Memory Tree (7 page)

Cynthia smiled, tousling her hair. “Now, I know you think I have magic answers for everything, but I think that's one you're going to have to check with Brian about. Remember how you struggled with the decision to call him Dad?” She paused and then said, “Are you worried about them coming for Christmas?”

“It sure will be different. Christmas, wow,” Janey said, altering the subject only slightly. “This year will be our third, me and Dad. I think we've used up all the good gifts.”

“Oh, I don't think so. I'm sure Brian has something special up his sleeve.”

A smile lit Janey's face, and that was when she suddenly took off across the field, her legs pumping as she laid open her arms as though she were about to take to the gusting wind. Down the hill she ran, the windmill looming up before her. Cynthia did her best to keep up with her but had to consider the uneven terrain and the wheels of the stroller. As she eventually made her way toward the base of the windmill, Janey was running circles around it, trying to keep up with the sails, laughing as she did so, her arms reaching up as though wanting to touch far beyond the sails and into the windswept sky that threatened to close in around her.

“Hi, Mama,” Janey said, her voice deep with emotion. “I brought Cynthia and Jake to visit, but they won't be able to stay for long because they're going to leave Linden Corners, and even though it's a good thing for them and I'll miss them terribly, I know that you're always here whenever I need you, just like in my dreams.”

Cynthia fought back another tear as she thought about the idea of dreams.

She and Bradley were working toward fulfilling theirs, moving their family to a world of opportunity. Their dream—a new home and a new life; that was their dream as much as Jake had been, all of it a new reality. For Janey, though, her need for Annie was still as strong as ever; it always would be no matter the unconditional love Brian had for her, and that need would have to remain encased in dreams. Because for Janey Sullivan, reality was sometimes harsh, and even though all those around her had all seen her through these difficult times, there was no getting around the fact that this girl was alone in the world.

Finally, an exhausted Janey dropped to the ground, her eyes staring up at the sky.

She pulled the purple frog out of her pocket and held it tight to her chest.

Cynthia hadn't even seen her take it with them on their walk, and she had to wonder, just what was behind this new connection to an old friend?

 

 

Dinner dishes drying in the sink, Bradley relaxing in front of the television with Jake in his arms, a quiet Janey lying nearby, Cynthia decided it was probably time to get Janey back home. On the screen, a stop-motion Rudolph had arrived to save the day, his red nose able to cut through any storm Mother Nature could throw at them, according to a suddenly rotund Santa Claus, who moments ago had threatened to cancel Christmas on account of the fierce storm outside. Good, the holiday special was nearly over. She was just waiting for the Bumble and Yukon to make their surprise appearance and next thing you know, Santa and his sleigh would be taking to the storm-laden sky.

Janey had stayed later than expected; it was nearly nine o'clock. Tomorrow morning was the start of a new school week and she needed her rest, not only because of the long walk they had taken but also because of the myriad emotions that seemed to be swirling inside her. Cynthia knew they'd only hit the tip of the iceberg, her move and the arrival of Brian's parents just symptoms of a bigger issue. When Janey was ready to tell more, Cynthia hoped she'd be around to help.

As she made her way into the living room, she realized what a perfect picture this was.

Her husband, a young girl, a baby boy. The ideal family unit.

Not that she would ever deny Brian his rights as Janey's legal guardian, but Cynthia had to wonder—and not for the first time—how things might have been different if Brian had never come to Linden Corners. The terrible storm that took their beautiful Annie from them was as inevitable as nature, her fate written on strong currents of the wind, and without Brian, who would have been there to care for Janey? No doubt Janey would have come to stay with her and Bradley. If that was the case, would they have tried so earnestly for Jake, whose appearance after too many years of trying had taken them by happy surprise? Things happened for a reason. Look at them: They were selling their house and moving from the home they'd known for nearly fifteen years, ready to embark on a new journey beyond its borders. If Janey had been a part of their family, she'd be leaving too, and Cynthia wasn't sure the young girl could endure another loss of something so close to her heart: the windmill. She sure didn't expect to encounter one in their town outside Austin.

