Memory Tree (8 page)

This man sitting before her, with his leg broken in three places and with a cast signed by few, who lived alone and seemed happy with that, was a sudden surprise to Trina, and she felt remorse wash over her. Perhaps she'd let her mother's opinion of her ex influence her too much, hearing her refer to Richie as a “crazy old coot who wouldn't lift a finger for you.”

“Trina, this is real nice, us talking. I'm glad you've opened up a bit, because you've been, well, tightlipped since coming to stay with me. More nurse than daughter . . . and . . . No, no, before you protest, just know that I understand. We're strangers, you and I. And while I'm sure as heck curious about why you took me up on my offer to come to Linden Corners and help me, I'm not going to push the issue. You've got decisions to make about your life. I can see that. No one goes on a leave and takes vacation; it's one or the other, and I'm thinking you're here because you don't have that job anymore—which you don't need to confirm or deny, not now or not ever.” He paused, reaching out a hand to where it lay atop hers. “Whether you're running to something or just plain running from someone, let me give you a piece of advice.”

Trina picked at her food, taking a bite of the chicken and deciding she'd used too much lemon pepper seasoning. It had a tartness to it that made the back of her mouth pucker. Or was that because of what Richie had on offer tonight? Fatherly advice, a rare thing indeed.

“People spend their entire lives looking for their personal grail.”

“Many people aren't satisfied.”

“That's my point,” he said. “I arrived in Linden Corners, and the strange thing of it is, I, Richie Ravens, found satisfaction. And while this crumbling old motel might not be much, for more than twenty-five years it's served me well. I meet strangers who need a bed for a night or two, and when they leave, they're still strangers, and that's just how I like it. Guess that makes me a loner of sorts, but when I feel the need, there's this whole crazy village nearby. There are times when I'll partake of some of the events in town, but always at my choosing. No one asks why, and if I show, I show. My life on my terms.” He paused again, this time staring down at his leg. “Until this. Darn reminder of my own mortality.”

“Is there a point to this life lesson . . . ?” she asked, stopping the word that nearly emerged from between her lips.
Dad.
Too soon for her to come around, if at all. He'd always been Richie to her from the moment they'd reconnected after she'd graduated from college. She remembered the card he'd sent her, now thinking it was actually a postcard—of a windmill—and right now she laughed at the idea of his having bought it down at the Trading Post. “Look, I appreciate learning about the World According to Richie Ravens, but I'm not getting the correlation.”

“It's Wednesday night, good stuff on the television,” he said.

“No, thanks.”

“I wasn't inviting you. That was my way of giving you the night off.”

“And what do you propose that I do with my time?”

“Girl like you, pretty and all, if a bit reserved, if you're going to hang around town, you might as well make some friends your own age. It's not the Ravens way, but of course, you're more Winter than Ravens— your mother and Charles made darn sure of that. And I'm not saying that to make you feel bad or to speak ill of the folks who raised you. . . . It's just fact.”

Trina was still questioning where this conversation was leading, and rather than prompt it she opted for silence again.

“There's a nice tavern across from the Five-O. You'd probably meet some people your age.”

“You too?” she blurted out, unable to hold back her words or her thoughts.

“Aha, so she does speak,” he said. “Even a recluse like Richie Ravens has his network in this village, and word travels fast in a place like this. Let me tell you something about this Brian Duncan fellow. He is a lucky son of a you know what because he lives in the shadow of that old windmill, and to this day I still can't imagine a more poetic spot in this mixed-up world. Ask him to show you, Trina, and I think you'll start to feel some of the magic of Linden Corners.”

If nothing else, a return visit to George's Tavern would allow her a chance to relax a bit, knock back a shot like she'd done last week, and as a side benefit she'd be able to have a quick conversation with this Brian guy and tell him that despite his efforts to get the entire town to do his handiwork in asking her out, she could bring about a fast resolution to this rumored date. So she quickly cleaned up the remnants of their dinner, helped get Richie settled down for a couple of hours, telling him to call her cell phone without hesitation.

“Those newfangled things work in Linden Corners?” he asked.

“I'm serious, Richie. I'm here to take care of you, not the other way around.”

He allowed another smile. “That so?”

Trina rolled her eyes and retreated to her room. She left fifteen minutes later, just before nine o'clock, not bothering to comb her hair or put on a spot of makeup. There was no way she would even give this guy an inch of hope. What was the purpose anyway? It wasn't like Linden Corners was any kind of permanent home for her. This was a mere visit, extended as it was, to help get Richie, literally, back up on his feet. Come the removal of his cast and the New Year, she'd have that silly windmill in her rearview mirror.

