When the Days Grow Short

Chapter 2
Redressed for the Occasion

Chapter Description: A muddy mishap leaves Dan redressed for the occasion—though not quite in the way he expected, and with his dignity and underwear both considerably damper than before.

The entrance smelled of cinnamon and wet straw.

A row of wooden booths stood beneath the corn archway, their counters crowded with baskets, paper maps and little jars of preserves. Somewhere behind them, an acoustic cover of “Monster Mash” was playing badly enough to sound deliberate.

A woman in an orange apron waved the group toward an open register.

“Four for general admission?”

“Four,” Nate said.

“And apple picking?”

Dan stepped forward before Nate could answer. “Yes. How does that work?”

The woman indicated three canvas bags hanging beside the till. Each had a different coloured handle and a cartoon apple printed across the front.

“Small bag is ten, medium is eighteen, large is thirty. Fill up to the seam, and you can leave them at the collection barn when you’re done. Just keep your claim ticket.”

“We’ll take two large,” Dan said.

Hannah leaned close to him. “Two?”

“There are four of us.”

“And what are we doing with sixty pounds of apples?”

“Eating them.”

“You don’t eat apples.”

“I eat apples.”

“You buy apples. Then I throw away soft apples three weeks later.”

“I had an apple on Wednesday.”

“That was a pear.”

Dan looked at her.

She looked back.

Behind them, Sophie began laughing.

“Fine,” Dan said. “One large.”

The woman pulled a bag from its hook. Before Dan could reach for it, she passed it across the counter to Hannah.

“Orchard’s straight through that gate. Red flags mark the Honeycrisps, yellow for Golden Delicious, green for Granny Smith. Twist upwards when you pick. Don’t pull straight down.”

“I know how to pick an apple,” Dan said.

The woman had already turned to ring up the next group.

Hannah folded the empty bag over one arm. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Because you’ve just been given instructions.”

“I’ve encountered fruit before.”

Nate clapped a hand onto his shoulder. “Ignore them, captain. Lead us to glory.”

They passed through the gate.

The orchard fell away in long, damp rows, the trees low and densely tangled beneath a pale sky. Red apples shone between yellowing leaves. The grass underfoot was silvered with moisture, and every gust sent a soft scatter ticking through the branches.

For a few minutes, even Dan stopped talking.

It was absurdly picturesque. Families moved between the rows with canvas bags and little red wagons. Somewhere deeper in the orchard, a child shrieked triumphantly over an apple. The air smelled green and cold, edged with sweetness from fallen fruit beginning to ferment in the grass.

Hannah bumped her shoulder against Dan’s.

“Worth the drive?”

He considered pretending otherwise.

“Ask me after the haunted house.”

“That means yes.”

Nate took the map from the entrance and unfolded it. “Honeycrisps are left.”

Dan glanced over. “Those flags are red.”

“Correct.”

“The woman said red was Honeycrisp.”

“She did.”

“So we don’t need the map.”

Nate folded it again. “Another crisis narrowly avoided.”

Sophie wandered toward the nearest tree and reached for an apple at eye level.

“No, not that one,” Dan said.

Her hand stopped.

He stepped around her, studying the fruit with exaggerated seriousness. “Too green.”

“It’s red.”

“On one side.”

“Apples grow outside, Dan. They don’t come evenly rendered.”

He ignored her and reached higher for a darker one tucked behind a cluster of leaves.

“Observe.”

He wrapped his fingers around it and pulled.

The branch snapped downward. Leaves shook loose over his head, and three apples dropped at once. One struck his shoulder. Another bounced from his forearm. The third landed heavily in the wet grass.

There was a beat of silence.

Nate said, “Powerful.”

“I loosened them.”

“You assaulted the tree.”

“I was testing structural integrity.”

Hannah pushed through the leaves and plucked the original apple with a small upward twist. It came away neatly in her hand.

“Like that,” she said.

Dan brushed leaves from his hair. “Mine was stuck.”

“Of course.”

Sophie bent to retrieve the fallen apples. Dan crouched at the same time, reaching for the one nearest his shoe.

Their heads nearly collided.

“Oh—sorry,” Sophie said, straightening too quickly.

Dan caught her elbow.

“Careful.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not supposed to be bending over like that, are you?”

Sophie stared at him. “I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”

“I know. I’m just saying.”

“I am allowed to pick things up.”

“Obviously.”

“She’s thirteen weeks, mate,” Nate said. “She hasn’t lost the use of her spine.”

“I was helping.”

Sophie handed Dan the bruised apple. “Good job.”

Something in her tone made Hannah laugh.

Dan stood. “Everyone is very funny today.”

They moved farther into the orchard.

