Free Peaches by Jodi Lynn Anderson Page B

the backyard. I called for help, but nobody would come get me down. So I’m traumatized.” She finished quickly because Murphy looked bored, and Leeda prickled with annoyance and embarrassment, shutting her mouth in a tight line.
    “Well, how long were you up there?” Murphy asked. Leeda could tell by the tone of her voice that she thought the whole thing was silly.
    “Forget it.” She leaned closer to Rex.
    “It was about six hours,” Rex answered for her. He always remembered everything.
    “Six hours, really,” Murphy said, disbelieving.
    Leeda sighed, frustrated, seeing very clearly how Murphy saw her and not liking it. “My mom came out on the deck with a drink in her hand and sat for about an hour and watched, but she didn’t lift a finger. I was crying and crying and she just watched me and drank.” Leeda paused again, remembering the day with the lump in her throat she often got when she thought of things her mom had done to show her how she didn’t measure up. “To teach me a lesson, I guess. I was out there way past dark. My sister thought it was hilarious.”
    Murphy’s feet slowed down despite herself.
    “I was crying hysterically and then I just stopped and kind of went numb. They sent a maid to get me.” Leeda shrugged, trying to downplay it now.
    “That sucks,” Murphy finally said, sounding contrite.
    “It really did,” Leeda agreed, and after meditating on it for a few seconds, she added, “I hate trees.”
    A few minutes later they emerged along the property line,where there was a rusted, wildly crooked fence lined with bushes marking the end of the property.
    The girls sidled up to the bushes and peered over.
    On the other side, it was a different world. A huge, rolling lawn, neatly and tightly trimmed, was punctuated with sand traps, bottlebrush, and imported Italian pines. In the distance was a huge clubhouse, lined on either side with enormous, identical stucco houses.
    “Where did that come from?” Murphy asked, sounding shocked.
    “It’s the Balmeade Country Club,” Leeda answered. “The owner’s a friend of my dad’s. Well, business friend. Rex works there, busing tables,” she said proudly, wanting badly to prove to Murphy that she wasn’t a snob.
    Up until a few years ago she had spent much of each summer at the country club pool with Danay, drinking chocolate malts out of huge frosty glasses. The houses were exclusive, overlooking the eighteenth hole of the club’s golf course, and Leeda’s parents owned one. But she’d stopped going when Danay had left home. And now, with her feet planted in the thick grass of the orchard and the lake water still dripping from the ends of her hair, looking over the fence at the country club was enough to drain something right out of Leeda.
    “The owner’s such a creep. He tried to feel me up at Steeplechase last year.” Leeda thought back to how Horatio had woven up to her last spring, a stirrup cup full of Jack Daniel’s in his hand, and stood so close to her that his knuckles kept grazing her chest. He was one of those guys who tried to touch you without you finding out he was touching you. It was also common family knowledge that he had long had his eye on theDarlingtons’ property, though Walter and Birdie skirted the name Balmeade like the plague at dinner every night. Around the Cawley-Smith dinner table the opinion was that Uncle Walter was selling himself short by holding on to a relic like the orchard, and Leeda had always believed it must be true.
    “Horatio Balmeade?” Murphy murmured.
    “You know him?” Leeda asked, surprised. She didn’t think somebody like Murphy would.
    Murphy was staring across the bushes like she was looking at a snake. She crossed her arms over herself protectively. “I hate him.”
    Leeda was about to press further when Rex gave her a meaningful look and interrupted. He pulled Leeda tight to his body and spoke to Murphy over her shoulder.
    “I think the Darlingtons hate him too. He