“I didn’t know you were coming home.” I say, as he holds the gate open for me to step onto the stone path that leads to the farmhouse.
“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I have some friends who think weekends are meant for partying until we pass out. This weekend I’m taking a breather from roommates who are either puking or nursing a massive hangover.
I giggle. “So you abandoned them to their fate.”
“Yes, I’m an awful friend.” He says with a laugh.
“No, you’re not.” I reply earnestly.
He smiles at me but doesn’t reply. At the farmhouse, we get the cider, a box, and a picker pole.
“My dad used to bring us here when we were little,” He says, “Me, Blythy, and my mom.” A shadow crosses his features, and I realize he must be thinking about his parents. They’re dead, like mine.
“Why is it called the Lockewood orchard?” I ask Jackson, as we move through the trees. The sweet smell of autumn and apples is thick in the air. I take a deep breath and smile shyly at him.
“It used to be part of the Lockewood estate,” he says carelessly, using the pole to pluck an apple from the top of a nearby tree. “The first Lockewood who lived here was a farmer. His son rebelled and went into the ferry business. He made a huge fortune in transportation, and when his father died he gave some of the farmland to the town, tore down the farmhouse, and built the old house.” He looks at me, “Are you bored yet?"
As if. “I’m not,” I reply. I’d seen old sepia tinted pictures of the old house in the library. “What happened to the old house?”
Jackson leans the pole against a slender tree trunk and pauses to roll back the cuffs of his shirt. For a moment, I forget what I asked him and just enjoy looking at him.
“There was a fire around the turn of the century, and it burned to the ground.”
“Oh, that’s awful.”
“Yeah,” he shrugs, “My great, great, great grandfather built Halcyon,” He looks at me. “You know what it means?”
“Heavenly,” I tell him.
“Yeah,” He picks an apple off a low branch, and places it inside the box I’m carrying, then he takes the box from me. "Heavenly house.” He smiles again, making me forget that I should be trying to hide how I feel about him. I stare at him, mesmerized, “I’d forgotten how much of a nerd you are.” He says with a teasing note in his voice.
I don’t bother to deny it. “I wondered about it, so I looked it up. I couldn’t find any information about the farms though, and the old house."
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
I busy myself with picking a few low hanging apples. During the summer, I’d been convinced that he was avoiding me. There was no way I’d have asked him anything. I turn to place the fruit inside the box he’s holding, and he’s looking at me intently, waiting for me to say something.
“You hardly spoke to me all summer.” I blurt.
When he doesn’t say anything, I start to babble. “Lindsay said you were avoiding me because it was so obvious I had a crush on you and you didn’t want me to keep making a fool of myself whenever you were around.”
His expression is one of disbelief. “Lindsay said what?” He drops the box on the grass, “and you believed her?”
I swallow. “It felt like you were avoiding me.”
He sighs. “Lindsay has no idea how I feel about anything,” He says, “Okay?”
I nod, confused. He picks up the box and starts to walk back towards the gate. I follow him, half exhilarated that I was wrong about him avoiding me, and half embarrassed because I’ve just told him that I have a crush on him. Well at least he hasn’t said anything about that.
At the gate, he pauses and turns to look at me. “So do you have a crush on me?” His tone is teasing, but his eyes are serious. I flush, embarrassed at having revealed something I’ve kept so close to my chest for years. A crush doesn’t even begin to describe what I feel for him.
I want to say yes, but something holds me back. For the past few weeks I’ve been determined to keep my feelings to myself, and for some reason, even though now I know Lindsay was lying, it still feels risky to let him know the extent of all the things I feel for him, after all, for whatever reason, he did keep his distance throughout the summer.
“Everybody my age has a crush on something or someone.” I say, with a flippant note in my voice.
He chuckles. “That’s fair.” He opens the gate and lets me through. I wait as he puts the bolt back into place, then he turns to me.
“Olivia.” He says.