Undeniable

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” she continues, as if she didn’t hear me, “I’m sure you think it’s really convenient that you live in his house.” She smiles tightly. “Just don’t forget that he’s mine.”

She’s looking at me with a challenge in her eyes. I almost pity her, because I know how insecure she must be to confront me like this. “If he were yours you wouldn’t need to warn me off him.” I say frankly.

Her face contorts in an expression of scorn. “Do you think I’m the only one who’s noticed how your eyes follow him around? You’re making everyone uncomfortable and making a fool of yourself. Even Jackson’s noticed and he feels sorry for you. Why do you think he spends so much time away?”

I keep my eyes square on her face, determined to hide the flood of pain that’s threatening to drown me. From her satisfied expression, I can tell she knows that she’s hit her mark. At that moment, I hate her more than I’ve ever hated anyone or anything in my life.

“Do you want the towel?” I ask calmly.

She looks as if she wants to say something else, but after a moment, she snatches the towel from my hand and flounces away.

Summer passes, and in the fall, Blythe goes back to school, and once more I’m left practically alone in the big house with only Mrs. Shannon for company.

“Where have you gone?”

“What…?” I snap out of my thoughts to see Mrs. Shannon watching me from the other side of the kitchen island. She’s a plump, good-natured woman somewhere around middle age, and right now, she’s watching me with a frown on her face.

“I thought you said you wanted to learn how to bake a pie,” She says, shaking her head and going back to kneading the lump of dough on the board. “All you’ve done is sit there on that stool and stare into space.”

“I’m sorry.” I sigh, “I just have a lot on my mind."

“At your age?” She chuckles. “Like what?”

Like my conversation with Lindsay, which I haven’t stopped thinking about since it happened. Like Jackson. Ever since that day at the pool, there’s been some sort of subtle shift in our relationship. He hardly came home through the rest of the summer, and when he did, it was almost as if he didn’t want to be anywhere around me. I had no

choice but to conclude that Lindsay was right. He can see my stupid obsession with him written on my face, and he’d rather avoid me than watch me continue to make a fool of myself.

“Now you’ve gone off again.” Mrs. Shannon shakes her head, “You’re not learning anything here. Maybe you should go take some pictures with that camera of yours, or better yet, you can go pick me some apples.”

There’s an apple orchard adjoining the property. It’s called the Lockewood orchard, even though it’s owned by the town and not the family. Every fall, a lot of people go there to pick apples and enjoy the outdoors.

“I’ve never been to the apple orchard.”

“Why not?” She exclaims. Her eyes go to something behind me at the door. “Jackson,” she calls, making my head snap back towards the door, and sure enough, Jackson is standing there. I didn’t even know he was home. I catch myself before I make a fool of myself by staring at him and betraying the all-consuming yearning I feel for him. After a quick hello, I hastily turn back to Mrs. Shannon.

“Livvie says she’s never been apple picking.” She tells him, unaware of the hard knot my stomach has become, and the tension that has taken over my body. "You should take her.”

“He doesn’t have to.” I say quickly. If he’s trying to avoid me, then I’m not going to force myself on him. “I’m sure Jackson is busy, and I can manage by myself.”

Mrs. Shannon gives me a queer look. I can feel Jackson’s eyes on my back. I cringe, embarrassed and desperately wishing I could just disappear.

“I remember when you used to get so excited at the prospect of going over to the farms to pick apples you’d almost throw up.” Mrs. Shannon says to Jackson. If it’s supposed to make me laugh, it doesn’t work, but I hear Jackson’s chuckle. I sneak a look at him, and he’s leaning on the doorframe, looking amused.

“What do you say, Olivia?” He says, his mesmerizing smile turned toward me. ‘Shall we go pick some apples before my inner child gets overexcited and starts throwing up?"

I nod slowly, despite all my reservations, very ecstatic at the thought of spending time with him. “I’ll just get a jacket.” I say, getting up from the kitchen stool.

“Don’t bother,” he says easily, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to me, “You can wear mine.”

I put it on gratefully. It smells like him, light cologne mixed with a scent that’s just him. I would have liked to go up to my room, brush my hair and maybe apply lip-gloss, but getting to wear Jackson’s jacket makes up for losing the chance to do all that.

Mrs. Shannon is looking at me with a queer expression. I realize I’m hugging the jacket close to me, and I free it quickly.

“Don’t forget to get me some apple cider.” She says.

“Okay,” I reply, following Jackson to the door.

Outside, it’s a little cold, and the view from the house to the river is dotted with trees that are already red and gold with the season. It’s beautiful as usual, and the reason why the valley was such a popular retreat for wealthy New Yorkers back in the day. Jackson also takes a moment to admire the view, breathing in the clean, crisp air and giving me a small smile before starting to walk towards the gardens and the trees beyond. A fence separates the farm from the estate, with a tiny iron gate. It’s not locked, and Jackson reaches through the bars to move the bolt, opening it.