Memory Tree (9 page)

“Let me guess, you first had lunch or dinner at the Five-O and Martha sent you over.”

Brian raised his glass in acknowledgment. “How long have you been in town?”

“Long enough, apparently.”

He noticed she hadn't taken him up on the Christmas lights offer. “You make it sound like your being here is temporary.”

“It is,” she said, far too quickly. “I do have a life elsewhere.”

Brian quieted down at that point, the string of questions in his mind suddenly tangled. He could make no sense of her, and even if he asked her more, was he confident in Trina's answers? He wondered just what he was doing on this date. A date with a woman who had no intention of sticking around town beyond the terms of her obligation. But as he reminded himself, this was an appeasement date. Dine, relax, go home—separately—and then the next day tell your friends she's/he's nice, but nothing to pursue. No spark.

Except he wasn't sure that last part was entirely correct.

Thankfully the waiter returned and took their dinner order, handily distracting them from their staccato-sounding back-and-forth dialogue. She would have the salmon, he the skirt steak, and she also put in an order for a second drink, and then the waiter was off, far too quickly for Brian's comfort. He imagined that he was fast losing Trina's attention, as there were lots of topics touched upon but he'd found no common ground between them. Maybe he'd spent too much time consumed with Janey's problems and insecurities, to the point where he no longer knew how to carry on a conversation with an adult, not counting Cynthia and Bradley—they were his friends—and Nora, whom he'd gotten to know only last year and had flirted with only to decide they worked best as friends. Other than that, his dating opportunities were relegated to his memory banks. Memories filled with early promise and ultimate demise.

“I have an idea, Brian,” Trina suddenly said.

“Uh, okay?”

“I know what we agreed upon, but it's pretty clear this is a real date.”

“Yeah, guess it feels like one.”

“And a first one, at that.”

“So what do you propose?”

“Just two people having dinner. Takes the pressure off.”

“An interesting proposal,” he said.

“I mean, this can't lead anywhere. I'm not staying and you're not leaving.”

“Good point.”

“You're a nice guy, but I'm not looking for any kind of guy.”

“Fair enough.”

“Plus, you have a kid and I don't want a kid.”

Okay, that revelation shook him, and he wasn't sure how to respond. “That's . . . honest.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean that to sound so . . . harsh. Look at my life, Brian,” she said. “My parents had me and then divorced when I was three years old. My mother remarried, an older guy named Charles Winter, and not that I had any choice in the matter, but he adopted me, hence my legal last name. Bye-bye to Richie Ravens and any link to my actual family. Charles, whom I always called Dad, also had two children—both sons—from a previous marriage, which meant we were like a modern-day Brady Bunch, truncated for sure, and without the quick thirty-minute resolution to our problems.” She paused before drinking her scotch. “Trina Winter in a nutshell. Your turn.”

Seltzer water seemed wholly inappropriate at the moment, so he ignored his beverage and leaped into the deep end of the pool she'd taken them to. “After my fiancée's betrayal, I moved away from New York City and ended up in a small town called Linden Corners, where I met a woman, fell in love, and after she passed away in a freak accident, I was granted guardianship of her at-the-time seven-year-old daughter. She's ten now, and while I don't know where the time has gone, she's the absolute center of my life and I couldn't imagine waking without knowing she was there for me, and I for her. My best friends and Janey's support system just announced they are moving away, and to top it all off, my frosty parents, who haven't exactly approved of my life change, phoned me on Thanksgiving to say they were coming for an extended holiday visit—their first ever to Linden Corners.”

She dangled her drink before him, and he wondered if it was a tease or an offer. “Okay, Windmill Man, you win that round. I just have to deal with Richie's eccentricities, and even he gives me a night off like tonight to knock back a few,” she said with a surprising laugh, one that allowed a natural smile to cross her lips. He thought at that moment, with her mix of humor and sympathy, that she was as attractive as he'd seen her. Candlelight highlighting her eyes, she was a far cry from the desperate woman he'd met that night at the tavern.

Dinner arrived then, and they dug in heartily, happy for the distraction. They switched to the safety of small talk, his life down at the tavern, her experiences at the motel, the two of them finding common ground in the fact that both businesses tended to attract the transient. Brian admitted that when he'd left New York, setting out on the road for where he didn't know, he'd envisioned ending up much farther from New York City than the Hudson River Valley.

“I ended up less than three hours away from the city.”

“Where do you think you'd have gone?”

“At that point in my life, I think Alaska wouldn't have been far enough.”

