Chapter Text
Ava hadn’t expected the orchard to feel smaller.
When she was a kid – when she was fifteen and half-feral and surviving by charm and adrenaline – it had seemed endless. A secret world tucked behind Father Vincent’s weather-beaten stone walls. A place she could run to when life punched too hard. A place where someone would always be waiting.
Now the gate creaked like old bones when she pushed it open, and the orchard exhaled a long breath of dust and wilted sweetness. She paused just inside the gate, letting the hinges settle. The old metal groaned the same way it always had, but the space beyond no longer opened the way she remembered. Sunlight pressed through the branches in narrow, shifting bands, dust motes drifting in and out of the beams like reluctant dancers. The air carried the layered scents of apples beginning to rot, turned to cider in the dirt, damp earth, and, in her mind at least, forgotten summers.
Her boots sank slightly into the soil as she stepped forward. The ground rose in small mounds where tree roots pushed upward, and the overgrowth reached almost to her knees. The orchard had softened at the edges, months of neglect rounding the once-sharp lines Vincent spent years maintaining. Grass swept into the paths. Branches drooped low, heavy with unpicked fruit. A faint buzz of insects blended with the distant crash of a wave against the rocky coast, carried in on a sharp breeze from the direction of A Coruña.
“Hey, V,” she whispered into the quiet. “I’m here.”
Her voice died quickly in the tangled branches. Vincent hadn’t been gone long, but the orchard already felt like it was sliding back into the earth. Ava had been preparing herself for the grief of seeing the orchard alone, but even before Vincent’s passing, she had felt a complicated mix of joy and loss at the orchard. The sights, smells, sounds of the place where she had felt her greatest comfort and deepest heartache.
Determined to move on, Ava brushed her fingers against a low branch as she passed beneath it. Bark flaked under her touch. A few leaves, eaten through by caterpillars, curled at the edges. The orchard around her murmured with movement – the rustle of leaves shifting in the wind, the soft fall of an apple dropping onto the thick grass, the rhythmic hum of bees weaving between faded blossoms that had stubbornly clung on.
She made her way toward the clearing at the center, where the old wooden table sat beneath the canopy. The table looked smaller too, its once-sturdy surface warped from years of exposure. Moss crept up its legs in spotted patches. A cracked terracotta pot lay half-buried in the grass beside one bench, long since dried out.
Ava set her hand on the table, letting her palm rest against the cool, uneven wood. The texture was familiar – raised grain, grooves worn deeper by use, a few initials carved on the underside. She ran her thumb over a knot in the surface where the wood had darkened, as though absorbing years of sun. The orchard’s quiet pressed in. A bird called from somewhere to the east, the sound echoing faintly among the rows.
Then the click of a car door cut through the stillness. Ava straightened.
The sound wasn’t loud, but it didn’t belong here – too crisp, too modern against the orchard’s softened edges. She turned toward the entrance, squinting as she tried to spot Vincent’s lawyer.
A figure stepped through the gate. The sunlight framed her silhouette for a moment before she moved into clearer view, and the world narrowed to a pair of brown, steady eyes she had once known by heart.
Beatrice Talbot paused just inside the orchard, one hand still on the metal gate as though steadying herself. Her navy blazer caught the light, highlighting the smooth, precise tailoring. Her neat bun at the nape of her neck held every dark strand firmly in place except for one that had come loose and swayed near her cheek. She held a leather folder close to her side, its edges tight and clean against the wild backdrop.
Her eyes swept the orchard once – the trees, the grass, a lingering glance at the table – and then found Ava. For a moment, neither of them moved.
“Ava?” Beatrice said, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought – I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
Ava shifted her stance, her hand still braced on the edge of the wooden table. A breeze swept through the clearing, carrying a few dry leaves between them.
Ava couldn’t speak. Her lungs seemed to have forgotten how to expand. Instead, she let a strangled, unfamiliar sound escape. “Beatrice… Beatrice Talbot.” The words came out jagged. “I mean – obviously, but – you’re here.”
Beatrice blinked slowly, as though weighing whether she was real herself. “I am.” She stepped forward carefully, adjusting to the soft ground. Her heel sank into the soil, and she steadied herself with a small shift of balance. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the trees before returning to Ava. The orchard seemed to tug at something in her expression. It wasn’t nostalgia exactly, but rather a shadow that passed too quickly to name.