“Uh, Cyn, you okay?”

“What? . . . Oh, sorry, I was just waiting for the program to end.”

“It already did,” Janey said, “with gifts in their arms, the elves dropped out of the sky with umbrellas to help them fly. It's kind of a silly ending. How do they fly back up and reunite with Santa? Anyway, I think I'm ready to go home. Tomorrow's a school day.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

Janey gathered up her belongings, running upstairs to Jake's room, where she claimed to have left something. It turned out to be her constant companion, the purple frog, and as she went to stuff it into her bag, she changed her mind and went over to Jake, who was awake and fidgeting in Bradley's arms.

“The frog wants to say good night,” she said, leaning the animal forward until its sealed mouth pecked Jake's cheek. He squirmed happily.

“He's looking a bit raggedy, your frog,” Bradley said.

“That's because I've had him a really long time,” Janey suddenly said.

“How come he doesn't have a name?”

Janey paused, gazed down at her stuffed friend. “He's just always been . . . the frog.”

Cynthia said that was enough chatter for the night, and so they packed up the rest of her stuff and headed outside and into the Knights' SUV. A few raindrops were beginning to fall on them. As they made their way down the dark driveway and onto Crestview Road, the headlights hit the F
OR
S
ALE
sign one last time, like a tease at Janey. The young girl said nothing, though, and soon they were pulling into the gravelly drive of the Sullivan farmhouse, where they found Brian sitting on the front step. A lone light shone down from under the porch, illuminating him in the newly falling rain. In his hands he was holding a box, wrapped in shiny blue paper with a silver ribbon around it.

“Hi, Dad . . . Hey, what's that? A Christmas present?”

He looked up, his expression a mix of surprise and guilt. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“You don't know?”

“Well, yes, it's a gift. I'm just not sure from whom.”

“Brian, what's going on?” Cynthia asked.

“It's the strangest thing,” he said, rising from the porch, still examining the package. “I found this waiting for me on the porch when I got home a few minutes ago. With the same message as before, ‘Do Not Open Until Christmas.' But there's no clue who sent it, or why.”

“What do you mean the same as before?” Janey asked.

Brian looked at them both and said, “Seems someone's playing Secret Santa with me. I received a similarly wrapped gift last week, found on the porch of the tavern. I put it in the closet inside the windmill and honestly forgot about it . . . until now. Until this.”

“That's very strange,” Janey said.

“Someone has a secret admirer,” Cynthia added with a hint of a smile. “Are you going to do as asked? Wait until Christmas? I don't think I could stand the suspense.”

“Me too. I'm curious,” Janey said.

“We'll just have to wait,” Brian said. “And see if there are any more to come.”

“I like this game,” Janey suddenly decided. “Maybe we should all do it.”

Brian laughed, rubbing the top of her head. “Let's go, young lady. Christmas dreams will have to wait. For now it's bedtime.”

Janey had always been agreeable about knowing when it was time to let the day end, so she started to make her way inside, but she turned back. “Dad, you're not going to put that gift in the windmill now, are you?”

“I wasn't planning on it,” he said.

“Good, I don't want you to leave me.”

With that, she headed inside, her footsteps on the staircase to the second level echoing in the silence she'd left behind. Brian turned back to Cynthia, a stunned expression on his face.

“What was that all about?”

Cynthia felt a knob of emotion constrict her throat. “I think that's my fault.”

All that people did was leave Janey—parents, loved ones, and those whom she had known her entire life. Now Cynthia was added to that list, and she gave Brian a quick recap of the day's events before telling him they'd talk soon. She then drove back to her own home just as the sky opened up and the rain began to fall in earnest. Her house looked empty against the dark sky, a place she'd known for years, a place that in two months would exist only in her memories. Change was coming, but for just one night, she wanted a normal life. She made her way upstairs, where a lone light shone in the bedroom and where Bradley was propped up against a pillow, glasses on, a book resting against his bare chest. Quickly slipping into her nightgown, she slid under the covers, snuggling in close to her husband.

“You okay?” he asked.