“She hurt you a lot. This old girlfriend.”

“Fiancée,” he corrected, as though such a label added weight to the betrayal. “Let's just say I never expected what was going on. Big-city ambitions make you appreciate a place like Linden Corners. As George said, there's a simpler way of life here, where your neighbors are your friends, not strangers. When you ask for help, they ask how—not that you ever need to ask; the residents here just seem to know when someone is in need. Like tonight, Trina, I'm actually enjoying myself.”

“Gee, a girl loves compliments like that.”

“No, it's not about you, and I'm sorry if it sounded that way,” he said. “It's hard to be selfish in Linden Corners, and I think that for the past two-plus years I've been on autopilot. Caring for Janey on a daily basis, caring for George's bar, back and forth between home and the tavern, I just do, act, respond. If Gerta needs something, I'm there. Same with Cynthia, Nora.”

“Meaning you've put Brian Duncan on hold?”

“How could I not? The situation I found myself in, I'm the last person who needs help.”

“Your friends think otherwise,” she said.

“You're in the same boat, taking on the role of caregiver, which means you've put your life on ice too.”

“Look at that, something in common.”

Silence again fell between them, Brian noting it came tinged with an uneasiness he could remember from early dates with his old high school flame, Lucy, and even with the alluring, sexy Maddie, whom he was convinced he'd fallen in love with their first night together. He was feeling a connection suddenly with Trina, and whether it was the bright flicker of candlelight that danced in her eyes or the distant sound of waves upon the shore, it was a magic word that neither had consciously recognized. This newfound awkwardness meant a shift had occurred tonight. Two people, both vulnerable, feeling the pressure of responsibility, had been given the gift of a night off from their lives and a chance to explore something beyond their daily routine. For a moment Brian Duncan considered a breach of his tightly held self by ordering an after-dinner drink.

But Trina spoke up before he could address the waiter, and the moment passed.

“What do you say we get out of here? I for one could go for a walk along the river.”

A romantic gesture, he thought, one that froze him in his tracks.

Not because he wasn't attracted to Trina, not because he feared intimacy.

It was the location, along the banks of the Hudson River. It made him think of Annie.

 

 

“You've grown quiet. Was this a bad idea?”

Brian had indeed gone silent, afraid if he spoke his tone would give him away.

They had left the restaurant and at Trina's suggestion ventured beyond the chains of the parking lot and into the accompanying park. The park was closed for the night; the swings were silent and the wind grew as quiet as Brian. Bypassing the park benches and continuing up a grassy slope that Trina hoped would afford them a beautiful view of the river, Brian wondered just how to answer her question.

“Are you afraid of heights, Brian?”

“No, it's not that . . . ,” he said.

“Then what's wrong? Why the hesitation?”

“Nothing,” he insisted. “Here, take my hand; it's a little slippery from the recent rain.”

Brian reached out in the darkness, feeling Trina's hand connect with his. It was the first act of physicality between them, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. Her touch was warm, and as he guided her up the last few feet of the hill, he caught her expression in the moonlight, she as relaxed as he'd seen her. Not that he knew her well at all, but he sensed that beneath her cool exterior was a gentle, generous soul. Someone who traveled all these miles and put her life on hold to care for an injured father she barely knew certainly had more to her than a brusque manner. If only she had chosen a place other than the hills above the river to end their first date.

At last they emerged at the top of the hill, Trina scoping out a large rock with a smooth surface on which to stand and stare down at the languid waters of the Hudson. He too gazed out at the way the river merged with the distant horizon, backlit by the glimmering moon. To say the setting was romantic was an understatement, and he was about to suggest they make their way back to avoid this going any further when Trina heightened the romance. He felt her lips upon his, soft and tentative. Like she too wasn't sure this was the right thing to be doing, her mind telling her one thing, her heart acting independently. She didn't pull back, their kiss lingering, while above them came the squawk of a soaring seagull.

Brian gazed up at the bird, unable to determine whether the bird approved.

She must have sensed his distraction, as the kiss suddenly ended.

“Sorry,” she said. “You weren't ready.”

“Trina,” he said, “one word that should never follow a kiss is
sorry
.”

“You want to tell me what you're thinking about?”

“You know, I think I'd rather save that for another time.”

“Well, that's encouraging, another time,” she said. “I thought this was a onetime thing.”

“A kiss like that—did that seem like the end of something?” he asked.

“No, no, it didn't. Brian, tell me what's wrong.”

“It's . . . it's just this place, this setting. It's too close to home.”