“I got a call from Vincent’s attorney yesterday,” she said. “They asked me to come to the orchard today. They didn’t mention… more than one name.” Her eyes lowered slightly, not in avoidance but in quiet acknowledgement of the awkwardness hanging between them.
Ava stared. “You? In Vincent’s will?”
Beatrice nodded. “I was surprised too.” Her tone was steady, but the muscles along her jaw tightened, as if returning here cost her – more than she could admit. The orchard seemed to tighten around them, branches swaying as though listening.
Ava exhaled slowly. “He told me… he said he was leaving the orchard to me.” Her voice felt small, uncertain. “He promised.”
Beatrice softened – not dramatically – just a subtle shift at the edges, a gentling of posture that Ava remembered from long ago. “I didn’t know I was included. Not until yesterday. We had… lost touch over the years,” Beatrice said quietly.
Ava wasn’t sure whether the ache in her chest was betrayal or confusion. Maybe both. But before either could say anything more, another voice floated toward them from the direction of the path.
“Hello? Sorry – is this where I’m supposed to… oh.”
A young woman hurried through the gate, nearly tripping on the threshold as her oversized briefcase swung into her hip. She adjusted her grip on a stack of papers that seemed moments away from spilling everywhere. Her curls bounced around her face, several already springing free from an overstressed butterfly clip. She paused when she saw the two women, her eyes widening.
“Um – hi. Yes. Sorry.” She offered a quick, flustered smile. “I’m looking for Ava Silva and Beatrice Talbot?”
They both acknowledged her.
She let out a quick exhale of relief. “Great. Okay. Hi. I’m Yasmine Amunet.” She shifted her folders to one arm so she could gesture with the other. “I’m the archival assistant working with Father Vincent’s attorney. I was told to meet the inheritors here, but I… didn’t realize you’d be arriving at the same time.”
Her gaze flicked between them again, the strain between them clearly not lost on her. “I thought I’d be here first, but Google Maps had opinions, and I ended up on the wrong bus. I’m not much of a driver.” She glanced at Ava, then at Beatrice, then back at Ava, confusion growing. “Do you two… know each other?”
Ava let out a sound that might’ve been a laugh… or a choke. “Yes,” she said. “Unfortunately, we do.” Beatrice flinched.
Yasmine blinked at the tension, but soldiered on. “Well. Right,” she said, tightening her grip on the folder. “Could we… maybe go sit somewhere? The will specifies some conditions I should review with you both. There’s a considerable amount to go through.” She moved toward the table, as Beatrice followed.
Ava brushed aside a few fallen leaves before taking her seat. Beatrice approached the bench with care, adjusting the way her suit settled as she sat. The orchard’s dirt smudged faintly at the edge of her shoe, but she didn’t remark on it.
Yasmine spread her papers across the tabletop, anchoring them with a ceramic paperweight she unexpectedly pulled from her bag. A breeze rustled through the clearing, lifting the corner of one sheet before she pressed it flat again.
“Alright.” She tapped the top page with a pen. “According to Father Vincent Ulloa’s final testament, the orchard – including all land parcels, structures, and assets – has been left jointly to Ava Silva and Beatrice Talbot.”
Her voice was steady, but her eyes flicked up briefly to check their reactions. Ava’s fingers drummed once against the table, then stilled, masking her painfully thudding heart. Beatrice’s posture went subtly stiller, spine straight, hands resting carefully atop her folder.
Yasmine continued, unaware or pretending not to notice the emotional minefield she had entered. “The will states that neither party may sell or transfer their share without the explicit written consent of the other.” She slid the next page forward. “Additionally, before any decisions regarding continued ownership or sale may be made, the orchard must undergo a full assessment – structural, agricultural, and environmental.”
She flipped another page. “And that assessment must be conducted with both inheritors present.” Yasmine pressed on. “Any necessary repairs identified in the evaluation will require mutual approval. Funding sources can be discussed then, but both inheritors must sign off.”
A loose page caught in the wind, and Yasmine lunged gently to catch it before it fluttered away. She tucked it back beneath the paperweight with a sheepish smile.
“There’s no explanatory letter from Father Vincent,” she said. “Nothing outlining why he chose a joint inheritance.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you more.”
Beatrice’s lashes dipped. Ava saw the way her fingers grew rigid around her folder’s spine, like she needed the pressure to keep her breathing steady.
“That’s the primary content,” Yasmine said, gathering the remaining pages. “If you have questions, I can pass them to the attorney.”
Ava leaned back, forcing a breath. “So,” she said, “we’re stuck with each other.”
