Page 22 of Break My Heart
‘I don’t want it ripe. I want it to be kind of tart.’
‘Then you should pick a different variety. I could show you which ones are tart.’
‘Would you just pick the apple I want?’ she says, sounding frustrated.
I reach up and twist the apple off, then hand it to her. ‘Want any other ones?’
‘The one right next to it.’
It’s another one with green on it. I don’t know why she wants an unripened sweet apple when she could just pick a variety that’s naturally tart, but I’m not going to argue about it. We’ve argued enough already.
She has me pick a few more until her basket is almost full.
‘That should be enough,’ she says, reaching down to get the basket.
‘Can you walk on it?’ I ask, pointing to her ankle.
‘Yeah. I think I just twisted it. I don’t think it’s sprained. I’ll be fine. You can go back to what you were doing.’
‘You sure? This straw isn’t easy to walk on, especially in shoeslike that.’ I point to her black ankle boots that have a heel to them. ‘I can help you up the hill if you want.’
‘I said I’m fine,’ she says, standing up straighter.
‘Okay. Good luck!’ I head back to where I was and hear Gina again.
‘Sawyer?’
‘What?’
‘Could you come over here?’ She doesn’t sound hurt, but more like frustrated or annoyed.
I walk up the hill and see her holding onto a tree, the basket of apples tipped over with the apples scattered down the hill.
‘What do you need?’ I ask, pretending it’s not obvious.
‘My foot’s stuck. And I dropped the basket.’
‘So you’re asking for my help?’
She sighs. ‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’ I chuckle. ‘Just wanted to make sure since a minute ago you told me to leave you alone.’
She looks away, clearly embarrassed that she needs my help. Leaning down, I see the heel of her boot is tangled in the straw. I pull the straw away and stand up.
‘Try it now.’
She lifts her foot up. ‘That’s better. Thanks.’
‘No problem. Want me to get the apples?’
‘If you could.’
I quickly gather them up from the ground and put them in the basket. ‘Why don’t I take this the rest of the way?’
She nods and starts limping back to the barn. I’m about to offer her my arm for support but decide not to, knowing she’ll tell me she doesn’t need it.
‘Sawyer?’ She stops. ‘Could I .?.?.’ She reaches for my arm.
