Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
-After Apple-Picking by Robert Frost

Where the Wild Apples Grow
Chapter One: In Which She Finds Out

NOTE: Winston is a made up town. So, if you Google it, you won't find it, but you WILL find out about the amazing Winston Churchill. (:
WARNING: There will be no lemons. Perhaps some limes, but no lemons.
SUMMARY: A story of first love, desperation, death, finding yourself and, most importantly, apples. CC, AH, AU. No lemons. Rated T for some language and 18 year old smoking

When I was growing up, my father's favorite pillow was his snowman pillow. It was rectangular and on one side it was a plain navy blue, on the other, there were seven happy snowmen (eight, if you included the snowman baby) all smiling. It was actually supposed to be for a Christmas decoration, but somehow, my father ended up using it all year round. We – my mother and I – teased him for it, of course. But my father was stubborn and wouldn't give in. We kept it out for a couple of years, until eventually my father forgot about it when my mother sneakily bought him a more comfortable pillow behind his back.

I was thirteen years old at the time. I even marked the day on my calendar because it was such a big event: May fifteenth. And about three weeks after my dad got his new pillow, he died. I threw the new pillow away and took the snowman pillow to my room where I hid it from my mother under my blankets. Sometimes I take it out to see if his smell is still there. It never is, but I like to think so anyway.

That was the year when I started becoming an expert on climbing trees. We had an oak tree in my back yard that held an old abandoned swing from its branches. I only used it once or twice when I was a little kid, but other then that, no dice. It was just always sort of there. I never really noticed it until June first. That was the day I first started to try and climb it.

My mother was still in her bedroom when I grabbed the dish cleaning gloves because we didn't have any gardening ones. The day was sunny, which didn't seem right to me. It seemed like the world had stopped spinning. Why did it keep turning? Did it not know the loss I felt? Didn't the earth feel my darkness and sorrow?

The smell outside was of peace. Flowers, sunshine, clean air, warmth. It made me feel numb inside. Was this peace? I wasn't sure. Before this, I wasn't even sure I had felt anything. No, I had never really felt before. Not like this. This was real emotion and not some artificial, fleeting happiness. I leaned my head against the trunk of the tree. Rough. How many people before me had laid their head against this tree? How many had needed it for support?

I grabbed a thick branch and pulled myself up as hard as I could. I used my foot as leverage against the trunk and pulled so hard that I broke out into a sweat. I got a scratch on my face and a twig flicked into my eye. I fell down. My breath came out with a big huff. I stayed there for a couple seconds and then got back up to try again.

I tried for two more hours until my mother called me back inside. I didn't make it up that day or the next or the day of the funeral, though I desperately tried too. It gave me something to focus on. I kept trying to climb up. It occurred to me that I could've gotten a step ladder, but that felt like cheating.

The day I made it to the first branch was on the second official week of summer vacation. I had gotten to get out of school early because of my father's passing. He had died of a heart attack. Nobody saw it coming. He was healthy, fit. He was a policeman, so he knew that he had to be in shape for catching criminals. Apparently, he had some sort of heart problem. I didn't know what, and I didn't really care. The fact was, my father was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

I didn't try going to the second branch of the oak tree until I could successfully get to the first branch easily. That was on the third week of summer vacation. On the fourth week, I just sat on the crook between the second branch and the trunk, just chilling out. I watched the Hestor's across the way. I got to know them particularly well that summer, just making up stories about them.

Sometimes I just lay against the rough bark, closed my eyes, and let the wind slowly smooth against my face. I supposed this was atonement for the earth not stopping for me. It felt liberating to be up in the tree. It was like the earth's hand was cradling me. I felt safe.

On the fifth week, my mother was down in the kitchen baking cookies. When I finally got downstairs, they were halfway done. There wasn't any music playing like there normally would have been. The lights were all off. It made the house seem even gloomier. I switched them back on, and I felt the atmosphere lift slightly.

My mother turned around from where she was standing and said, "We're moving."

I just stood there for a second, utterly confused. "What?"