She didn't meet his eye and instead stared out the window as the rain beat heavily against the shutters in need of repair. They weren't the only things, she thought, her heart wounded by the idea of change. Absently gazing at her husband's strong chest, oddly comforted by the thick hair that covered it, she let out an exhausted, contented sigh. Like his masculine presence served as her protector, albeit a preppy one.

“My mind is thinking, thinking, thinking. Can't shut it down.”

“Thinking about what?”

“About Janey, and the fact that I need to do something special for her this Christmas. She had an idea, and I for one think it's perfect. The kind of surprise she'll adore.”

C
HAPTER
6

T
RINA

 

 

 

T
he signs of Christmas had begun to crop up everywhere she looked, colorful lights brightening the downtown area, wreaths of holly with red bows and jangling bells displayed on almost every front door and business, the smiles on the faces of the residents of Linden Corners indicating they were in the mood for all this holiday cheer. All that was missing was the snow. To Trina Winter's knowing point of view, it looked more like Christmas in sunny Florida than in cloudy Upstate New York, the lack of palm trees notwithstanding.

The rainstorm that had swept through the region two nights ago had blown tree branches bare, leaving in its wake the final swath of fallen leaves lying along sidewalks and curbs. It had also taken the warm weather with it, and finally a cool breath filled the air to the point where she could see a misty spray of her own breath. Surely that first snowfall was just around the corner; it would infuse this town with a much-needed final piece of scenery for their rumored Christmas celebrations.

She'd spent most of the afternoon at the Solemn Nights Motel, but feeling like the walls were closing in on her, she'd asked Richie if it was okay to take a break. So he hobbled over and took command of the front desk, staring aimlessly out the window, watching for any traffic that might slow down at the sign of the motel. She had a sense that's how Richie spent most of his days, waiting to serve the needs of transient travelers whose names he would learn only if they were paying by credit card. Otherwise, guests could jot down any name, pretending to be whomever their fantasy dictated. Was that what occupied his mind during those lonely stretches of time, trying to imagine the lives of the people who came to and went from his rooms? From what she could gather, it was mostly businessmen and truckers, though the night of the storm had seen three families stop in the course of one hour as nervous mothers convinced their husbands to rest rather than risk driving in the pouring rain.

She bypassed the Five O'Clock Diner this time, her onetime volunteer stint successful but not something she was eager to repeat; no matter, peeking through the windows of the diner she could see her cousin-in-law, Sara, carrying a couple of plates toward hungry patrons. My goodness, her belly was large enough to balance a plate on. Lights adorned the outside of Martha's diner, creating an impressive ring of color that could be seen far down the highway. Hers blinked, no doubt intended as a way of attracting further attention. One of the families to seek refuge at the Solemn Nights had mentioned how they had dined there and been sent over by the owner, so she guessed Martha and Richie indeed had a good thing going.

Across the street, George's Tavern was also decorated with a rainbow of lights, but as it was only three thirty in the afternoon, the place wasn't yet open for business. She directed her attention down the street to the village park, complete with a gazebo blazing with light upon the expansive, still green lawn. It was a comforting image, Rockwell-like, and she supposed with a coating of snow and icicles perched on the side of the roof, it would look even more ideal. It almost put her in a Christmas mood, something she would have not thought possible. Holiday times for her were days spent at the beach. But she swerved away from a visit to the gazebo at the last minute, darting across the street to the local grocery store, named Marla and Darla's Trading Post. She might as well pick up some basics like milk and eggs, since the fridge at Richie's was running low on supplies. As she approached the store, she noticed two dogs lazily hanging out on the front porch, both of them golden retrievers, near twins. The smaller snouted of the two cocked its head and gave her a curious look.

“Hey, pooch,” she said.

“That one's Baxter,” said a voice, seemingly from nowhere.

Trina turned to see a large-framed woman standing in the doorway, holding it open either in greeting or forewarning; her bland, humorless expression didn't reveal much.

“And the other?” Trina asked.

