Oxidize

Leo saw the apple orchard before the house. It stretched for ten acres to the east beyond the road to the driveway. Leo thought of late May, when the blooms began to unfold upon the branches, then mid-June, when the fruit emerged from its sweet cocoon and formed a green bulb. By the end of July, they were plump red planets, striped with yellow and specks of green. That’s when they’d be picked; sliced, pressed, baked, you name it.

           It was September, and the grace of the summer sun had waned to the congested chill of early autumn. From the passenger seat, Leo watched the trees go by in blinks, catching only the image of splintered matches before they fizzled away. Leaves danced in the reflection of his sideview mirror. The trees were aching and the apples were falling.

           Despite the new paint job and refurbishment of the toolshed out back, the house looked the same as Leo remembered. He spied the creaking weathervane atop the third story-roof, the S.R. brand of his great-grandfather stamped into the awning above the veranda, and the five Autumn Blaze maple trees rooted in the yard. The car crunched across the gravel driveway, came to a stop behind a black Chevy. Leo blinked the nostalgia out of his eyes when he saw it. Daddy drove a blue Ford.

           “Ready, Dad?” Tina said from the driver’s seat. She unbuckled, gave him her signature one-dimple smile. She caught Leo rotating his wedding ring and placed a healthy hand upon her father’s bluing skin. “Hey, it’s okay. Nothing to be worried about.”

           “I don’t want to talk to anybody,” Leo said.

           “Well, they at least gotta know we’re here, Dad,” Tina said. She opened her door. “Come on, I’ll help you out.” Leo stared at the house, watching the weathervane spin. He turned to his right, saw the orchard. Branches danced in the wind, reminded him of the ageless summers.

           “Let’s go,” Tina said after opening the door. Leo unbuckled and took his daughter’s hand, pushing his cane down into the loose gravel. Tina slipped her arm through Leo’s left, and they began to walk. “How long’s it been?”

           “Just shy of thirty years, I think,” Leo said. “Kinda like seeing an old friend again.”

           “How’s that?” Tina asked. They were on the porch steps now, climbing them two feet at a time.

           “As soon as I saw it… it felt like I never left. That doorbell’s new, though. Shame they didn’t keep the knocker.”

           “Well, it’s not 1800, Dad,” Tina said, ringing the doorbell. “Modernizing is fine.” Leo grunted, his attention directed toward the expanse of the veranda, which fanned the house like a tutu. The door opened.

           “Hi there,” the man said. To Leo, this forty-something seemed a pillar of impossible health. He was tall, had a full set of white teeth, and looked like he could breathe without trouble. Leo coughed under his breath. “I’m Scott Chancey. You must be Tina and Leo.”

           “That’s us,” Tina said, shaking Scott’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

           “Hiya,” Leo said. “You’re not Caleb.”

           “Hmm? Oh. No, I’m his son. Your father must have sold the place to mine.”

           “You look a lot like him,” Leo said, shooting Scott a wrinkled wink. “Nice guy, your old man.”

           “He did his best,” Scott said. “Well, come on in! I’ll give you a tour of the place.”

           Unlike the relative familiarity of the outside, Leo recognized almost nothing about the inside. The bones were there; the stairs, the opening to the family room, and the hall to the kitchen. Beyond that, the house had entered a new life distant from his memory. The old television and sectional were gone, replaced by a bookshelf, a loveseat, and a rocking chair. Plants lined the windows, hung from the ceiling. A portable speaker played soft synth tunes from the coffee table.

           “It’s so pretty in here,” Tina said. “I love the plants.”

           “Thank you,” Scott said. “My husband’s the gardener. He could tell you all about them.”

           “Just you two live here?” Tina asked.

           “Well, us and the dogs,” Scott said. “They’re here somewhere.”

Leo tried to hide his grimace when they entered the kitchen. The striped wallpaper had been replaced by beige paint. Their dining table was half the size of the one Leo’s father had carved by hand. An island with a granite countertop sat where the main counter used to live. Mom’s cutting board, Leo thought. Gone.