“We're miles from Linden Corners.”

He smiled, but his smile was tinged with sorrow that left her staring hard into his eyes. “Not in my mind,” he said. “In fact, in the distance I think I can see the windmill.”

“You too with the windmill?” she asked.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

He could imagine his face had grown darker from the derision in her voice.

“I don't mean any offense, Brian. It's just, the other night, Richie was going on about the windmill and how it inspired him when he first came to town. He told me it's one of the primary reasons he stayed. And he'd made a friend—as much as Richie can do—with the windmill's owner.”

This was news to Brian. “The owner, who was that?”

“A man named Dan Sullivan,” Trina said.

Brian thought about Richie Ravens, who had come to town more than twenty years ago; Dan would have been only a teenager. Having arrived a broken man, Richie forged a new life, only to become, as the years progressed, more of a recluse. Was that a scenario Brian wanted for himself?

Brian grew so quiet he wondered if he was still breathing. He thought about the portraits hung upon Janey's wall, and not just the one of Annie, whom he'd known and whom he'd loved and who continued to swirl around him like a windblown, loving spirit, but the portrait of her father, Dan, who continued to hover over his life like a spectral force of another kind.

“Brian, are you okay?”

He turned back to her, and this time he was the aggressor, as he planted a fresh kiss upon her lips. She responded in kind, their kiss growing deeper, longer, so much so that not even the squawking, high-flying bird or the moonlight that glided behind a cloud could stop them. Brian, tasting her, wrapping his arms around her and feeling an embrace he'd not allowed himself to know for too long, sensed his soul had been released, as though for the first time since Annie had left them he allowed himself to think there was another life waiting for him somewhere out there. Or maybe not somewhere far, but with someone close.

C
HAPTER
8

C
YNTHIA

 

 

 

C
ynthia Knight was watching the front door to see who else might be joining the rest of the villagers for this impromptu meeting, pleased already at the turnout of nearly two dozen people but knowing they were still missing some key residents of their fair village. From her seat on the makeshift dais at the Corner Community Center—the CCC, as it was dubbed by the locals—she could see many elderly folks from Edgestone, the retirement center down the street, including Elsie Masters, whom she knew she could approach and ask who else from town to expect. Elsie knew things, having for decades run her antique shop on the main road until selling it last year to Nora Connors and choosing the life of a retiree, aching knees and all. With her was Thomas Van Diver, looking as dapper as ever with his trademark bow tie and his twinkling blue eyes, which somehow cast calm over a rising storm. And just now walking through the door was the reliable Gerta Connors, who made a beeline for her friends.

Cynthia checked her watch, saw that it was just past seven in the evening.

She'd chosen a time that ensured more of the local business owners could attend. It was Saturday night in Linden Corners, and if you weren't home watching television or partaking of a drink over at George's Tavern, there was little reason why you couldn't show up for a gathering that would set in motion this year's village Christmas plans. Leading the charge, armed with the knowledge that this was quite possibly her final Linden Corners Christmas, Cynthia was eager to make it the most special celebration they'd yet produced, a tall order considering last year's red-and-green pageant down at the gazebo. Golden luminaries in the snow had lit their way toward a joyous wedding as they witnessed the culmination of a decades-old holiday mystery that had seen its resolution achieved with hours to spare before Christmas arrived.

Cynthia was flying solo on this project, at least for the moment. Back home was Bradley, caring for not just Jake but Janey too. Janey had asked to accompany her, but Cynthia wanted all the plans set before telling the young girl that she'd been the inspiration for this year's event. In fact, Brian had really set the ball in motion when he'd spilled the beans about the mysterious Secret Santa gifts he'd been receiving. Before she could tell them, first she had to rally the town into accepting her idea. It was important to Cynthia for everything to go off without a hitch, and only after signs and placards were made and hung around town would their celebration become official.

She was waiting still on Nora and Martha, mostly, and when she noticed Sara Ravens enter the center, she got up from her seat and made her way to the pregnant young woman.

“Cynthia, hi . . . what a turnout; this is great. But what's it all about?”

“You'll see,” she said. “But while we have a chance, any word from Trina and Brian?”

“I didn't talk to her all day. You?”

“Brian dropped Janey off earlier, but all he would say was that they had a good time,” she said. “Typical male. We go to all that effort to set them up, and what does he do? Gives us nothing. Makes you appreciate girlfriends; they know how to spill details.”

Sara, rubbing her belly, sighed. “So glad I'm not in the dating pool anymore.”