For a while, things improved. Hannah held the bag open while Dan and Nate filled it. Sophie took photographs, directing them toward branches with particularly bright clusters. The sun appeared briefly behind the clouds, setting the leaves aglow.

Dan found his rhythm. Twist up, not down. Check for bruising. Drop the apple carefully into the bag.

He was inspecting one for spots when Hannah said, “Your shoe.”

He looked down.

The right lace had come undone again.

“For fuck’s sake.”

He placed the apple beneath his arm and crouched. The bag shifted against Hannah’s leg. Sophie passed behind them. Nate was saying something about cider doughnuts.

Dan retied the lace, pulled the knot tight and stood.

The apple was gone.

He turned in a slow circle. “Where did it go?”

“What?” Hannah asked.

“The apple.”

“What apple?”

“The one I was holding.”

She looked at his empty hands, then at the bag. “You probably put it in.”

“I didn’t.”

“All right.”

“I had it under my arm.”

“Then you dropped it.”

“I would have noticed.”

Nate pointed toward the grass beside Dan’s foot.

The apple lay there, dark with mud along one side.

“Oh,” Sophie said sympathetically. “There it is.”

Dan picked it up and wiped it on his jeans.

Hannah caught his wrist.

“Don’t do that.”

“It’s mud.”

“Yes. And those are the jeans you’ll be wearing all day.”

“It comes off.”

She took a tissue from her handbag and cleaned the apple, then turned his hand over and wiped his palm.

Dan watched her.

“I could have done that.”

“I know.”

“You’re cleaning my hand.”

“It was sticky.”

“I have another one.”

“Very impressive.”

She released him and tucked the tissue away. Dan stared at his palm for a second longer than necessary.

Then Nate called from the next tree, “Big kahuna! We need your professional assessment.”

Dan looked up.

Nate was holding two apples, one in each hand.

“Which one?”

“They’re identical.”

“One of them is clearly superior.”

“Left.”

Nate placed the right one in the bag.

Dan pointed at him. “You’re a piece of shit.”

The bag grew steadily heavier. Hannah began carrying it with both hands, the straps cutting into the sleeves of her coat.

Dan noticed and reached for it.

“I’ve got that.”

“So do I.”

“It’s heavy.”

“I’m aware.”

“Hannah.”

She surrendered it with theatrical reluctance. “My hero.”

Dan slung the straps over one shoulder. The weight jerked him sideways.

Nate saw.

Dan corrected himself immediately. “Fine.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You made a face.”

“This is just my face.”

Dan started ahead of them, the bag knocking against his hip. Its weight seemed to increase with every step. The canvas strap bit through his coat. Apples shifted and thumped together inside.

He refused to change shoulders.

Behind him, Sophie was asking Hannah whether she thought the baby would be old enough for this next autumn.

“Ten months,” Hannah said. “Nearly eleven, depending on when they arrive.”

“So probably too young to care.”

“Old enough for pictures.”

“Obviously. Tiny knitted hat. Little coat.”

Nate said, “I’m not dressing my child like a decorative gourd.”

“You will dress your child however Sophie tells you,” Dan called over his shoulder.

“That is correct,” Sophie said.

Hannah hurried to catch him. “You want me to take one handle?”

“No.”

“You’re walking sideways.”

“The rows slope.”

“They don’t.”

The bag struck his knee. One apple bounced over the seam and dropped into the grass.

Dan stopped.

The others stopped behind him.

Nobody said anything.

He picked up the apple and forced it deeper into the bag.

“You’re overfilling it,” Hannah said.

“It says to the seam.”

“It is above the seam.”

“It’ll settle.”

Nate reached for one of the straps. “Give it here.”

“I’ve got it.”

“Dan.”

“I said I’ve got it.”

He pulled the bag away.

The bulging side of it caught against a low branch jutting into the row. The sudden resistance turned him halfway around. His shoe slid on a bruised apple hidden beneath the grass.

For one suspended second, he remained upright through pure disbelief.

Then both feet went out from under him.

He landed hard on his backside in the mud.

The bag tipped with him. Apples spilled across the row in every direction, rolling under trees, bumping into roots and vanishing beneath wet leaves.

A little girl in a purple coat gasped.

Dan sat completely still.

Cold moisture began seeping through the seat of his jeans.

Nate covered his mouth.

“Don’t,” Dan said.

That was enough to break him. Nate doubled over, laughing soundlessly.

Sophie pressed both hands to her face. Hannah made an honest effort to remain concerned for perhaps two seconds before a laugh escaped through her nose.

Dan looked down the row at the scattered apples.

“Oh, fuck all of you.”

The little girl’s mother hurried past, steering her child around him.

“Language,” she muttered.

That only made Nate laugh harder.

Dan planted one hand in the grass to push himself up. It sank into the mud to the heel.