Beatrice inhaled sharply through her nose. “I wouldn’t phrase it like that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Ava muttered.
The orchard hummed quietly around them – cicadas droning, leaves whispering, an occasional breeze softly ruffling the overgrown grass. Yasmine looked between them again, her brow furrowed. Finally, she closed the folder.
Ava rose first, sliding her hands into her jacket pockets. The breeze lifted a few strands of her hair. The orchard around them swayed – quiet, patient, watching. “No questions,” she said.
Beatrice stood as well. “Ava –”
“Don’t.” Ava lifted a hand without looking at her. “Not today.”
Yasmine offered them both a small, earnest smile. “Alright. I’ll leave you two to…process.” She gestured vaguely to the space between them. “I’ll send an email with follow-up documents.” She hesitated once more. “And I’ll check with the attorney about… the rest.” She waved weakly. “Good luck.”
She hurried out, nearly tripping again on the threshold, and disappeared down the path. The orchard seemed to expand slightly with her absence, like the air could breathe again.
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” Ava said. “We can start… whatever needs starting.”
Beatrice watched the trees for a moment before nodding once. “Okay.” Her breath stirred the loose strand of hair near her cheek.
Ava turned toward the gate. The path crunched beneath her boots, scattered with fallen leaves and small stones.
Behind her, Beatrice spoke softly, the words carried gently on the breeze. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Ava froze mid-step. Then she kept walking, letting the momentum carry her. She pushed through the gate without turning. It swung shut behind her with its familiar groan.
****
Ava didn’t sleep well.
She tried – she got into bed early, even let the exhaustion drag her down – but every time she closed her eyes, the orchard unfurled behind her eyelids. Golden, tangled, waiting. And in its center, Beatrice stood like a ghost with perfect posture and eyes full of things Ava had spent a decade trying not to remember.
Around three in the morning, she gave up. Ava left her small flat in A Coruña just after sunrise, taking the bus that runs along the coastal road, then walking the last stretch up the dirt lane toward Vincent’s orchard.
Early morning light slanted low across the hills as Ava approached the orchard again, her steps slower than the day before. The air held the coolness of dawn, and was edged with the faint brine of the nearby sea. Overhead, gulls crossed the sky in sweeping arcs, their calls intermittent and shrill. Dew clung to the grass, collecting along her boots as she walked.
The orchard looked different in the morning – less heavy, more awake. Sunlight pooled across the tops of the apple trees, turning the leaves a soft gold. A thin veil of mist hovered close to the ground in the west corner, curling around the roots like breath. The gate’s hinges groaned again as she pushed it open, disrupting the quiet.
Ava paused to pull in a deep breath, releasing it slowly as she moved toward the central clearing, each step breaking gently through the dew-heavy grass.
Beatrice was already there.
She stood by the wooden table with her blazer folded neatly over the bench beside her. The morning breeze teased a few strands of her hair loose from the bun she’d tied with precision, a curiously consistent imperfection. Her button-down shirt sleeves were carefully rolled up, nearly to the elbow. A new pair of gardening gloves sat on the table beside her, still bound together in their packaging.
Beatrice’s presence here so early felt less like punctuality and more like someone bracing themselves against an old wound. When Beatrice heard Ava’s arrival, she glanced over. Ava slowed as she reached the clearing. The space between them was open, edged with an old familiarity neither seemed eager to step into. “Morning,” Ava said.
Beatrice inclined her head. “Good morning.” A few heartbeats passed before she added, “I didn’t know what time the assessment team was coming, so I arrived early.”
Ava nodded once, stuffing her hands in her pockets to keep them from fidgeting. “Figured I should be here too.”
Then Beatrice offered a single apple with a small, almost self-conscious motion. It was small, underripe, and spotted, but unmistakably from one of the trees. “I thought,” Beatrice said, clearing her throat, “it might help to reacquaint ourselves with what the property still produces.”
Ava blinked. “You picked that?” Beatrice nodded. Ava accepted the apple, turning it over in her hand. The skin was cool, still damp from early dew. “You used to have terrible aim,” Ava said without thinking.
Beatrice’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I may have improved. Better not test me.” It was such a tiny moment, but something eased inside Ava’s chest. “Ava,” Beatrice said quietly. “About yesterday – ”
Reality returned like cold water. Ava cut her off, “Don’t. Not yet.” Beatrice closed her mouth, nodding once.
“Right,” Ava said, recovering quickly, as she placed the apple on the table. “Should we start? With the… evaluation. Or whatever.”
