“What can I do to help?” he sheepishly replies.
First lightning crackle since the downpour spits along the treeline — farther now. The storm’s spine is broken, but the damage is done: fairy bulbs dangle, and the hummingbird keystone lies beak-down like a shot sparrow. I kneel beside the carved wings and brush mulch from the grain. Only tomorrow counts, I remind myself. Birds can wait. Vows can’t.
I sigh. “Help us pick up this mess.”
To my surprise, Mr Langford gets to work.
Meredith steps from the shadows, raincoat buttoned to her throat. “Daddy thinks you’re a gamble,” she says, voice shaking. “I think you’re our only hope. Tell me what to do.”
“Warm blankets for the bulbs so the glass doesn’t flash-crack when we rewire.” I grin, despite everything. “And maybe tell your stepmom to start helping or get out of the way.”
Meredith almost smiles, then trudges toward her parents. Good. A Langford in my corner will keep the wolves arguing among themselves.
The first truck headlights split the orchard gloom — my lieutenant, Cooper, in turnout pants and sneakers. Two rookies ride shotgun, pallets of sandbags in the bed. They unload like we’re prepping for a flood, which, in a way, we are. Lucky the orchard is half-way between Bluewater Cove and Birch Harbor. The first to arrive live closer to the orchard than others.
“Coach!” Rookie Lee shouts. “Did we win?”
“Game clock’s still running,” I answer, clapping a sandbag onto the base plate. “Grab cordless impacts. There are sheared bolts on that crossbeam.”
More beams of light bounce down the lane: three Hawks dads in an F-150 loaded with cedar scraps and a chop saw, and Morgan’s van, hazard lights strobing. Leah’s in the back of the van, and she jumps out, lugging a plastic tote the size of a coffin labeled SUMMER CHRISTMAS — every spare fairy strand they own.
I meet Leah halfway. “You’re certifiable.”
She smirks. “So are you. Where’s your girl?”
I lift my chin toward Addy, who’s walking our way, confusion in her eyes.
Morgan thrusts a bakery box at me. “Pecan bars. Caffeinated.”
I wolf one in two bites and gesture to my sisters to give me some space.
Addy stops a few feet short, eyes wide, shoulders tight. “I didn’t know if I should come back,” she says quietly. “I thought I’d already ruined it all.”
I step forward, calm as ever and wanting to share it with her. “You didn’t.”
Her voice cracks. “I just… I panicked. And I’m sorry.”
I pull her into a bear hug and kiss her softly on her head.
“We got this, Addy,” I whisper, and she snuggles closer into my chest. I feel her head nod.
She leans back to look at me. “What do you need me to do?”
I lean in closer. “Be you.”
She giggles, and I feel the tension leave her shoulders. She smiles and nods. “Walk me through the site, then.”
We go by crews that are working on the structure. Tarps balloon, generators hum, and sawdust perfumes the damp air. There’s enough work to keep the volunteers busy. Morgan toggles her Bluetooth speaker until Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” pounds through the orchard, ridiculous and perfect.
Mr Langford stands off to one side, umbrella useless in the dead wind. I toss him a drill. “Pre-drill six pilots through that ledger. Use a quarter-inch bit. You want a wedding, earn it.”
His eyes flare, but Meredith murmurs something at his elbow. I catch the words ‘please, Daddy’, and he takes the drill. Ten minutes later, he’s sweating in his Italian leather loafers, and the new ledger doesn’t wobble.
Addy is making sure that everyone is busy. Everyone has a job to do. She’s checking ribbons and solar jars like she never stepped away. We work for hours.
The storm is a memory. Stars flicker through torn cloud seams. We raise the replacement keystone — cruder than the first bird but solid — and lag it home. Leah strings two hundred LED bulbs across the arch face, and suddenly it’s #ChristmasinAugust. I test the dimmer. Soft gold spills down the aisle. The collective exhale fogs in the cool air.
I scan for weaknesses: braces tight, lights spaced, sandbags hidden by ferns. We’re at wedding-level again, maybe better. At the far edge of the clearing, Gina mutters into her phone.
