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“When fucking Digger finally gets here.”

My lips tighten, and I have a feel

ing he’s not allowed to drop the F-bomb. Still, I’m not looking to bust his balls. I get he’s pissed about Sawyer leaving. “You really hate that guy.”

“Hating’s a sin.” He kicks a fallen peach and a swarm of flies swirls around it then resettles where it lands. I give him a look, and he shrugs. “You’ll see when he gets here.”

We walk a little farther up the row, and I take a chance. “You’re pretty smart. What are you, a junior?”

“I’ll be sixteen next week.” He looks over at me like it’s an accomplishment. “You know I was an accident?”

“Who told you that?”

“It’s the family joke.” He shrugs. “My name’s Noel backward. They said it was because my parents had run out of names. My birthday is exactly six months after hers.”

“Wait… but Noel’s—”

“She’ll be nineteen at Christmas. I just mean her birth date is December 25th, so they named her Noel. Mine’s June 25th, the exact opposite.”

“So they named you Leon.” I chuckle, wondering what their folks must’ve been like. It’s hard to square with what I know of them.

He turns and we start down the hill again, toward the house. “I don’t really remember them much. I just remember Sawyer working his ass off all the time.”

“He said he had to drop out of school for a year.”

“He figured it was more important to keep things running here than finish tenth grade. It was right in the middle of planting season. The whole town pretty much pitched in to help us. Church ladies brought us food and clothes.”

I think back to my mom, struggling with a waitressing job, doing her best to take care of me alone in Nashville. “Not everybody has that kind of support.”

He shrugs. “I guess.”

“Your brother really cares about you. He talks about you all the time.”

“Then why’s he leaving?” He cuts his eyes at me, and I see hurt simmering there.

We’re back at the house, and I choose my words carefully. “You said he’s been working his ass off since he was your age. Maybe he wants to do something for himself now. While he still can.”

“Yeah, well, we need him here. Not in some foreign country where who knows what might happen to him.”

“Hey.” I catch Leon’s arm. “I won’t let anything happen to your brother. I promise.”

The anger in his brow eases slightly. He shakes his head and starts up the steps, letting the screen door slam behind him. I hear Noel’s voice inside and walk toward the shed. I need a shower, but I don’t know what else my friend has lined up for us this afternoon. I feel like the walking dead after working all day on five hours of sleep.

A warm breeze blows nonstop through the empty peach shed, and I take a seat on the flatbed, thinking about the promise I just made to Leon. I don’t know what’s ahead of us when we leave for active duty, but I plan to do whatever it takes to keep that promise. It’s what we all agreed when we parted ways. Family.

4

Noel

Half the peaches Leon picked are washed, diced, and in the freezer. The remaining five go in the food processor with honey, lemon zest, and cream for fresh sorbet after dinner.

I pour the mixture into the ice cream maker and gaze up the hill at the large shed where I spent the morning teaching twenty kids the art of sorting peaches. Tomorrow, Mr. Hidalgo’s crew will descend on the orchard and clean the trees fast, emptying their haul onto the belts where the teens will sort the bruised or cut ones into baskets for jams, preserves, peach syrup, or peach ice cream.

The unblemished fruits will be stacked into crates, which the bigger boys lift and haul to the waiting flatbed trucks.

Taron will have to eat his words—Brenda Stein, one of the bigger girls, wanted to help the boys haul crates to the trucks, and I said she could. She promised not to overdo it.

My mind filters through the conversations we had today. He’s so easy to talk to, so playful and relaxed. I snort remembering our pun war. He should’ve known I’ve heard them all.