trees.
“Mom?” Ben whispered.
I handed him the keys.
“Stay here.”
I walked toward the garden.
Monica was halfway over our fence.
Her blouse had caught on a nail, and two enormous bags sat on our side of the property, filled with Daniel’s apples and pears.
For several seconds, we just stared at each other.
“What are you doing?” I finally demanded.
Monica pulled her blouse loose and climbed down.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Claire. I’m taking them to sell. I need the money.”
I looked at the bags.
“You could