A fresh burst of air swirled inside the room, Cynthia turning to see Nora arrive, Nicholas Casey at her side.

“Speaking of, there's one happy couple,” Sara said.

Cynthia thought otherwise, noticing the less-than-thrilled expression on Nora's face. She waved in her friend's direction, Nora departing Nicholas's side, but not before he reached for her hand and readied a kiss. She turned slightly, so the kiss landed awkwardly somewhere between her lip and her cheek, Cynthia watching the interaction with growing interest. Not that Nora had said anything—nor was she inclined to—but a romance that had blossomed after last Christmas seemed to have lost a bit of its shiny glow.

“Hi,” Cynthia said as Nora approached. “Thanks for coming.”

“Like I had a choice.”

“And you brought Nicholas.”

“I repeat, like I had a choice.”

“Nora . . .”

“Sorry, forget it, it's not important. But from the look of things here,” she said, sizing up the growing crowd filling the community center, “something else is. What's up?”

“Christmas,” Cynthia said, “and it's all my doing, though I have to say I did run my idea past your mother.”

“A big Linden Corners celebration—which I'm assuming this is about—without my mother's input would be considered sacrilegious.”

“Where's Travis?”

“With friends. Where else is a thirteen-year-old on a Saturday night?”

“Leaving you free for date night?”

Nora frowned. “Tell you what. Let's finish this meeting and have a drink at George's.”

“What about Nicholas?”

“He can hang with Brian; they're chummy.”

“Perfect. Because there's something I need your help on. Professionally.”

That raised a curious eyebrow on Nora's part. “You mean, A Doll's Attic kind of work?”

“Absolutely. I need help fulfilling another childhood memory,” she said. “I'll fill you in later. For now, let me get this going.”

And she did, calling to order a fair representation of the village's population, asking them to take their seats. With coffee provided by the Five-O, the residents did as instructed, Cynthia noting that among the newly arrived guests were Marla and Darla and the sourpuss Chuck Ackroyd, a man who put not just the
bah
but also the
bug
in
bah, humbug
. In the back row was Father Eldreth Burton of Saint Matthew's Church, whom she'd specifically called to be here. Assembled in the front row were Gerta and Thomas, Nicholas and Nora, with Elsie, Sara, and Martha directly behind them. Missing were many of the men of Linden Corners, Brian and Bradley, Mark Ravens, and Richie too. She also noted that Trina Winter was nowhere to be seen, which distracted her for a moment. She could think it was curious that neither Trina nor Brian was here one night after their date, but she'd already checked that Brian was working the bar. Still, it was a great turnout and an indication that the town thought of itself as a collective, and she had every confidence that all would embrace her idea.

Rising to the podium, she tested the microphone, received temporary feedback.

She took a step back from it, then spoke without incident.

“Thank you to everyone in Linden Corners for turning out,” she said. “Now, I realize the holidays are fast approaching us—I mean, what am I thinking? Thanksgiving is gone a week and a half already, which means Christmastime looms ever closer. Not that you'd know it from the lack of snow on the ground, but rest assured, Christmas is coming.”

“So is this little guy,” Sara said, referencing her extended belly. “About the same time.”

“Right, which means we need to act fast,” Cynthia said. “As many of you have heard by now, my husband, Bradley, and I—and of course little Jake—will be leaving Linden Corners at the start of the New Year, and know that we do so with great regret but also with great promise. As we leave behind our old life, know that we take with us the very spirit of Linden Corners and hopefully a chance to spread its sense of community to our new home. You are all our friends, neighbors, and we have known each other for so many years and you've seen us through tough times. But nothing suggests Linden Corners more than our celebrations, and so, for this year's annual Christmas pageant, I suggest something new . . . something we can all participate in.”

“Another wedding?” Martha asked.

“Unless someone here has a surprise for us, I don't think so. We wouldn't want to repeat ourselves, now, would we?” Cynthia paused, gazing out at the crowd, her eyes landing on Nora, who appeared to want to slide under her chair. Her cold stare of daggers told Cynthia to continue, quickly, and so she did, saying, “This village is accustomed to the notion of giving, and so what I propose is an all-out, full-participation game of Secret Santa. I'm calling it ‘The Secret of Linden Corners.' ”

“You mean, giving everyone gifts? In this economy?” Chuck said, rising from his seat.

