The glaring afternoon sun had softened into a dusky gold, cold with the scent of citrus and woodsmoke. A chilly breeze rustled the leaves across the orchard path as the group wandered back toward the condo, baskets full of fruit in their hands and sticky juice still clinging to their fingers.
Micah walked among the group, a mandarin in one hand. He had been quiet the whole time. He helped when someone asked, plucking ripe oranges, reaching higher branches for Soha, but his hands moved on autopilot. His mind was somewhere else. Emile's words looped in his mind like a broken tape. 'Uncle is currying favour with you… because of your family… he's not the kind to do things out of kindness…'
Micah frowned and crushed the mandarin in his palm. Juice burst between his fingers, stinging slightly.
He wanted to ask Clyde directly, 'What have you done for Emile to think like that?'
Was it a misunderstanding?
