Down From the Clouds (9 page)

Dearest Gavin,

I forgive you. Please don't let it eat at you for the rest of your life. Live. If not for yourself, do it for me. That's the one last thing I ask of you. Live. Please accept that I don't hold this against you. I only have one request of you. Go to the old apple tree we used to swing on. I buried a box there before my health declined. I had a feeling you'd avoid my death, so I prepared something for you. Go there as soon as you can and do everything exactly as I have written. Please. 

Till then,

Pop

Chapter Eleven

Of course Ella insisted on driving to the apple tree at the crack of dawn. I knew she would. I begged her to stay the night with me, but she also insisted on her Jane Austen policy. And because I loved her more than anything on the planet, I conceded to both.

We let the windows down as we drove to Lancaster County. Spring air revived us, along with Third Eye Blind and Michael Jackson. As I twisted and turned down country roads, we sang along and held hands. When Meatloaf came on we sang as loud as possible. Ella climbed onto her seat and stuck her head out of the sunroof. Hands outstretched, face toward the sky, hair tossed in a million directions, she inspired me. Inspired me in more ways than I can express.

Finally, we pulled up to the place Pop and I had parked so many times before. I parked under an oak tree and opened Ella's door.

"This is beautiful." She placed her hand over her eyes and looked around. "How did you find this?"

"Pop owns this land. His house was right over there." I pointed across the hills to a large, secluded colonial house with ivy climbing the sides. "That's where I grew up."

"He owns all of this?"

I breathed in the lilac scent. Then closed my eyes and imagined Pop putting me on his shoulders and running at full speed. We'd both tumble and laugh as we rolled down the hill. He couldn't do it once he hit eighty-five, after his heart attack. So we walked down together. His arm linked with mine. Took us forty-minutes to get to the same apple tree that we ran to in five.

I didn't mind. Loved every second with him. Just like I did with my Ella.

She walked to the blooming lilac. "I love this smell."

"Pick some off," I said, walking toward her.

"I couldn't." She leaned in and inhaled. "I always feel bad breaking branches. Look at it." She smiled. "So full of life and beauty. If I cut some off it will smell good for a few hours, but lose all of its life."

I moved the hair out of her face and ran my fingers along her cheek. I stopped at her chin and pulled it to mine. "I love you more than I did yesterday."

She closed her eyes. I kissed her. And stopped. And kissed her again.

Ten minutes later we raced down the hill. Like kids again. She pulled her skirt up as we crossed a small stream, then walked up the other side.

When we reached the top of the hill, Ella gasped and covered her mouth. Eyes darting around. Taking it in. She looked at me and laughed. "I can't believe you grew up here. This is amazing. It's like the Secret Garden meets Huckleberry Finn."

I laughed. "The apple tree is over there."

"Wow. I thought apple trees were done blooming by May?"

"It's a Rome Beauty apple tree. Pop planted it for my grandmother when they moved here. She loved the pink and white flowers that came every year around this time, but she hated the apples."

Ella smiled and walked toward the tree. "What's wrong with the apples?"

"They're okay. Better for baking pies. Pop and I weren't so good at that, so we let the animals eat the fruit and gave some away to the neighbors. Or he'd let me set up a stand on the side of the road and sell some fruit. Never made much, but it was fun."

"I love this place, Gavin." She smelled a flower from the apple tree. "Who owns it now?"

"No idea. Never saw his will, if he has one. Don't know how much he owed on the place. I wouldn't want to live here though. I want a new life with you."

She sat on the tire swing and lifted her feet. "So little Gavin sat on this swing?"

I walked behind her and gave her a push. "He did."

My hands shook. Beads of sweat dripped down my neck when I saw the mound of dirt next to the tree, underneath the carvings I made as a kid.

Ella hopped off the swing. "Ready?"

"I forgot a shovel."

"Have no fear." She shook her purse and pulled out a small shovel. "I come prepared."

"You are too much."

"It's the fallout from my type A organization skills. Hoping to get rid of that a bit and be normal again."

I took the shovel and sunk it into the earth, trying not to think too much about what I would discover.

Ella sat on her knees next to me. The shovel hit something hard. I dug around and pulled out a box. Plain wood. About the size of a ruler on both sides and three inches deep. 

"It's locked," she said.

I wiped the dirt off the top and flipped the box upside down.

She read aloud.

Wait until you find her, because I know you will. When you do, take this box and find the key. My will is inside and it's the only copy. And there's something else that's important for you to read. You need to find the key. First clue: the road where they found you when your dad left.

I stood. Without the shovel. Or the box. "This is ridiculous. What kind of game is this? I don't care about the will. I want nothing. He gave me plenty and I gave him nothing. I can't take more."

Ella sat in the dirt, box in her hands, smile on her face. "This is beautiful."

"It's not. It's manipulative. I'm not going back to that road. I've spent my life avoiding it."

"That's exactly why this is so beautiful." 

"Why?"

She stood in front of me, eyes sparkling as specks of sunlight danced on her face. "Because he knows you better than anyone ever did. He knew you wouldn't come to him when he died, so he did this. Maybe it's a way for you to relive your memories with him."

"I relive them all the time."

"Let go, Gavin. Just let go."

"Of what?"

"Of all that bitterness. Just let it go and let's have fun with this."

He probably told me to wait until I found her because he knew she'd make sure I followed the directions until I found the key. Pop never lacked brains. Wisest person I'd ever known. Quiet, soft-spoken, and barely said a word unless necessary. He knew when to speak and when he did everyone listened. Except my dad.