“Excellent.”

Hannah stepped forward. “Wait, you’ll slip again.”

“I can stand.”

“I know. Just—”

She reached for him as he rose. Dan waved her off, got one foot beneath himself and immediately skidded sideways.

Nate caught him under the arms.

For a humiliating second, Dan’s feet bicycled uselessly against the mud while Nate held him upright from behind.

“Easy,” Nate said, still laughing. “Easy there, big man.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Get your feet under you first.”

Dan found firmer ground and wrenched himself free.

The back of his jeans felt saturated. Mud coated both palms and one sleeve. He could feel something cold sliding inside the waistband at the base of his spine.

Hannah’s laughter vanished when she saw him properly.

“Oh, Dan.”

“How bad?”

Nate looked.

Nate’s expression answered before he did.

Dan twisted, trying to see over his own shoulder. “What?”

“It’s quite a lot,” Sophie said.

“Quite a lot of what?”

“Mud.”

“Thanks, Sophie.”

“It’s all the way up your back,” Hannah said. “And your jeans are soaked.”

Dan touched the seat, then looked at his hand.

Dark brown mud covered his fingers.

“Fantastic.”

“We can clean it.”

“With what?”

“The shop by the entrance sells clothes,” Sophie said.

“I’m not buying farm clothes.”

“You can’t stay in that,” Hannah said.

“It’s mud. It’ll dry.”

“It’s October.”

“I have heated seats in the car.”

“We are not going back to the car so you can sit in wet mud for the rest of the day.”

Dan looked from her to the others. Nate had begun collecting the apples. Sophie was retrieving those nearest the trees, lowering herself carefully despite Dan’s earlier warning.

His embarrassment sharpened into irritation.

“Fine. I’ll wash it off in the bathroom.”

Hannah reached out and plucked something from his hair.

A wet leaf.

“You need different clothes.”

“It’s not that bad.”

She turned him gently by the shoulders.

The cold wind struck the saturated seat of his jeans. Sophie made a small sympathetic sound. Nate abruptly found an apple very interesting.

Dan closed his eyes.

“How bad?”

Hannah hesitated.

“Pretty bad.”

The farm shop sold preserves, candles, wool socks, enamel mugs and an entire wall of branded clothing. A display beside the entrance featured heavy cotton overalls in red, green and mustard yellow beneath a painted sign:

READY FOR MESSY ADVENTURES!

Dan stopped in front of it.

“No.”

Hannah continued toward the rack. “You haven’t even looked.”

“I have looked enough.”

“They’re dungarees.”

“Overalls.”

“Those words describe the same crime.”

Sophie lifted a green pair from the rack. “These are kind of cute.”

“They have an apple on the ass.”

All three turned the garment around.

A large red apple smiled from the seat. Beneath it, curved white letters read:

PICKED FRESH AT HONEYCRISP HOLLOW

Nate lost control again.

“Absolutely not,” Dan said.

“They have plain ones,” Hannah said, sorting through the rack.

They did not.

Every pair bore the apple.

The mustard ones had green knee patches. The red ones had striped shoulder straps. The dark green pair was the least offensive, though the smiling apple still occupied most of the backside.

Hannah held them against him.

Dan stepped away. “No.”

“They’re your size.”

“How do you know?”

She checked the label. “Because it says so.”

“I’ll buy sweatpants.”

“They don’t sell sweatpants.”

“Jeans.”

“They don’t sell jeans.”

“I will dry these under the hand dryer.”

Nate appeared beside him, carrying the newly refilled apple bag.

“That’ll take about six years.”

Dan glared at him.

Nate glanced at the overalls.

“I think you could pull them off.”

“Thank you.”

“That was not a compliment.”

Sophie wandered toward a stand of tiny knitted hats, one hand settling over her stomach again.

Hannah lowered her voice.

“Dan, your underwear is probably wet too.”

Heat rose instantly into his face.

Nate took one tactful step away.

“Could you not announce that in the middle of the shop?”

“I’m not announcing anything.”

“You’re holding up apple pants and discussing my underwear.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t need help.”

Hannah looked at him for a moment. Her expression softened in a way he did not like.

“All right,” she said. “What do you want to do?”

Dan looked toward the window. Outside, people crossed between the stalls carrying cider and bags of doughnuts. The distant tractor rattled past. Beyond it, the corn maze rose behind a fence, flags snapping above the stalks.

They had been at the farm for less than an hour.

He could go back to the car. He could spend the day in wet jeans. He could insist they all leave and sit through two hours of jokes on the drive home.

Or he could wear the stupid overalls beneath his coat and make sure nobody got a photograph from behind.

He snatched them from Hannah’s hands.

“Fine.”