“Hardly, Chuck,” she said, not surprised he was the lone dissenter in the group. “Secret Santa—which some people may know as Kris Kringle—simply means you pick one name and keep it secret, then surprise that person on Christmas Day with a special gift. Or you leave them a series of smaller gifts, almost as a tease, a guessing game of whom their Secret Santa might be. For any of you who are concerned with cost, we will of course impose a spending limit.”

“Oh, I think it's a splendid idea,” Gerta said, clapping her hands.

Gerta's reaction had been rehearsed over the phone, Cynthia and Gerta having planned for an unofficial “second” for the record. Just then a buzz erupted amidst the group, as questions of logistics emerged,
when
,
why
, and
how
filling the room. Cynthia tried to quiet them down to little effect, and it was only when Gerta stood next to the podium and asked them to quiet down did they do so.

“My goodness, such a ruckus among you,” Gerta said. “Now, I know you have concerns, so if you'll listen, we will explain how this will work. For the next week, a large Santa hat will be placed inside the gazebo in the center of the town. If you wish to partake in our village-wide game, just write your name down on a slip of paper and put it in the hat. Our drawing will be two Sundays from now, plenty of time for everyone to join in the fun, and we hope you'll all be there. Only those who put their names in the hat will be able to draw a name, which will keep our event organized and ensure no one is left out.”

“Thank you, Gerta. Now to the exchange of gifts . . .”

“I don't want some stranger coming to my house on Christmas morning . . .”

“Marla, I'm not sure even Darla would dare do such a thing to you, and she lives with you,” Martha said, laughter arising from the group.

Her joke managed to settle everyone down, and so they all focused back on Cynthia. She filled them in on the final details. “As you know, Saint Matthew's Church offers up both its vigil mass at five o'clock and the midnight mass on Christmas Eve, so, with Father Burton's blessing, our gift exchange will take place between them, after the annual children's pageant and our new tradition of the esteemed Thomas Van Diver reading ‘The Night Before Christmas.' Only one thing will be different this year, and it's the location of our pageant.”

“It's not the church?”

“No,” Cynthia said.

“The gazebo again?” asked Sara, who last year had been married under its snowy roof.

“Now, what place in this town of ours can accommodate a large crowd but represents the spirit of our village? It will be lit, as always, with a thousand white lights that can blind even the sun and the stars above.” She paused, letting the idea sink in among them, but then she went in for the final impact when she said, almost reverently, “The windmill.”

 

 

“Nice delivery, Cyn.”

“And nice idea,” Nicholas said, sitting with Nora and Cynthia at a table inside the tavern. “But did you run that idea past Brian?”

“Run what idea past me?”

Brian had approached their table unbeknownst to them. Cynthia found his eyes zeroing in her, not surprising since Nora and Nicholas were also staring at her. Like she was the creative force behind whatever idea she'd yet to inform him about. Wasn't she?

“I'll tell you later, Brian. Trust me, you'll love it,” Cynthia said.

“Oh, you mean about the Secret of Linden Corners celebration and the pageant ending at the windmill?”

“How . . . ,” she said, and then gazed over at the bar, where she saw Chuck nursing a beer.

“This is Linden Corners; word travels faster than Martha's chili.”

“Hey, I heard that,” came a voice from a neighboring table.

It seemed as though half the residents had retreated to George's Tavern after the meeting. Martha, sitting with Marla and Darla over a round of tequila shots, nodded their way. Cynthia, red faced, confessed that she'd meant to talk to him earlier, but time got away, and besides, “you got home late last night. I trust all went well?”

“Changing the subject won't help you,” he said.

“Really, Brian, this is about Janey . . .”

“I know, and of course I don't mind. But, as you said, we'll talk later. Got a full house.”

“Speaking of,” Nora said, “Nicholas, do us a favor and get us some wine. And then hang with Brian at the bar.”

“I think I've been dismissed,” he said with a scrape of his chair.

He also didn't look happy to have been sent away. Still, he left like a dutiful boyfriend, returning a moment later with their drinks in hand before settling back on a bar stool between the unfortunate choices of Chet and Chuck. Poor Nicholas, Cyn thought, he was a good guy caught up in a relationship with a woman who still had her past to deal with. With one hand on the stem of her glass, Cynthia reached out her other hand and placed it over Nora's.

“What's going on with you two?”

Nora took a drink. “You said you had a job for me?”

“Fine, I'll go first,” Cynthia said. “But, Nora Connors, I am not letting you out of here tonight without an explanation as to what's wrong. Nicholas seems like such a great guy—he's smart, educated, charming, and the way his curly hair curves over the collar of his shirt gives him this sexy vibe . . .”