Before the woman could reply, another woman who looked exactly like the first one loomed. From their hairstyles, if you wanted to call them that, to their blue-gray flannel shirts, these women were exact matches. The dogs weren't far off, each with a red bandanna tied around its neck. Should call this place Noah's Trading Post.

“That's Buster, his father.”

“Oh, well, hello to both. So, uh, are you open?”

“Need milk, chips, that kind of stuff?” the second woman said.

“Or some nice trinkets, postcards, that kind of stuff? Got Christmas cards in finally.”

It was like this was a competition and Trina's business the prize. Trina wasn't sure at the moment what she wanted. “Perhaps I'll have a look around, thank you.”

“I'm Marla,” the first woman said.

“So that makes you Darla, I suppose.”

“Could be,” she replied.

This definitely had to be the strangest encounter she'd endured since arriving in Linden Corners. Why hadn't Richie warned her about the eccentric twins? They seemed well versed in how to react to what the other was saying, jumping on the next sentence like they were playing a continual game of one-upmanship, with Trina their token game piece. No matter, she wasn't going to linger long, so as the door opened wide to let her enter, she found Marla's—or was it Darla's? she was all confused now—eyes watching her every move as she looked around.

One side of the store was a basic convenience mart, with a dairy case, soda cooler, bread and cheese, the essentials you tended to run out of more than other household items, and it was certainly easier to stop in here than traveling miles down the highway to the big grocery chain over in Hillsdale. Or was it? she thought, catching Marla or Darla staring at her and rethinking her need for milk. Richie liked it in his morning coffee, and so she grabbed a quart and a few other items that sprung to her mind, bringing them to the counter.

“You're not even going to look at the other side of the store?”

Trina turned around to see one of the two women pointing toward the rack of postcards that seemed to act as a divider between the grocery store and the so-called trading post, whatever that really was. Looked like other people's junk, she guessed from this distance, like a perpetual yard sale. Just then she saw an older man emerge from the shelves in the back, shuffling along the floor with a scrape of his shoe.

“Oh, don't let them get to you, my dear. They played this same game with me last year.”

Trina attempted a response and found she didn't have one. Instead, she reached into her purse for cash to pay for her purchases, hoping to make a quick exit.

“Name's Thomas Van Diver,” he said, “and I'm guessing you're Trina Ravens.”

“Uh, oh, actually, it's Winter. Trina Winter. How . . . how do you know me?”

“Well, Nora described you to Gerta, and Gerta and I were sharing stories at the Edge.”

Who was this Gerta, and what was the Edge other than that rocker who played for U2? “Really, Mr. Van . . . Diver, was it? I'm not sure I'm comfortable discussing . . .”

“Ha ha, yes, I see that. You'll be perfect, then.”

“Perfect how?”

“Well, for your date.”

“My . . .” Her mouth fell open so far, she half expected her teeth to fall to the floor.

“Now, don't be shy. Brian's a fine man. Has an easy way about him.”

“That's not my concern . . . How do you know . . . I mean, there's no date.”

“Oh, that's not what Nora told Gerta, and she told me. And, well, Elsie too, down at the Edge.”

“The Edge?”

“Edgestone Retirement Center, down the road a piece. Where us old folks live.”

“And you've been discussing my . . . love life?”

“More Brian's. You're just the happy by-product.”

“I'm not sure that's a compliment. Besides, who is this Gerta woman?”

“Nora Connors' mother and one of Brian's closest friends,” he said with a wily twinkle. “Only thing better than her instincts is her pies.”

Flustered now, Trina paid for her purchases, bagged them herself while Marla or Darla counted change, and then with barely a nod in anyone's direction, made her way out into the welcome darkness of late afternoon. She took a deep breath, letting go of the claustrophobia that had threatened to consume her inside the store. Well, she knew she'd never return there. As the door clacked loudly behind her, she thought she could hear a laugh coming from inside, but instead the noise came from Buster—or was it Baxter?—who appeared to be grinning while the other dog's tail was slapping against the porch.

“You too?” she asked before fleeing far from Marla & Darla's Trading Post.

