Peaches

The Tree

The Montgomery's were beginning to turn out to be a blessing. Mr. James Montgomery would disappear for days at a time, leaving his wife and Roger to wander their new property aimlessly. More than often, Mrs. Montgomery usually found herself at Jean's house, having drinks with Jean's mother. They'd talk on and on about nonsense. Pa was always busy when they were over too. After Mama had found out about Bobby busting his knee under Jean's watch, she made it very clear that no one besides her or Pa was able to watch him anymore. And since Roger was incapable of ever leaving Bobby alone, and Mama was always with Mrs. Montgomery, Daddy was often out, following the two boys as they explored the property. Because of this, Jean could forgo all her chores and wouldn't ever get in trouble. She would have to do them eventually, so they wouldn't notice, but as long as no one saw her leave, she was good.

Jean didn't really mind Mrs. Montgomery either. She seemed to be nice, although she had a constant habit of boasting about how perfect and wonderful her child was. Jean begged to differ. Roger was an annoyance to say the least. He picked on Bobby, pulled Clementine's hair, and went through Jean's things when she wasn't looking. All of this, and he still was able to avoid any punishment. So Roger was free to go off and do whatever he wanted. She was sure that he could burn the family barn to the ground and Mrs. Montgomery could create a proper excuse for him to get away with it.

Mr. Montgomery was a different story. One the rare occasions he wasn't away, he would be there at Jean's house with his wife. Yet to Jean, it always seemed like he wasn't really there at all. He always looked so distant, never being near anyone unless he needed to. She had never once seen him talk to his wife, or his son. He was like a ghost around the house.

It had been a few weeks, and he still looked at her as he did before. She had thought that as soon as he met her sister Mary it would fade away, but Jean had witnessed their meeting firsthand. To her surprise, there was no heat, no sudden longing, nothing. It was like he was looking at and shaking hands with a wall. But with herself, she had caught him on more than one occasion, watching when he thought no one else saw. Usually, she would look behind her shoulder and he would be on the patio, reading, except he really wasn't. It was all a show, for his wife and for her parents. He would gaze over the top of his novel or newspaper, eyeing her carefully. Even with his alibis and props, she was still entirely aware that she was being observed. She could feel his eyes on her neck, hot and flushed against her.

One particular day, her Mother had placed her in charge of weeding the garden. The heat of the sun was cruel that day. As she pulled the weeds up with her bare hands, she could feel her skin turning a bright pink, burning and peeling away. She wanted to go to her peach tree, to sit in it's shade and gorge herself on fallen fruit, but Mama was out watching on the patio that day. She would have known.

Jean had pulled herself up to rest on her knees momentarily, wiping the sweat off her brow, when she noticed him. He was quite a distance away, hiding in the corn field, but she could see it move and breathe with him. He was there. She didn't think he knew that he had been caught, so she kept on her business. Bending over, sighing, and sweating.

When she was done, she sat back up and rubbed her hands together. She looked over to where he was, and his presence was gone. In that very moment, when she thought that he maybe wasn't looking at her and felt the awful sink in her stomach, she realized that she very much enjoyed his stares.

From then on, Jean made a point to be in his view at all times.

She wanted to torture him, make him feel the same way she felt. His stares had inspired the most awful foreign feelings that plagued her night and day. Jean wasn't herself anymore. Usually she would think of George Thomas, or chores, or even pretty new clothes that she knew she would never own. But ever since she met him, since he looked at her, since she looked back, she couldn't stop thinking of him. She didn't know what it meant, or even if it was good or bad. All she knew was that it burned.