The sound of footsteps approached from the direction of the path. Yasmine emerged through the gate carrying two clipboards, a messenger bag, and what appeared to be a reusable water bottle on the brink of slipping from her grip.
“Hi – sorry – hi!” she said as she reached them, setting her things down with relief. “I got an email late last night. The evaluation team’s running behind. They’ll be here in about an hour.” She paused to catch her breath. “I thought I’d come early to get the rest of the paperwork organized. And to, uh… get the lay of the land.” She waved vaguely toward the rows of apple trees, clearly unsure how to gesture at an entire orchard.
Ava shifted to give her space. Beatrice offered a small, polite smile.
“It’s good you’re here,” Beatrice said. “We can review anything that needs signatures.”
“Perfect,” Yasmine said. She pulled out a pencil she'd apparently tucked into her hair and forgotten. “I’ll just… spread out over here.” She set up her papers at one corner of the table, organizing them into piles with the quiet efficiency of someone used to making sense of chaos.
Ava scanned the clearing again. “If the team’s not here for an hour, maybe we should walk the perimeter. Get a sense of what they’re looking at.”
Beatrice nodded. “Yes. That makes sense.”
Yasmine perked up. “If you don’t mind, I’ll tag along? I need reference photos for the file.”
“Come on,” Ava said, motioning toward the nearest row.
They walked together into the orchard. Not close – Ava kept at least a meter between herself and Beatrice – but close enough to share the same dappled light breaking through the branches. Birds stirred overhead. Fallen fruit muffled their steps.
They turned down the first path, dew soaking into the bottoms of their pant legs. The trees formed tall, shifting corridors around them, the branches arching overhead in tangled lattices. A breeze carried the faint rattle of leaves.
A few yards in, Ava brushed aside a branch that had grown across the path. It snapped back lightly after she passed, grazing Beatrice’s sleeve. Beatrice steadied the branch with a gentle hand, lifting it out of the way for Yasmine.
“It’s more overgrown than I expected,” Beatrice said, her tone quiet but congenial.
Ava nudged a fallen apple aside with her boot. “Vincent didn’t have anyone helping the last couple of years.”
They continued through the rows, moving slowly. Occasionally, Yasmine paused to take photos, angling her phone to capture decaying branches, soil coverage, or the way certain trees leaned under their own weight.
“You can tell he cared about the place,” Yasmine said after snapping a picture of a cluster of bright red apples hanging on a bowed branch. “Even with things overgrown, the structure’s still here.”
Beatrice examined a nearby tree, trailing her fingers along one of the lower branches. “He was meticulous,” she said. “He kept records of every crop yield.”
Ava glanced at her. “You remember that?”
Beatrice hesitated with the branch still lightly held, then released it. “Yes. He showed me when –” She stopped, adjusting her sleeve. “He liked having everything documented.”
They continued toward the far edge of the orchard, where a stone wall bordered the property. Moss clung to the cracks between the stones. A section near the middle had collapsed slightly, the rocks leaning awkwardly inward. Ava pointed. “They’ll definitely flag that.”
Yasmine nodded, jotting a note on her clipboard. “We’ll need to ask the evaluator whether that counts as structural risk or just cosmetic.”
Beatrice crouched to inspect the base where the stones had shifted. Her fingers brushed the damp moss. She pressed gently against one of the larger rocks to test its stability. It wobbled slightly beneath the pressure. “Probably structural,” Beatrice said. “It may not survive another heavy storm.”
The three of them walked along the wall, tracing its length. The morning light brightened as the sun rose fully, casting longer shadows that stretched across the orchard floor. They reached the far corner where the soil dipped into a shallow depression. Water glimmered faintly between the blades of grass – remnants of last night’s rain. A few frogs croaked near the water’s edge before retreating into the foliage.
Yasmine snapped a photo. “This drainage area might be something they look at too.”
Ava bent to examine the soil, letting a small handful crumble between her fingers. The ground was damp but not waterlogged. She tapped her fingers together to shake off the dirt.
“Vincent always meant to dig a channel here,” she said.
Beatrice watched the way the water pooled. “We can add it to the notes.”
They turned back toward the center. The walk took longer than expected, the orchard revealing more irregularities – a bowed orchard rack with baskets on the verge of spilling out, tangled undergrowth swallowing the path beside a row of older trees, a patch of soil disturbed by animals during the night.
Ava knelt beside a tree whose leaves had browned at the edges. She touched one gently.
