Chapter 1 - THE APPLE IN MAYA’S HAND
My neighbor called my six-year-old daughter a thief over an apple that had fallen into our own backyard.
I saw the whole thing from the deck.
Maya and her seven-year-old cousin Leo were playing beneath the old apple tree that hung over the wooden fence between our yard and Dale Mercer’s.
The tree itself stood close to the fence on Dale’s side—or at least that was what everyone had always assumed—but nearly half its branches stretched over our grass.
Late summer meant apples everywhere.
On the lawn.
Beside the sandbox.
Sometimes bouncing off our patio table hard enough to make us jump.
That afternoon, Maya picked up a red apple from beneath one of the branches.
She had barely wiped the grass from it when Dale appeared over the fence.
“Hey.”
Maya looked up.
Dale reached across.
Snatched the apple directly from her hand.
Then dropped it into a canvas sack.
“Put them back, little thieves.”
Maya froze.
Leo stared at him.
I stood from my chair.
Before I reached the steps, Dale hooked the sack over the fence and pointed toward the apples scattered across our yard.
“All of them.”
Leo frowned.
“They fell over here.”
“I don’t care.”
Dale pointed again.
“My tree. My apples.”
Maya looked toward the deck.
At me.
That was the part that made my anger turn cold.
She was asking with her face whether she had done something wrong.
Dale continued.
“Come on. Pick them up.”
Leo started gathering apples.
Not because Dale had authority over him.
Because he was seven and embarrassed.
Maya reluctantly followed.
One apple.
Then another.
Then another.
They dropped them into Dale’s sack until it became heavy.
Dale dragged it back toward his side.
Leo still held one final apple.
Dale reached across and knocked it from the boy’s hand.
“Every one.”
That was enough.
I walked down from the deck.
“Stop.”
Dale turned.
He had known I was home.
That became obvious from his expression.
He simply had not expected me to interfere.
“Sarah, your kids are taking fruit again.”
“First, Leo is my nephew.”
“Whatever.”
“Second, the apples were on my lawn.”
“They’re from my tree.”
I took out my phone.
Dale frowned.
“What are you doing?”
I photographed him.
The sack.
The branches hanging above our yard.
The apples still scattered beneath them.
And both children standing several feet behind me.
Dale’s face reddened.
“Don’t photograph me.”
“You’re leaning over my fence talking to two children.”
“Our fence.”
I took another picture.
He slammed the gate on his side.
Hard.
Maya started crying.
I immediately put my phone away and pulled both children behind me.
“You did nothing wrong.”
“But he said we stole.”
“You picked something up from the ground in our yard.”
“Is that stealing?”
I looked at the fence.
“I’m going to find out exactly what it is.”
That was the most honest answer I had.
I was angry enough to tell her Dale was obviously wrong.
But property rules involving trees, branches, fruit and boundaries can become surprisingly complicated.
I did not want to teach my children that being angry made me automatically correct.
So I documented.
Then I waited for Rob.
My husband pulled into the driveway less than an hour later.
By then, Maya had stopped crying.
Leo was inside eating crackers.
I was in the yard holding a rake.
Rob walked through the gate.
“Sarah.”
“What?”
“Put down the rake.”
“I’m cleaning up.”
He stopped the rake head with his shoe.
Then took it from my hands.
“Don’t move a single apple.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He looked upward.
Studied the branches.
Then the fruit lying beneath them.
“Nothing.”
“Why?”
Rob took my phone.
Scrolled through the photographs.
His expression changed.
Not angry.
Interested.
That was Rob.
He could turn almost anything into a problem to solve.
Dale appeared above the fence again.
Smug.
“Finally somebody reasonable.”
Rob looked at him.
Then at the tree.
Then back at my photographs.
Dale’s smile slowly disappeared.
Rob placed the rake on the grass.
“Sarah.”
“Yes?”
“Where’s the closing folder from when we bought this place?”
I frowned.
“In the office.”
“Good.”
Dale suddenly looked less comfortable.
May you like
And that was the first moment I realized my husband was no longer thinking about apples.
He was thinking about the fence.