The solitude of the Solemn Nights wasn't looking so bad now, and she was thankful it was found on the outskirts of the village proper, where hopefully they weren't drinking the same water as these strange folks.

 

 

“You're quiet tonight,” Richie said, taking a forkful of the chicken dinner Trina had prepared.

“Hmm,” she replied.

“Not quite a word, but I suppose any sound is progress,” he said.

Since returning to the motel a couple of hours ago, she'd unpacked the groceries, checked on Richie, and then retreated to her room, where, lying on the bed, she relived the exchange at the Trading Post, her thoughts landing squarely on the idea of a date with this Brian guy. She was aware of him—well, she was after talking with Cynthia and Nora that morning at the Five-O, learning he was the uptight proprietor of George's Tavern, not that she let on that she'd met him or even shared banter with him. No sense encouraging something that wasn't going to happen. She'd barely given him, or this supposed blind date, a thought since then. She'd come to Linden Corners to help her father's recovery and maybe begin to repair their relationship; finding a new relationship, and a romantic one at that, was not in the cards. After dismissing the entire afternoon, she'd returned to the kitchen, made dinner, and was sitting quietly at the table while she pushed around the food enough to make it seem like she'd eaten.

“Waste of food, that's what that is.”

“What? I've eaten.”

“You'd have had to open your mouth to do that,” Richie remarked. “Something bugging you, kid?”

Trina looked up at the man who'd given her life, his sudden use of the word
kid
taking her back to her early years, when he was still around. He had called her kid almost from the moment she'd been born. She'd once learned it was her pet name while in utero. As far as she could recall, she hadn't heard it again since, not even this past week. Richie Ravens and Trina Winter had kept a respectful distance when it came to their feelings, leaving any lingering hurts to the past, but not forging any new feelings to make them disappear.

Setting down her fork, she gazed at her father and said, “I remember you used to call me that. I was Kid Ravens.”

“Like a boxer,” he said with a laugh. “Your mother said you had a good kick.”

“Let's not talk about Mom.”

He nodded. “I can remember when you called me Dad.”

“Richie . . . let's not get into this.”

“People make mistakes, Trina. Maybe there are second chances. Like you being here.”

“Someone had to come and help you. I mean, look at you, Richie. You can barely walk beyond the front desk.” She stared at her plate, wondering why she'd made Brussels sprouts. She'd never liked them, and then she noticed not only was his plate empty, but so was the dish she used to serve the vegetable. Did she remember him liking them? “Besides, my being here is not a big deal. End of the year at my job, things were slow, and a leave of absence was no problem. I had a lot of vacation time saved up.”

“You put your life on hold for me. I can't ignore that.”

“You first have to have a life to put it on hold.”

“You know what I remember most about you?”

“What's that?”

“How you used to run . . . like your little legs were the wheels of a steam engine, powering you to wherever you wanted to go. We had that big backyard and you would run circles around us, with Summer bouncing after you.”

“Oh wow, I'd forgotten about Summer. He was a good dog.”

“That dog sure followed you around like a lost . . . well, like a lost puppy.” Richie allowed himself a rare smile, which brought a hint of redness to his sunken cheeks. “There were a few good times, with you and your mother. But not everything can last.”

“Why didn't you ever remarry?”

“Didn't ever happen,” he said with an aimless shrug. “Guy like me, unlike most people who make the same mistakes over and over again and never seem to learn from them, when I try something and fail, well, I accept those failures and move on. I go the opposite way of others, and instead of looking for answers I go in search of different challenges. One day I found myself stumbling upon Linden Corners and I liked it. It had this innocent charm to it . . . but darned if back then I couldn't find a place to crash. Thankfully it was summertime and I set up a tent in the woods just beyond the old windmill; used to watch that thing turn for hours.” He paused, his eyes glazing over as though transporting him back to those years. “The cold weather came soon enough, as it does in this neck of the woods. So I needed warmer lodgings.”

“So that's why you bought the Solemn Nights? So you had a place to stay?”

“Bought it? Why, I built it,” he said, the first sign of pride she'd seen in him.