As she made her way up to the front steps of the tavern, she took a quick gaze inside. There were about ten people there, some at tables and others on the stools in front of the bar, and, yup, behind the counter was the bartender from the other night. This Brian guy. She steeled herself for strength of character, then opened the door and made her entrance, her bit of drama managing to catch the attention of two men at the far end of the bar. One was that old guy, Chet, from the Five-O, and next to him was a sourpuss of a man, probably fortysomething. She was glad she hadn't done herself up; she didn't want to encourage anyone.

“Trina!” she heard.

Coming back from the jukebox was Sara, a friendly face if ever she needed one.

“Hi, Sara. What are you doing here?”

“Mark's working down at the restaurant tonight and I was hanging out upstairs in our apartment, bored stiff. I mean, the baby was resting, and I really can't do much around the house but sit around. So why not come down here and join the conversation? Besides, the baby likes the music, he—or she—has been kicking up a storm since I got here. But I could ask the same of you. Is Richie okay?”

“Gave me the night off.”

“Good, you need a night out,” she said. “Come on, let's get you that drink. I'll introduce you to Brian.”

Trina paused, giving her cousin-in-law a suspicious look. “Why?”

“Um, because he's the bartender and that's who you get drinks from.”

Which made her wonder if Sara was not in on this date thing, hoping that was the case. It would be nice to have a friend in her corner within Linden Corners. As they headed toward the bar, Trina noticed Brian pulling at the tap, but when he saw her, his gaze locked to the point that the beer flowed over the top of the glass. The overflow caught him by surprise and he pulled his hand away, the glass slipping out of his hand and falling with a crash behind the bar. Having caught the attention of the entire bar, Brian turned away, Trina thinking he was embarrassed by his lack of focus. But he recovered quickly enough, getting Chet his refill without further incident and then reaching for the bottle of Dewar's on the shelf behind him. By the time Trina had bellied up to the bar, he'd poured her shot.

“You remembered,” she said.

“A good bartender has special powers,” he replied.

“And slippery hands,” she said.

“Yes, that takes talent.” He paused and smiled at her, then said, “Welcome back.”

“Wait, you two know each other?” Sara said.

“Long story,” Trina said.

“Long night,” Brian answered.

Silence hovered inside the bar, nearly palpable between her and Brian. Even the jukebox knew to remain quiet, she surmised, when in reality it was merely changing songs. Some wise-ass customer had chosen Annie Lennox's “Walking on Broken Glass,” which managed to garner big laughs from the rest of the patrons.

As the laughter subsided, Trina found all eyes on her as though the gossip network had reached each and every one of them and they were waiting to see what was going to happen next. That was when this clumsy but charming guy named Brian Duncan said, apparently for all to hear, the strangest thing, a compromise.

“I will if you will,” was what he said.

C
HAPTER
7

B
RIAN

 

 

 

“D
ad, who do you think left you those shiny presents?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you think it was this Trina woman?”

Trying to stifle a laugh, Brian couldn't help but let it out, wondering in what way Janey was going to work this first-ever date she'd known him to go on into their conversation. “Uh, I hardly think so. She doesn't know me, and I don't know her. It's a bit early for gift giving.”

He was standing before the floor-length mirror inside his rustic, country-style bedroom, staring first at the stranger he saw, then back at the little girl who watched him get ready. Brian could see a confused look upon Janey's curious face. He waited patiently, almost expectantly, for the next jewel of wisdom to come from her, mostly because he'd lost patience with the tie he was attempting to wrap around his neck. Once upon a time he'd worn one every day, but after two years he was out of practice. Ties were not exactly standard uniform in the country.

“If you don't know her, why are you having dinner with her?”

“To get to know her. That's how it works.”

“You mean dates?”

“If you want to call it a date, sure.”

“That's what Cynthia called it.”

Brian was hardly surprised by that admission, as an amused Cynthia continued to spread the news about his burgeoning relationship, all while ignoring the subject of her impending move halfway across the country. He had to wonder if this wasn't part of some master plan concocted on her part to ensure that not only would Janey be well provided for after their departure, but Brian would be too. He had a feeling the Knights were also the ones behind the Secret Santa gifts; nothing else made sense. “Cynthia of all people should know. She's the one responsible for . . . this night.”

A newly arrived, cool December Friday night was here, three days since Brian and Trina had agreed to go out while the rest of the tavern patrons looked on, their reason for agreeing to it a common one—to get their friends and families off their backs. They'd spoken on the phone once since that night at the tavern, and they'd decided dinner was the ideal option, leaving Brian to confess to not having had any other ideas. Just where in Linden Corners did one even go on a date? Not the greasy counter at the Five-O, not the postcard rack at the Trading Post, and while Brian had been joking when he'd suggested the latter place, Trina, dead serious, replied, “Please, not Marla's or Darla's or whatever that store is called.” To escape prying eyes, out of town they would venture.