           “Not bad in here, huh, Dad?” Tina said, nudging her father. Leo grunted, but Tina and Scott seemed not to notice.

           “I see the back door’s still up, huh?” Leo asked, pointing his shaky finger at the back wall behind the table.

           “Yeah, we like having that there,” Scott said, leaning against the island. “Made it easier on us that there was already a dog door in there.” New paint or not, Leo could see every chip and handprint they’d left on the wood.

           “Well,” Scott said. “You know what’s outside and the rest of the changes are upstairs. I don’t mean to assume, but-”

           “I’m okay, thanks,” Leo said. “Too many steps for me these days.”

           “Want to go outside, Dad?” Tina asked. Leo nodded. “Thank you again, for letting us come here. It means a lot to the both of us.”

           “Oh, no problem. Before Alan and me, this was your house.”

           “My family’s; several generations deep,” Leo said, starting for the back door. “Be right outside, honey.”

           “Be careful, Daddy,” Tina said, watching him open the door with his hand and step down.

           “Where are you guys moving to?” Scott asked.

           “Florida. Mom’s already down there, but Dad needed to see the place one more time. They both only have so long. Just want them to be as happy as they can.”

           “You’re a good daughter,” Scott said, smiling.

           “Pfft. Thank you, but I won’t let that go to my head. And a better daughter wouldn’t let her dad go out there alone. We’ll won’t be long.”

           “Take your time,” Scott said, turning back into the living room.

           Tina pushed on the door and entered a backyard filled with dog toys and gardening tools, all shaded by a giant elm tree. She took a deep breath and made for the driveway. Leo was already past Tina’s car when she saw him.

           “Daddy, wait up!” Tina shouted. He shuffled down the hill, his cane barely touching the gravel. She caught up to him, sliding on the rocks before catching her footing. “Be careful, please. Gravel’s a poor design choice.”

           “Their house, their rules,” Leo said. “As much as it pains me to say.”

           “Scott seemed nice,” Tina said.

           “Grandad never would have let two men buy the place,” Leo said. “Woulda pulled the 12 gauge instead.”

           “Well, good thing Grandpa Ted sold it, huh?” Tina said.

           “I’ve no problem with them. Just… the changes.”

           “Dining room was a little too much, huh?”

           “Stole the words, honey. Stole the words.”

           “Seems they’re taking good care of the place,” Tina said. Good care, indeed. The orchard stood almost a thousand trees strong. Despite being the end of the season, they were in decent shape, pruned and fit for picking. The apples, however, were not. Most were shriveling into brown lumps, some upon the ground under wilting leaves.

           “Makes me sad,” Leo said. Tina caught his gaze, looked down as they walked.

           “It’s that season, Dad. You can’t catch every apple before they fall.”

           “Daddy did,” Leo said. They walked in silence for a bit, the scent of fermenting fruit rich with every step. “There.”

           “What?” Tina asked.

           “You see it?” Leo said, pointing to the tree ahead of them. “That one.” Tina saw the apple; it was a McIntosh, small, round, and flaunting a proud shade of red and green.

           “One second,” Tina said, letting go of Leo’s arm. She jumped to reach the branch, grabbed it and snagged the apple off its perch. She held it out to Leo.

           “Oh, sweetie, we didn’t come out here just for me. You never in your life tried a signature Remington apple straight from the tree. You take that one; it’s probably the best we’ll find out here.”

           “Let’s go look for yours,” Tina said. When they found the next best apple, Tina once again pulled the branch. Leo examined the apple in his hands; another McIntosh, plump and deep red. He ran his thumb across the bruise below the stem.

           “Cheers?” Tina said.

           “Cheers,” Leo said, tapping his apple against hers. Leo closed his eyes and bit deep. The sweet juice ran down his lips and chin. It was right there; too soft to be sold, but too crisp to be put into cider. Perfect, he thought.

           “How’s that for you, honey?” Leo asked. He opened his eyes and Tina was gone. So were the aches; his back, his feet, his chest. He looked down to find his cane and loafers missing. Instead he was barefoot, in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. His legs were wrinkleless and just starting to sport hair, and his arms were strong and without tattoos. He touched his face; not a canyon-like curve to be found. The apple in his hand was full again, vibrant and tough.

