them back."

He threaded his fingers into the hair at her temples and, just as he'd seen her do at least a dozen times, he combed back her hair until it came free of the ponytail. He spread it over her shoulders and smiled into her eyes. "Does a little girl of four remember so much, anyway?"

"Yes. What I remember now is hiding under the bed, behind my mother's heavy curtains, in the closet or outside. Because when my dad came to get me, there was always a terrible fight-lots of yelling. My mother screamed at him. He was so passive-he would keep saying, *I just want to take Nora for the day and I'll bring her back on time,' but my mother made it so horrible, so scary, that I was terrified and I shook all over. I wet my pants and she blamed my daddy. Oh, God, I remember." She swallowed convulsively. "And then when I got home, she was crazy all night, sometimes all week. I remember telling her I didn't want to go with Daddy, thinking it could make her better. I told him he shouldn't come because it made Mommy too mad and made Mommy cry. I remember." Huge tears rolled down her cheeks. "I sent him away, Tom. He never came again. Never called, never sent cards, never showed up for birthdays or holidays. And my mother used to say, *You're better off-he was an abusive ass.'" And she dropped her head against his chest again.

Tom sat back on his heels, facing her. He ran his hands down her hair. He'd wanted to touch it for a long time, but he never imagined it would be like this.

"I used to remember things," she said. "Very small things-standing on my stool to do dishes with him in a sink that wasn't our sink. Or going bowling when the ball weighed half as much as me and Daddy laughing so hard. Or reading in a park, then going on the swings, then getting ice cream-all nice memories that didn't seem abusive to me. My mother said those things never happened and that I invented them. She said he abused me and I had buried memories." She lifted her head for a moment. "I did-but they weren't the kind my mother suggested they were."

He ran a thumb across her cheek under each eye. "Are you crying because you remember?"

"I don't know," she said. "Because suddenly I realized I hadn't remembered-that two whole years had been gone from my life. That my mother is really dead and nothing was ever worked out with her. That my father came back to tell me she was dead and that he was sorry." She sniffed. "Do you have any idea what I'd have given to hear my mother say that? That she was sorry?"

He leaned his forehead against hers and gently massaged her shoulders. "Of course I do," he said. Because he'd like to know what the hell happened between his parents and had accepted that he never would.

"Of course you do." She took a deep breath. "I have to get a grip. It's time to get back to work..."

"Not just yet," Tom said. He reached for the sandwich and opened the paper towels. "Do you have water in that?" he said, jutting his chin toward the satchel. When she nodded he asked, "Will you share it with me?"

"Sure," she said with a sniff, pulling out a big bottled water that she refilled at home every night.

He chuckled and put the sandwich on the ground on one of the paper towels, handing the other to her. "You need this for your eyes and nose. I'll share mine."

She obediently wiped the wet off her cheeks and blew her nose, but her eyes instantly filled again. "Thank you, Tom, but I don't think I can eat anything."

"I know that's what you think," he said, handing the sandwich toward her. "I want you to take a couple of bites. Maybe you'll feel a little better. Don't worry," he said with a laugh. "I can eat what you can't finish."

"Why did you do this?" she asked, taking a very small, experimental bite.

He smiled, a little naughty. "Maxie went to town to shop. All the way to the coast. No one's watching me, making assumptions."

"Ah," she said, chewing. "You're afraid Maxie will think you like me."

"I'm sure she already thinks that. She's noticed I give you rides. She notices everything. But a ride and a lunch-I don't want her getting all worked up, like I'm taking it to the next level. Because I'm not taking it to the next level."