Brakes squealed out on the gravel road in front of the barn. Kayla looked up and clapped her hands together. “That’s our ride.” She turned to the kids and their guardians, all of whom were still focused on the animals. “All right, folks! Let’s head outside to the hay wagon and go pick some apples! Make sure you’re with your buddy.”
Chaos erupted around us. Kids scurried to find their buddy. Once they did, they grabbed hands and darted outside, where they formed a less than mediocre line at the back of the hay wagon being towed by a tractor. Several of them bickered about where they wanted to sit, but they all fell quiet when Kayla and I made our way over and Winifred took some not-so-subtle pictures of our backs.
The man driving the tractor nodded at me before looking me up and down. I shouldn’t have worn the damn suit.
Kayla pushed open the latch on the swinging gate on the back of the wagon. There was no dropdown step, so she offered to lift the first child up herself. I watched as the boy, probably six or seven years old, held up his arms and beamed at her as she hoisted him up and set him down on the wagon. His boots, little rubber rain-resistant things with dinosaurs all over them, shuffled through the hay as he made his way right to the opposite end of the wagon to take a seat on one of the benches. There was seating all along the outer edges as well as six rows down the middle. He shimmied back so he could lean against the wooden guard rails of the wagon and his feet dangled off the ground. He started swinging them back and forth.
A child tugged at the hem of my jacket. I glanced down to meet the gaze of a little girl with brown pigtails and big green eyes. She had freckles across her little nose, and she wore a sweater beneath her rain jacket with a big gray cat on it. Its eyes were made of green sequins.
She lifted her arms expectantly and waited for me to pick her up.
I crouched down, picked her up, and set her in the wagon. Her boots left track marks of dirt along my hip and the thigh of my pants. She thanked me with a quiet voice and a small smile before rushing to meet the boy who was already on the wagon.
Kayla shot me an apologetic glance as she noticed the dirt on my pants. “Sorry.” She giggled. “I hope that’s not one of your favorite suits.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I put it on this morning.”
A lie. I knew where my head was at. It had been bouncing between work and that kiss with Kayla. No wonder I’d dropped the ball and dressed like I was going to the office.
“I hope it wasn’t too expensive,” she said.
I shrugged. “It was.”
Kayla covered her mouth and laughed. I laughed too and was struck with the question, how long had it been since I laughed like this?
We got the last of the small children in the wagon. The older kids, between ten and twelve years old, climbed up themselves and were followed by the guardians. Kayla and I hopped up last and I closed the door behind us. Kayla walked across the wagon to the tractor and gave the driver a thumbs-up.
We lurched forward and she braced herself with one hand on the wooden guard. She turned to the group with a grin. Her eyes were in shadow under the visor of her ball cap. “All right, guys. I hope you’re all as excited about this as I am. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks. Mr. Doherty here,” she gestured behind her to the driver of the tractor, “is going to take us to his favorite spot in his orchard where he likes to pick apples. We have a whole hour out in the orchard today to pick as many apples as we want. I have a couple of surprises in store for you all this afternoon but you’re going to have to exercise patience. Do you think you can do that?”
Her question was met by a chorus of yeses.
She caught my eye and grinned. In the sunlight, she looked like the angel Seattle said she was. She looked like the angel these kids needed.
As I looked around at the smiling faces, I wondered what lives these children really led. Kayla had said they were with an organization that helped disadvantaged youths and kids. Did this mean they came from poverty? Were their families in turmoil? Did they have safe, happy homes to return to when this afternoon was over?
The little girl beside me tapped my knee. She couldn’t have been more than eight. I turned to her and smiled. “Yes?”
“Do you think they have candy apples out there?”
“In the orchard?”
She nodded.
I paused to look thoughtful. “You know, I don’t think they will. If they come straight from the tree, they don’t need caramel because they’re already sweet. Just like candy.”
“Really?” she asked with wide eyes.
“Really.” I nodded earnestly. “You just wait and see. Take your time, find the perfect, bright red apple, and bite into it. It will be the best apple you’ve ever had.”
For a moment, she looked like she didn’t believe me. Then she sat up straight and proud. “I’m going to find the best apple in the whole orchard.”
I leaned in close and nudged her shoulder with mine. “Not if I find it first.”
Her bright-eyed excitement narrowed. “You can’t have it. I want it.”
“Well,” I said, leaning back against the wood frame, “I’m taller than you. So I’ll be able to pick the ones you can’t reach.”
She frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
I chuckled. “Don’t worry. If I find the perfect apple, I’ll bring it straight to