“How about RiverFront?” she'd asked.

The resort-slash-restaurant down in Hudson. “You sure? That's where Mark works.”

“Won't he be tending bar at your tavern that night? Isn't that why you're free?”

He liked the wily way Trina thought and instantly agreed.

Turning now to Janey, he said, “So, you okay with Sara coming over again to babysit?”

“I really don't like that word.”

Ah yes, independent Janey Sullivan, ten years old and no longer in need of a babysitter. He let it go, knowing a reply was the last thing she expected. Instead, she moved toward his bed, where he'd laid out his suit jacket. She looked at it, then back at him.

“Too fancy,” she announced.

“Really?”

“I suggest blue jeans, a nice shirt, and this jacket. That's what's modern.”

“And how do you know what's in style these days?”

“I've never seen Mark wear a suit and definitely not a tie, and look at him.”

Interesting turn of dialogue, he thought, deciding to see where she went with this. Like she was done with Cynthia and was already turning to the young Ravens couple for insight into the world. “So I should take fashion advice from him?”

“Not fashion advice, dating,” she said, obvious exasperation in her voice. “He won Sara's heart and they got married and I've only ever seen him wearing jeans. Oh, and he doesn't shave often but that's okay for him; you look better without whiskers.”

“Janey, not everyone who goes on a date gets married.”

She pondered this before quickly adding, “Then why go on it?”

They'd gone far enough, he thought, and thankfully the ringing of the doorbell saved him from having to explain the rites and rituals of the complex world of dating. As Janey dashed out of the room to see to the person at the door, Brian stared back at himself, reflecting both on his appearance and on his romantic life. It was just two years ago when Janey had heard stories of two of Brian's previous relationships, both of which had led to engagements, though neither had led to actual marriage. Thirty-six years old now, still unattached, now an unlikely single father going out on his first date in . . . he wasn't even sure how long. Certainly Trina Winter was his first since Annie, but his relationship with Annie hadn't really been traditional—dates in the old sense hadn't really occurred between them, their time together more as friends who quickly slipped into deep commitment. A dangerous word,
commitment
, and one far from his mind right now. He just wanted to get through this night with the right outfit, one that would allow him to relax and signal to Trina that this was just as they'd agreed upon, casual, no strings, a night out meant to appease their friends more than them.

“You look great,” Sara said moments later when Brian made his way down the stairs.

He'd gone with the jeans-and-blazer look.

“Janey's suggestion.”

“He almost wore a tie,” Janey stated, disapproval evident in her voice.

“If it's any consolation, Brian, Trina called me three times.”

“Grown-ups are weird,” Janey decided. “Come on, Sara, let's see what's for dinner.”

The two of them ventured off to the kitchen, allowing Brian to escape their clutches—and further judgments—and he headed out into the dark night to his truck. He stared at it, realizing it was the most ridiculous vehicle to show up for a date with; it was old and the engine rattled, and truth be known, it had been Annie's and he really didn't feel right about taking it out for a spin on the dating wheel. His old Grand Am lay idle in the barn, but it was at least more appropriate for such an excursion. Going back inside the house for the keys, he couldn't help but overhear an exchange between Janey and Sara.

“It's going to be a house full of Duncans,” she said.

“That will be wonderful, Janey. Family is important, especially around the holidays.”

“But they're Brian's family, not mine,” she said. “I mean, I don't even know what to call them.”

“But I'm sure you'll get more gifts.”

Brian slipped back outside, carefully avoiding detection and wishing he'd just driven the truck. If he had, he wouldn't have heard what Janey said, comments that tore deep at his heart. True, Didi and Kevin Duncan were his parents and not her grandparents. And she had referred to him just now as Brian, not Dad, as they had established two years ago after an episode that had threatened their trust. Maybe his parents' imminent arrival was more impactful on Janey than he had thought—or than she was letting on. He made a mental note to sit down and talk to her again without distraction. But that would have to wait.

For now, he had a date.

A word that sounded even stranger to him than
Dad
.

 

 

RiverFront Restaurant and Resort was located at the western edge of the city of Hudson, just a twenty-minute drive from Linden Corners, a combination four-star hotel and spa, as well as an upscale restaurant that overlooked the banks of the city's eponymous river. It was where Mark Ravens' primary job was, his main source of income as a waiter and occasional host, which afforded him the chance to provide for his wife and soon-to-arrive child. His job at the tavern was supplemental, the commute unbeatable. His job here also provided him with connections, so the staff had been alerted to the fact that Brian Duncan and Trina Winter were to be treated like family.