“Root rot,” she murmured. “Or maybe just neglect.”
Beatrice squatted beside her carefully, unsure whether she had permission. She touched the trunk, her fingers pale against the dark bark. “We can save it,” she said quietly. “It will take time.”
Ava swallowed. “They all will.”
Beatrice looked up. “Yes.”
Their eyes held for a moment too long. Ava stood abruptly, brushing off her jeans. “We should head back. The evaluators should be here soon.” Beatrice followed without argument, Yasmine taking a couple of photos before jogging to catch up.
When they returned to the clearing, the mist had lifted fully and sunlight settled warm across the table. Yasmine lifted the strap over her head and dropped her briefcase onto the bench with a relieved sigh. “I’m going to start organizing photo sets,” she said, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Let me know when the evaluation team gets here.”
Ava stepped back toward the table. Beatrice remained standing beside the bench, looking at the orchard with a quiet stillness.
Ava moved to the opposite side of the clearing, her eyes falling on the old tool shed. She froze. It was half-swallowed by ivy, one wall leaning outward at an odd angle, the padlock looked rusted through. Ava didn’t see any of that; she stared through the eyes of memory.
The last time she’d been in the shed she had been seventeen, breathless, heart too big for her body. She’d come to meet Beatrice, who had promised – whispered under an apple tree – that she had something important to say. Ava never got to hear it. Beatrice hadn’t shown up. Instead, Beatrice had disappeared without a word – not even goodbye – until she stepped back into the orchard yesterday.
Ava’s feet carried her across the clearing before she could think better of it. No control, just a shuffling march toward the inevitable, Beatrice trailing behind under a similar spell. Ava’s hand hovered near the shed’s door, fingers trembling despite her steady breathing. Beatrice noticed immediately. “Ava?” she asked gently.
Ava shook her head. “It’s fine. Let’s just – open it.”
Beatrice stepped forward, voice soft. “You don’t have to rush – ”
“I’m not rushing,” Ava snapped, then regretted it instantly. She exhaled, softer. “Sorry. Just… open it.”
Beatrice nodded. She tested the lock, then tugged it free. The metal crumbled in her hand. The door creaked open on stiff hinges, releasing the scent of damp earth, sunbaked wood, and the acidic tang of rust.
Beatrice approached the doorway, stopping just inside the threshold. “He kept everything,” she said softly, lifting a small pruning saw from a hook. The blade glinted despite a dusting of rust. She replaced it carefully before stepping back out.
Ava crept past her, and stepped inside. Dust lifted into the air with each step. Cobwebs hung like delicate curtains. Light streamed in through cracks in the boards, striping the dust in pale gold. Tools hung in uneven rows, some still neatly placed, others fallen into disarray. A length of rope lay coiled and stiff from disuse.
On the far wall a rumpled tarp was draped over an uneven shape, about the size of an apple crate. Ava squinted. “What’s that?”
Beatrice stepped beside her, peering in through the doorway. “I’m not sure,” she murmured. Her voice had gone quiet, thinner. “It wasn’t… I don’t remember anything being there.”
“It might just be old tools,” Ava said, and that’s when she saw it. In the corner next to the tarp – barely visible – was a small carving scratched into the wood of the wall.
A + B
Ava’s breath hitched. Beatrice fell silent. She must have seen it, too.
“Ava,” Beatrice said, voice quiet, strained. “I didn’t know this was still here.”
Ava swallowed hard. “Of course you didn’t. You never came back.”
Silence. Not defensive, or angry. Just… heavy.
“I wanted to,” Beatrice said finally, each word chosen carefully, painfully. “You have to know that.”
Ava stared at the carving, old enough to be soft around the edges. “I don’t know anything,” Ava replied, equally measured. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
Ava turned toward her, and Beatrice was closer than she’d realized. For one fragile, dangerous moment, they were close – too close. Sunlight framed Beatrice’s profile. Ava saw the girl in her, the one she’d been stupidly in love with at seventeen. That version of them hovered in the dust like a memory waiting to be re-lived.
The crunch of footsteps on gravel and the low hum of conversation signaled the arrival of the evaluation team. Ava and Beatrice stepped out of the shed like waking from a dream, pulling the door closed behind them. Two people stepped through the gate – a woman carrying a large equipment case and a man with a rolled-up survey map under his arm. “Good morning,” the woman called. “We’re here for the assessment.”