           The trees were green and abundant with healthy produce. He pocketed the McIntosh and began picking at the others; Granny Smith, Red and Golden Delicious, Holstein, Ambrosia. Each gushed with intoxicating amounts of cold juice and nostalgia. They made Leo’s gut flutter.

           “Breakfast, you two!” Leo’s mother, Hera, shouted from the veranda. His heart skipped a beat; he’d long since forgotten how her voice sounded. He left his apple basket and ran for the house. The running came easy, without pops and juts of pain. The air he took in was cold, welcome to his healthy lungs. His bare feet kicked up grass and morning dew. To his right, his sister Susan came barreling out of the orchard as well, hair in a braid and dressed in her favorite overalls.

           “Last one in gets the rotten egg!” Susan cried out, running as fast as her eight-year-old legs could carry her. Leo estimated he was twelve.

           “Looks like it’s yours then!” Leo said, sprinting to surpass his sister. He jumped the steps and yanked open the back door, shutting it just before Susan could grab the knob.

           “No fair!” Susan yelled, banging on the glass panel. “Let me in!”

           “Leo,” Hera said. “Let her through.”

           “Rotten egg is yours,” Leo said as he let Susan inside, taking his familiar place at the end of the table.

           “You’re a rotten egg,” Susan said. Within seconds, Hera delivered them each a plate of scrambled eggs- Leo with the bigger portion. In their household, the ‘rotten egg’ was the hen’s smallest egg that morning- bacon, potatoes, and a glass of milk. “Thanks, Momma.”

           “Thanks, Mom,” Leo said.

           “You’re welcome,” Hera said. She went back to whistling her songs, cleaning the egg pan. Leo ate the creamy eggs, greasy bacon, and salty potatoes with a hunger he couldn’t remember ever having. The cold milk almost brought tears to his eyes. Leo smiled and pulled the apple from his pocket, turning it over in his hands. He took a bite, and when he blinked, it was evening.

           He was still in his chair, apple in hand, but the sun was snoozing behind the horizon outside the kitchen window. They were all here; his sister to his right, mother on the far left, and his father, Ted, at the other end. Breakfast had turned into a night of applesauce making four years down the road, the dining room redolent of cinnamon and baked Granny Smiths. Susan was bigger, Ted had grayer hair, and Hera’s head was wrapped in a scarf. Did chemo really start that long ago? Leo thought. He set down the McIntosh and began to fill jars with the sauce.

           “How are things at school, Susan?” Hera asked, sprinkling nutmeg into a bowl.

           “Fine, I guess,” Susan said. “I don’t think the science teacher likes me.”

           “Why do you think that is?” Ted asked, squishing apples to paste with a potato masher.

           “I dunno… my charm just isn’t working, I guess,” Susan said.

           “Being a kiss-ass isn’t charm, Suz,” Leo said. Gee, had I really said that? And meant it?

           “I’m not a kiss-ass, Leo,” Susan said.

           “Fine; teacher’s pet works, too,” Leo said.

           “Knock it off,” Ted said. “Apologize to your sister.”

           “Fine,” Leo said. “Susan, I’m sorry that you have no real charm.” He gave a mocking smile.

           “Leo, go to your room,” Hera said.

           “Oh, come on. I was just-” Leo began.

           “Now,” Hera said. Leo scoffed as he left the dining room, ascended the stairs and slammed his door. His room was the same as he’d remembered it; desk alight with his lamp, the comic books, clothes on the floor. Even the plaid comforter on his bed had the same stains he remembered giving it. He rubbed his neck and sighed. The McIntosh had somehow returned to his hand, sporting the same bite he’d taken earlier. Leo shrugged and bit into it again, opening the wound twice over. He swallowed and set the apple upon the nightstand before laying down and shutting his eyes. When he opened them again, Susan was shaking him awake.