“Good evening, Mr. Duncan. Ms. Winter,” said a tuxedo-clad gentleman with silver hair and a smile, standing tall behind the check-in desk. “Your table is ready if you are—and it comes with a lovely view of the river.”

“How nice,” Trina said.

The maître d', with his slicked-back hair and bow tie making Brian feel underdressed, led them across the floor and to a table for four that provided them with room to spread out. Dim lighting cast a hush over the dining area, which meant that even though a few tables were occupied with diners near them, they were encased in their own private corner, and true to the man's word, the mighty Hudson was seemingly within reach.

“Again, how nice,” Trina said, gazing through the reflective glass at the river.

Night was in full bloom, with moonlight streaming across the currents like waves of light.

“Mark's doing, no doubt,” he said.

“Mark speaks very highly of you, Brian,” Trina said, pushing her hair back from her face. She wore more makeup tonight than Brian had seen her with before, and a lone gold necklace dangled from her neck. “He told me that without you he wouldn't have had the guts to get his life together. It was the relief bartender job that allowed him to get to know Sara so well—and we know how well that turned out.” She paused, seemingly using the river view as an excuse to collect her thoughts. “If you want to know the truth, it wasn't your friends Nora and Cynthia who convinced me to come on this date; it was Mark.”

“Nice to have an independent's endorsement,” he said.

“I don't know Mark well. I mean, how could I, since I barely know my own father? I'm not exactly comfortable with the Ravens side of the family.”

“What do you say we get a drink before we, uh, delve into our lives?”

“Sounds perfect.”

A waiter arrived and took their order, a seltzer with lime for him, Trina asking if they had Johnny Blue, her face lighting up when the waiter confirmed they stocked it. He handed them menus and left them to peruse their choices. Silence settled over the new couple, leaving Brian wondering if the lack of conversation was acceptable. Was it a good sign they were comfortable not filling every single moment with conversation, or a bad one, the fact that they were out of topics before the first drink?

“So, Brian, you really don't drink?”

“Haven't touched a drop in three years. Well, except once.”

“Fall off the wagon?” she asked.

“Voluntarily. In tribute.”

“Care to share?”

This one was easy, Linden Corners 101. He told her about kindly George Connors and how he had taken a wet-behind-the-ears Brian under his wing at his bar, then called Connors' Corner, and by doing so helped initiate Brian into village life. While the story's ending was sad, it was inspiring too, with Brian adding, “I don't think I would have remained in town if not for George. When he passed away quietly just moments after pouring that one last beer, I did as he'd intended and I drank it down. I might have taken over his bar, but never again did I take a drop from the taps. Those are for my customers.”

“That's a sad story, but a lovely one.”

“Welcome to Linden Corners,” he said. “We rise from the ashes.”

Their drinks arrived and they cheered the phoenix, drank, and then studied their menus.

“So,” he said, realizing it was the ideal transition word. “How's your father doing?”

“Ah, Richie,” she said.

“You call him Richie?”

“It's complicated,” she said, again pushing her styled hair back over her ear, keeping the strands from covering her face. “I didn't grow up with him. We've only been in touch . . . recently, the last few years or so. I had a stepfather who was always there for me.”

“Had? Sounds like past tense.”

“My mother is on her third husband.”

“Always in search of the next ex-Mr.?”

“She's a fickle woman.”

Brian laughed. “So I'm learning—about fickle women.”

“Who would that be?”

“Janey. Confession time? I almost wore a tie tonight. I was advised against one.”

“Janey is your daughter.”

“My . . . yeah, my daughter.”

“Sounds like another story.”

“Parental relationships can be complicated,” he said. “Which, by the way, you didn't tell me how Richie's doing.”

“Richie is ornery.”

“Well, we all know that.”

“When he fell from the roof of the Solemn Nights, he broke his leg in three places. As you've no doubt heard, he's in a cast and of course can't get around much. Once it comes off, it will be weeks, maybe months, of physical therapy until he's back to normal. It also leaves me as the manager of a roadside motel outside a rinky-dink town that seemingly can't wait to celebrate Christmas.”

“Have you put up lights around the motel yet?”

“Richie doesn't partake.”

Brian nodded. “So I remember. It's always a pretty dark stretch of road there no matter the season. You know, you could change that this year, and I can help put them up if you want. Keep Richie off of ladders, right?”

“Um, we'll see. I don't want to come here and change things.”

“I think you already have,” Brian said, suddenly feeling a rush of blood to his neck, making him blush. Where was that tie when you needed it? “Uh, anyway, you know, I stayed at the Solemn Nights when I first came to Linden Corners.”