Yasmine perked up immediately and hurried over, waving them toward the table. “Hi! Yes, I’m Yasmine. They’re –” she pointed “– the inheritors.”
The evaluators set their equipment down spreading out forms, measuring devices, and tools across the weathered wood of the table. The orchard felt suddenly crowded with the added bodies, the soft noises of work overtaking the earlier quiet.
Ava and Beatrice took their places beside the table as the evaluators began outlining the process – structural checks, soil analysis, a walkthrough of each orchard row, and a report to be completed within a week.
Ava nodded mechanically. Beatrice listened with her usual steady, tight focus.
The first stop was the leaning shed wall. The evaluator pressed on the warped wood, scraped at a patch of rot, and then stepped back with a small grunt before writing several lines of notes on her sheet.
“Compromised,” she declared. “Structural reinforcement recommended as soon as possible.”
Ava glanced at Beatrice. Beatrice nodded once, acknowledging the verdict.
Next came the stone border wall on the far eastern edge. The evaluator crouched, measuring the displacement of the stones while her assistant photographed the moss and cracks. “This isn’t urgent,” she said, “but it needs reinforcement.”
They continued through the rows, methodical and thorough. Every few feet, the evaluators paused to measure, examine, scrape, or photograph. Yasmine followed them like an earnest shadow, snapping pictures, scribbling notes, waving at Ava occasionally as though trying to reassure her this was all normal.
Ava wasn’t sure anything would ever feel normal here again. She and Beatrice moved around each other in silent choreography – keeping distance, keeping rhythm. Occasionally their shoulders aligned as they watched the evaluators test root depth or tap their way along a trunk. Occasionally, their glances met and skittered away just as quickly. The orchard was full of ghosts.
By midday, the sun had climbed high and the orchard had warmed. The air smelled strongly of apples and sun-warmed bark. The evaluators returned to the clearing, packing their equipment with efficient motions.
“We’ll compile the findings,” the lead evaluator said, “but the orchard is workable. It’ll take repairs, restoration, and sustained maintenance, but it can absolutely thrive again.” She glanced between the two of them. “You’ll need to make decisions together. Every recommendation we give requires joint approval.”
Ava nodded. Beatrice’s shoulders squared subtly, her expression steady.
The evaluators walked out through the gate, and with their departure the orchard exhaled again into its earlier quiet.
Yasmine gathered her things. “I’ll put everything into digital files,” she said. “You’ll both get copies tonight.” She paused. “Oh – there’s more.” She pulled a small stack of materials from her satchel: maps, handwritten notes, faded diagrams labeled with Vincent’s looping script. She spread them carefully across the table, pinning a corner with her phone to keep it in place.
“I reviewed more of the archival material last night. These were in the addendum to the property file,” she explained. “Crop records, orchard history, irrigation notes. There’s also a letter.” She held up an envelope – cream paper, edges slightly curled as though it had been handled often. “It’s addressed to both of you.”
Ava’s throat tightened. Beatrice looked like someone had knocked the breath from her.
When neither of them reached for the envelope, Yasmine set it down on the table with the quiet reverence of someone placing a keepsake on a shrine. Neither woman moved to pick it up.
“I didn’t read it,” Yasmine added quickly. “He mentioned, um… the two of you in his notes. Not the details, but enough that I think he wanted you to remember why you both mattered here.” Her gaze drifted briefly toward a second, smaller envelope tucked deeper in her satchel, but she didn’t touch it. “Some things were marked ‘delayed release’ in the archive. I’ll have more once the attorney approves access.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Yasmine murmured, backing away. She offered a small, encouraging smile, then headed down the path, leaving the two women alone again. The orchard seemed to exhale with her departure.
The envelope sat on the table, untouched, as they stood in the middle of the orchard – between the overgrown rows, the half-collapsed shed, the carved initials, the apple trees that had seen everything.
Ava finally turned to face Beatrice, this time truly taking in the grown woman before her. Beatrice looked older now – tired, human – but her eyes hadn’t changed. Not really. Ava felt her chest tighten.
Softly, Beatrice offered, “I can take the… materials, if you like. I won’t –”
“I know,“ Ava cut her off. Even after all this time, Ava trusted Beatrice; she would not open the letter from Vincent alone. “We should make a plan for tomorrow. There’s a lot of work.”
Beatrice’s voice was steady again, “Yes. We’ll do it together.”
The last word landed between them – heavy – like a bruise touched too soon. Ava didn’t answer, but she didn’t run away either. And for now, that was enough.