"We're moving. I have to get out of this place. It's suffocating me," she whispered.

The sound was scary because she seemed so desperate. I wasn't sure what to do. How was I supposed to take care of an adult? She was the one who was supposed to be taking care of me.

"Where are we moving too?" I asked.

My mother's shoulders straightened. "We're going to head the Northeast. Pennsylvania. He – we have some family over there. Do you remember your cousin Alice? You guys used to play all the time when you were little," she said, chopping up more frozen dough.

"No, I don't remember Alice," I said as I moved towards the window. It was raining. I couldn't escape outside in my tree today. I pulled the curtains back over the windows, hiding Fiacha, my tree.

"Oh. Well, your dad's sister – ahem – said she wanted us to come up and stay for a while and help with things." She sniffed against the tears that were filling up in her eyes. I didn't have to look at her to know.

"Why didn't you ask me?" I asked evenly.

"Hmmm?"

"Why didn't you ask me if I wanted to go? What if I wanted to stay here?" I grabbed a rubber-band ball and tossed it a few times in the air.

"Why would you possibly want to stay here?" My mother sounded astounded. "Don't you want to go somewhere where your father isn't around every corner? Be somewhere where it doesn't hurt so much?" Mom checked the cookies. A classic I'm-hiding-my-face-because-I'm-scared-of-my-daughter's move of hers.

I shrugged and didn't answer. I just bounced the ball up and down. I thought over what she said. It would be nice to live without Dad being around every corner, where everything I practically looked at was filled with painful memories. But then again, how else would I remember Dad? If I wasn't in a place where I could picture him easily, I could forget his face. The way his eyes crinkled up when he smiled at something funny I said, or when Mom wore something embarrassingly sexy when it was Friday Date Night.

Even now, I was holding something of Dad's. He was the one who made this ball. He said he was so bored with the lack of anything to do at work that he made this ball for me. He said he used to do it all the time when he was a kid. My mom just made those fortune-teller things. She still has them, the pack rat.

"I guess," I finally answered. I looked forlornly out the window towards Fiacha. I hoped there were good climbing trees in Pennsylvania.

It was Friday, the seventh week of summer. The movers packed all week. Mom quit her job without her bosses giving her much fuss. My room was now empty except for a picture of my dad and me and an air bed that we had borrowed from the Shoemaker's. I kissed my dad's picture and whispered, "I miss you."

I hoped he heard me, wherever he was. I hoped he was happy and well cared for, and that he could watch the Rangers whenever he wanted to, and that he had a 50-inch television set with surround sound and a Wii. He had always wanted one, but my mother was dead set against video games. She said they corrupted your mind. I didn't care. I liked to read.

We would be leaving for Pennsylvania the next morning. It was a four day drive from here to Winston, Pennsylvania, which was where we would be moving. I was, of course, eagerly awaiting all the fast food I would be eating and the cheap motels I would be sleeping in. I only wished I could drive so that I could give my mother a break once in a while.

Aunt Esme had said that she would be getting all the papers ready for my transfer over to Winston High School, where I would be entering as a freshman. She said that they didn't have any music classes for me – I would've been taking advanced band – but that there was a gardening club, if I was interested. As if. I learned the hard way that if you liked plants, it would label you a geek forever. You might as well have had it tattooed on your forehead.

Alice had e-mailed me several times over the past week, claiming that she couldn't wait to meet my smiling face and that we would have so much fun together, even though (as she frequently pointed out) she was a junior and I was a freshman. And that she was a member of the women's volleyball team. Plus she had a super-cute-senior-boyfriend-that-I-just-had-to-meet.

My birthday was also in about one month. Alice said she was planning a big fiesta for me. I also couldn't wait for that either. I was practically wetting my pants with excitement, just looking forward to the prospect.

I looked around reflexively for my digital clock, before I remembered that it was all packed away. I guessed it was around midnight. We were leaving in less than five hours. I yawned, and thought, "This is my last night in my room. Good-bye, normal. Hello, Pennsylvania."