           “Come on, Leo,” Susan said. “We’re ready.” Leo let a groan escape into his pillow before sitting up. He scratched his face, surprised to find a beard collecting across his jawline.

           “I’m not,” Leo said. He looked down, saw the suit and tie with the dress shoes. “Oh, I’m not ready for today, Suz.”

           “You don’t have to be,” Susan said, sitting next to Leo. “You just have to say goodbye.” Leo blinked the tears from his eyes. Susan took his hand.

           “It’s scary. Saying goodbye,” Leo said. Susan nodded, patted his back.

           “Better than not doing it at all,” Susan said. “You owe her that much.” Leo nodded and wiped his eyes.

           “Okay,” Leo said. “Let’s go.” They stood, stepped out of the room and descended the stairs. There was their father, hair almost completely white now. The urn was tucked into the crease of his right arm. He said nothing, just gave Leo a pat on the shoulder before leaving the front door.

           They marched across the driveway and walked along the leftmost perimeter of the orchard. Halfway through the acreage sat a headstone with ‘Hera Remington’ etched into its face. Without a word, Ted placed the urn upon the grave, weeping to himself. The wind picked up, blowing the scent of late summer apples through their hair. Leo placed his hands in his pockets and felt a lump in the right one. He pulled out the McIntosh, now half eaten. It was oxidizing, the core exposed and browning. A sour flavor danced in his mouth.

Before his eyes, another chunk of the apple disappeared, exposing a worm hole within. Leo looked up to find his father and sister gone, replaced by Kylie, his wife. They would have been together for only a year at this point. I’m already thirty? Leo thought. Slow down. Please, slow down.

“This place is gorgeous,” Kylie said, swinging her right arm and holding Leo’s left hand. They were walking through the trees, watching the apples glimmer in the sun. “I see why your family kept it.”

“Not much longer,” Leo said. “Dad’s probably finalizing the papers by now. And not even of his own volition.”

           “Well, he’s old, Leo,” Kylie said. “He offered you the place, didn’t he?”

           “Yeah, but the business is gone. Sold out to a larger company. The recipe’s probably patented by now.”

           “I’m sorry,” Kylie said.

           “Don’t be,” Leo said. “Not my business.” Leo let go of Kylie’s hand, jumped up and snatched an apple. “Here. Before it’s not Dad’s to give.”

           Kylie took the apple and bit it. Her eyes rolled and she smiled, taking another bite before swallowing the first.

           “Yep,” Leo said, taking her hand again. “Every time.”

Leo felt something shift in his right hand. The McIntosh was only a dry core; a bone picked clean of its meat, its remaining flesh bruised and purple. Leo opened his mouth to speak and found no one to talk to. With the disappearance of Kylie came the recurrence of his hip pain. His beard was gone, the brittle September air pinching at his exposed skin. The McIntosh had been replaced by his cane.

           “Dad?” Tina said.

           “Hmm?” Leo said, turning to face his daughter.

           “You dropped your apple,” Tina said. Leo looked down, saw the healthy McIntosh with a single bite mark now lying amongst the leaves.

           “I did, didn’t I?” Leo said, chuckling.

           “Do you want another one?”

           “I’m okay, honey. What do you think?” Leo asked, pointing to the apple in her hand.

           “I think it tastes wonderful,” Tina said, taking another bite. “Best apple I’ve ever had.”

           “You don’t have to pander if you don’t like it,” Leo said.

           “I mean it, Dad,” Tina said. “It’s amazing.”

           “Grandpa’s smiling wherever he is, honey,” Leo said. “Come on. Help me back to the car.”

           “Are you sure you don’t want another one for the road?” Tina asked. Leo turned, watched the branches shaking in the wind, apples bobbing without water.

           “I’m full,” Leo said. “Let’s go see your mother.” Tina held her father’s arm and they walked back to the car. Scott gave them a goodbye cheer and a wave from the porch, and they waved back before strapping in. Tina reversed and straightened out, turning back down the dirt road. Leo watched the orchard vanish from his sideview mirror, smiled to himself, and picked a wedge of apple from his teeth.