Into the Darkest Day

“It’s no trouble. I’m sure he wants to meet you.” Abby hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. “And see the medal, of course,” she added.

“All right.” Simon’s gaze scanned her face, seeming to look for clues. Was he wondering why she wasn’t more interested, more engaged?

Abby smiled back at him, trying to convey a level of interest she wasn’t sure she felt, and she knew her father didn’t.

Sometimes the past was better buried.

SIMON

Simon watched Abby walk across the yard, towards the barn. The dog had raised her head as Abby had gone down the steps, and then dropped it down again with a tired sigh. A nuthatch trilled from its branch in the giant willow in front of the house that must have given the orchard its name. Simon recognized it as the orchard’s emblem on its website.

He sat back in the rocking chair, taking a sip of lemonade as he tried to figure out what felt just a bit off about the whole situation. Abby Reese didn’t seem particularly interested in the Purple Heart, and Simon suspected her father was even less. He hadn’t been expecting unbridled enthusiasm, not like he felt, perhaps, but something.

Instead, despite the bright beauty of the day, he felt a tangible sense of sorrow hanging over the whole house like an invisible mist, and emanating from Abby herself. He saw it in her dark eyes, her uncertain smile, the careful way she spoke. And he wondered.

Of course everyone had sorrows in their life, as well as regrets. He had his fair share of both, and they could cripple him if he let them. But the Purple Heart medal was seventy-five years old. All the people involved were dead, Tom Reese for nearly thirty years. Why would his family not want to know?

Or maybe he was presuming, taking a natural reticence and making it into something bigger. Maybe David Reese would come striding onto the porch, shake his hand, and exclaim over the medal resting in its little box in his pocket.

Simon patted his trouser leg to make sure it was still there, and then he slid his phone and checked the screen for messages, although he knew better than to expect any. He saw that his message to Maggie, sent from Chicago with a picture of the Sears Tower from his hotel window, had been read, but not responded to. Par for the course, and sadly he didn’t blame her.

A noise in the distance had him looking up, and as he slid his phone back into his pocket, he saw Abby coming back across the yard, followed by a tall, rangy man with a full head of gray hair and a craggy, weathered face. He wasn’t smiling.

Simon stood up as they approached; he felt weirdly nervous. David Reese had to be six three at least, a loose-limbed man with a sense of restrained power in the way his arms swung at his sides, his long strides. He didn’t look angry, but he didn’t look friendly, either.

Abby gave them both a fleeting smile. “Dad, this is Simon Elliot. Simon, this is my father David Reese.”

David gave a nod as way of hello, and Simon smiled back.

“Pleased to meet you, sir.” He had no idea where the “sir” came from, only that with a man like David Reese it felt right, and David didn’t question it.

“Shall I get you some lemonade, Dad?” Abby asked. Her voice had an over-bright quality that Simon didn’t understand.

“All right.”

As Abby went into the house, David lowered himself into a rocking chair, giving the dog’s head a gentle pat before resting his large, callused hands on his thighs. He gave Simon a level look. “I’m sorry you came all this way, son. I’m not sure what I can tell you about these things.” His voice was a low rumble, and he seemed a man sparing with words. Simon tried to resist the urge to overcompensate, to crack jokes and keep things light and breezy, as was his usual nervous habit. He sensed in this case it would be a futile effort.

“I realize that, but perhaps I can tell you some things,” he said with what he hoped was an easy smile. “If you’re interested.”

“Not sure what the point is, bringing all this up now. Won’t make much difference to anything, and, as far as I’m concerned, the past is the past. Gone.”

“True… but wouldn’t you like to know why my grandmother had your father’s Purple Heart?”

David shrugged. “You don’t know, do you?”

“No, but I’d like to find out.”

David made no reply, and Simon felt as if he’d said the wrong thing.

“At least, you must want it back,” he added with a little laugh.

“If it’s here and you have it, I suppose, but I don’t see the point in anything else.” David shifted in his chair, and Simon thought he was going to say something else, but then he didn’t. The silence felt clumsy, and he struggled to know how to fill it.

This was all decidedly odd. David Reese’s reticence was far more ingrained than he’d expected; it almost felt hostile, although maybe that was just the man himself. His attitude made Simon more curious, even as he felt a desire to hand over the medal and hightail it out of Willow Tree Orchards as soon as he could. Then Abby came back onto the porch.

“Here you go, Dad.” She gave him the glass of lemonade and then took her own, leaning against the porch railing as they both waited for Simon to speak.

Simon met her gaze before hers flitted away. She was, he couldn’t help but notice, very pretty, in a quiet sort of way. Thick, dark hair caught back in a ponytail, lovely dark eyes. A sense of contained stillness about her. Was it sorrow? Or maybe just shyness? She didn’t seem nervous, though. Just reserved.