Didn't take long for us to find the road. Only a minute from Pop's house. I asked him to tell me the story once when I was nine years old and I remembered every detail since. When Ella asked, I told her exactly what I remembered, "Dad put my car seat underneath a Japanese maple tree. Cops said the lady who lived in the house came out to water her flowers in the morning and saw the seat. I hadn't cried at all. Never even stirred. She thought I was dead and called the police. By the time they arrived I was in her arms, adjusting to the light around me. Pop knew the lady well. People called her Mama Jane. A widow since her husband died in World War II, she spent her days caring for everyone within a 5 mile radius. No exceptions. Pies, cookies, diapers, anything anyone needed at any time, somehow Mama Jane knew and took care of them. She'd leave anonymous bundles on the porch, but everyone knew it was her. Smelled just like her house. An unmistakeable blend of cinnamon and juniper."

I parked along the road and looked at the porch. Mama Jane died years ago. Pop and I went to the funeral along with hundreds of others. Everyone left little baskets on her grave, filled with flowers and notes, just like the baskets she left for so many of us.

Now, the porch lacked life. The garden should have been blooming by now, but the flowers died along with her.

"Does anyone live here?" Ella said.

"Not sure."

"Should we dig up their yard without asking?"

I turned the car off and walked up to the porch. Ella reached for my hand. Broken wood creaked under our feet. The screen door hung by one hinge. I peeked inside. Something moved. I opened the screen door and knocked.

A man stepped forward. Stained t-shirt and dirt-covered hands. The screen door fell toward Ella. She leaned into me.

"I'm sorry," she said, clinging to my arm.

"Ah, don't worry about it,” the man said. “Needed a new one anyway."

"Wish you were as nice to me." A woman's voiced screamed from the house. Something crashed by the front door and shattered at our feet.

"Don't mind her. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed." He leaned in. The scent of whiskey on his breath. "She always does."

"Sorry to bother you, but my grandfather used to live near here. At the time a lady we called Mama Jane lived here." I pointed behind me. "He buried something under that tree for me to find and I was just wondering if it would be a problem for us to dig it up."

He spit across the porch. "No problem, man. Do what you need to do."

"Thank you," Ella said, peering behind him. "We'll make sure to clean it up."

He smiled and spit again, then closed the door. As we walked down the steps we heard more yelling and crashing. Ella tugged on my shirt and looked over her shoulder. "Should we do something?"

"None of our business."

"But maybe we were sent here for a reason."

"We were. And we're standing in front of it." I looked at the pile of dirt under the tree. "Got the shovel in your Mary Poppins bag?"

She lifted it out. I dug as she stared at the house. Never took her eyes off. I always believed her eyes were emerald for a reason. I called them emerald city eyes. Dark. Looked brown from a distance, but when you got close enough you'd see the most beautiful green staring back at you. Emerald City. The place where people realized their dreams were never far off to begin with. Hope. She never saw anyone as hopeless and she ached over the pain others felt. 

I pulled a plastic bag out of the ground and looked up at Emerald City, then sang a line from my favorite Petty song, "You got a heart so big, it could crush this town."

"You sure we shouldn't do something?" 

"What can we do?"

She knelt down and filled the dirt back in. "Let's come back tonight. When they're sleeping. We can buy some flowers and redo the garden. Maybe it will start to bring them back to life too."

"You got a heart so big, it could crush this town."

She patted the earth as she looked at the house. "It's no bigger than anyone else's."

We drove off as she opened the bag and read Pop's words. 

Mama Jane lived for others because she had no one else. So everyone thought. But she did that long before Benjamin died. Go to her grave. I buried something under a tree. Stand at her grave. Then take 23 steps to the right. You'll see it.

"It's a good thing we're both unemployed."

She laughed. "We're not unemployed. We are starting our own business."

"No." I smiled. "We are driving around Pennsylvania digging up notes from my dead grandfather."

"You have to admit," she said. "It is kind of fun."

"Yeah."

"And doesn't a little part of you feel like he's alive again?"

"I wish."

We parked and walked to Mama Jane's grave. Covered in baskets and flowers.

"It's been years since I've been here." I looked to the right and counted twenty-three steps. Ella followed.

"I don't see anything," she said.

"I do." I knelt under the tree. "Shovel?"

"Does your grandfather have a thing for trees?"

I laughed. "Actually he does." I pulled out another bag and filled in the dirt. "He planted at least a hundred trees in his lifetime. He always used to say that trees were like people who didn't waste their life and truly lived."

She squinted her eyes and tilted her head. "How so?"

"That's what I said when he told me. He said because they were planted by someone else, needed lots of sun and water and attention in the beginning. If the wind or animals broke them early on they'd never make it, but if they were protected they would grow stronger. The stronger they grew, the less they'd break in a storm. And if they got to that point they'd live for a really long time, leaving their mark on tons of lives after that. They could never be uprooted, just a few dead branches broken here and there, but never uprooted."

"Wow."

"Know what I said when he told me that?"

"What?"

"I was eight at the time. I said, 'What if someone cuts it down for fire wood?'"

She laughed. "How profound of you."

"When I turned nine I woke up and rolled over in bed. Wrapped up in blue and white-striped paper was
The Giving Tree
by Shel Silverstein."

"I loved that story when I was a kid."

"Me too. Pop said he spent most of his life being the boy in the story, but I never thought so. I definitely considered him to be my tree. He always told me to live my life like the tree, not the boy. To be a giver and not a taker. Maybe that's one of the reasons I shove everything inside."