Her smile returned immediately. “Good.”

“Do not say good like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve just made the correct choice after a tantrum.”

Nate coughed into his fist.

Dan pointed at him. “I will bury you in the maze.”

A shop attendant directed them toward changing stalls at the back. Hannah collected a package of thick wool socks from a basket on the way.

“I don’t need those.”

“Your socks are soaked.”

“They’re fine.”

“They’re visibly brown.”

“They’re in shoes.”

“Wet shoes.”

Dan looked down.

His right lace had come undone again.

Hannah followed his gaze.

Neither spoke.

She added the socks to the purchase.

The changing stall was scarcely wider than Dan’s shoulders. He peeled off his jeans with difficulty, balancing first on one foot and then the other while trying not to let the muddy fabric touch the clean walls.

His right sock made a wet sucking sound when he pulled it off.

“Everything okay?” Hannah called through the curtain.

“Yes.”

A moment later, his elbow struck the partition.

“Dan?”

“I said yes.”

He cleaned himself as well as he could with paper towels Hannah passed through the gap. His underwear was damp along the waistband and cold across the seat, but not wet enough to justify discussing it with Hannah through a curtain. He blotted the fabric with paper towels and decided it would dry.

The overalls were lined with unexpectedly soft fabric. He stepped into them, worked them up his legs and pulled the bib against his chest.

The straps hung behind him.

He reached over one shoulder, caught the first and brought it forward. The metal clasp made no intuitive sense. He turned it over twice, attempted to hook it to the button and dropped it.

Outside, Hannah and Sophie were discussing hot chocolate.

Dan tried again.

The clasp slipped from his fingers.

“How do these fucking things work?”

The conversation stopped.

Hannah’s voice came gently through the curtain. “Do you want help?”

“No.”

He tried a third time.

The strap twisted.

Dan stared at it. He had worn overalls before. Hadn’t he? Possibly as a child. There could not be more than one way to operate a clasp. Yet his fingers kept turning it incorrectly.

“Dan?”

He yanked the curtain open six inches and shoved the strap through.

“Just—what is wrong with this?”

Hannah took it.

“Turn around.”

He did.

She opened the curtain enough to reach both straps while keeping him mostly concealed. Her fingers worked briskly at his shoulders. One clasp clicked into place, then the other.

“There.”

Dan looked down.

The bib sat unusually high against his chest. The legs bunched slightly over his shoes. Without his coat, the outfit made him look less like someone dressed for farm work than someone dressed by the farm itself.

Hannah reached inside the stall and straightened the fabric at his waist.

“They fit perfectly.”

“They’re humiliating.”

“You look cute.”

“Worse.”

She smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Come out so we can see.”

“No.”

“Dan.”

“I’m putting my coat on.”

He retrieved it from the hook and zipped it high enough to cover most of the bib. The coat did nothing about the apple spread cheerfully across his backside.

When he emerged, Nate looked him up and down.

Dan waited.

Nate’s mouth twitched.

“Choose life,” Dan warned.

Nate nodded solemnly. “Very rugged.”

Sophie smiled. “I genuinely think they suit you.”

“I genuinely think everybody should stop looking at me.”

Hannah crouched in front of him.

Dan stiffened. “What are you doing?”

“Your lace.”

“I can—”

She had already gathered it. Her fingers made two quick loops, pulling them into a firm double knot.

Dan stood with his hands hanging uselessly at his sides. Behind Hannah, Nate asked Sophie whether she wanted cider or hot chocolate, and Sophie answered as though nothing unusual were happening.

Hannah patted the toe of his shoe.

“There. That one isn’t coming undone again.”

She rose, took his muddy clothes from him and placed them in the large paper bag provided by the shop.

Dan looked down at the neat bow.

“Ready?” she asked.

He shoved both hands into his coat pockets.

“Coffee.”

“Coffee,” Nate agreed. “Before Captain Honeycrisp murders somebody.”

They stepped back into the cold.

A wooden sign across the path pointed toward HARVEST ROW, where striped awnings sheltered a line of food and drink wagons. Steam rose from silver urns. The air smelled of espresso, caramel and woodsmoke.

Dan’s embarrassment began to recede beneath the promise of caffeine.

Then a small boy passing with his father pointed directly at Dan’s overalls.

“Look,” he said. “He has the apple ones too.”

Dan followed the child’s finger.

The boy was perhaps four years old.

He wore identical green overalls.

The same high bib.

The same soft lining.

The same enormous smiling apple across the seat.

The father gave Dan an apologetic smile and guided the child onward.

Nobody in Dan’s group said anything.

Dan began walking toward the coffee wagons.

Behind him, Nate made a strangled sound.

“Not,” Dan said without turning around, “one fucking word.”