The Wedding Tree (5 page)

“Aunt Jillian said she hasn't been to the zoo since she was a teenager,” Zoey said. “She can't wait to see the monkeys.”

Wait—the “we” included Jillian? My enthusiasm tanked. “How about just the three of us go?”

Zoey's jaw jutted out. “I want Aunt Jillian to come, too. She said she could.”

Once again, plans had been set in motion without my knowledge or consent. I stifled a sigh, reminding myself that I'd moved here so that the girls would have a sense of family. Looking at them now, I had to say it was a good decision. They were both thriving; they slept through the night now, their appetites were good, and neither one had thrown a tantrum in months.

It was only natural that they'd grow attached to Jillian; she was their aunt, and she loved them. It was wrong of me to deprive them of her company just because I was a little paranoid. “Okay,” I said. “The more, the merrier. Let's see if Grandpop and Gramma can come, too.” Having the in-laws along would defuse the Jillian factor.

“Wahoo!” exclaimed Zoey. She jumped to her feet and headed for the kitchen. “Aunt Jillian!” she called. “We're all gonna go to the zoo!”

Sophie looked up at me. “Can the tooth fairy granddaughter lady come, too?”

The image of the brunette next door flashed in my brain like neon. “I, uh, think she'll need to stay and take care of her grandmother.”

“We could ask her.”

“We don't know her well enough to invite her out like that.” Although it would certainly make things a lot more interesting from my perspective.

“If she went with us, we'd get to know her better.”

I ruffled Sophie's hair. “She's just visiting. I don't think she'll be in town very long.”

I wondered just how long she planned to stay in Wedding Tree. I wondered what she did for a living and where she lived.

I wondered why I was wondering all these things about a woman I'd barely met.

I thought about the way she'd filled out that sparkly sheer gown, and I immediately knew the answer. I unwound my legs and rose. “Come on, sport. We'd better wash up for dinner.”

And while I was at it, I'd better clean up my thoughts, as well.

adelaide

THE FOLLOWING MONDAY

W
atch your head, Mom.” Eddie cushioned the top of my noggin with his hand as if I'd never gotten into an automobile before—when the fact is, I'd ridden in enough cars to fill an antique road show, starting with my granddaddy's Model T.

Of course, that's what I was now. An antique.

One thing those old cars had going for them—you didn't have to fuss with that ridiculous strap contraption Eddie was easing over my head and clicking across my lap. What the heck was that annoying thing called? I can't remember. I can remember the license plate of our family car back in 1939—122-147—but I can't remember the name of this silly restraint device. It's sad to remember just enough to know how much you're forgetting.

“Ralph and I will meet you at the house,” Eddie said.

“Fine,” I said, although I didn't really register what he'd said. I was too caught up in noticing that there seemed to be two Eddies. Something was wrong with my vision, because sometimes I saw double and even triple.

Becky—no, it was Hope; I'd seen her face fall too many times when I'd called her the wrong name over the last few days, and I
sure didn't want to do that again—smiled at me. “Does the seat belt hurt your ribs?”

Seat belt—that's what it was called. And why on earth was she asking about my ribs? Something must be wrong with them. That must be why my lower chest throbbed. “I'm fine, dear.”

But I wasn't. I was confused and disoriented, and my hands were clammy. Thoughts flitted in and out of my head like hummingbirds, pausing for just a few seconds before winging on their way. I couldn't seem to hold on to any of them.

I knew I was in a car, but where the heck were we? I looked around, searching for clues. A woman in a blue medical outfit—what do they call it? Scraps?—was pushing a wheelchair away from the curb. “Take care now, Mrs. McCauley,” she said.

The hospital—that's right. I'd fallen, hit my head, and cracked my ribs. Relief washed through me—first relief that I could remember where I was, and then relief that I was leaving. The next time I came here, I was pretty sure I wouldn't be so lucky.

My days in the hospital all blended together in my memory like that cottage cheese and Jell-O recipe I used to make, opaque and filled with chunks of crunchy stuff that tasted the same—only instead of apples and celery, these chunks were made up of having my blood pressure checked, being helped to bathroom, and feeling a stranger's hands bathe me in the shower.

It was humbling, being on the receiving end of bathing and bathroom care. I'd performed the tasks for Charlie when he was first injured, but getting the help myself . . . well, I knew it had been hard on Charlie, but I had a new appreciation of just how hard. I think it must have been worse to get help from a spouse than from a stranger—especially knowing that the spouse had been about to leave you.

One thing I do remember clearly about my stay in the hospital—it stands out, as sure as nuts in Jell-O—was that visit with Mother. If I didn't want to spend eternity getting tongue-lashed, I had to tell
Hope everything and take care of that piece of business I'd put off for decades. The thought made my breakfast turn sour in my stomach.

I must have closed my eyes and dozed for a moment, because the next thing I knew, Hope was pulling up in front of the house. Time has become uneven. It slides by unnoticed, as if nothing is changing, and then all of a sudden, I look around and everything's different.

“Sit tight, and I'll get your walker out of the trunk,” Hope said.

My walker? I didn't need a walker, like an old lady! Or did I? Maybe so. I couldn't risk falling again until I finished following Mother's instructions.

The sun was shining, and the tulips in the yard were in full bloom—bright bursts of brilliant yellow and white, blinding as a flashbulb. A handsome officer's face floated into my memory, and my mind started to go down a rabbit hole, but then my eye caught the hot pink flash of azaleas, just starting to bud, and my thoughts zoomed even further backward, back to childhood.

I was five years old, crouched beside the azalea bed with my mother. She wore her brown-checked housedress, flowered cotton gloves, and her floppy straw gardening hat. I had a gardening hat and a pair of gloves, too, but I'd taken them off after about two minutes. I'd never liked the feel of things on my hands or head.

“Your skin is going to turn as brown and rough as leather,” Mother had fussed. She'd always been after me for unladylike behavior, but I didn't think that ladies seemed to have much fun. Gardening was the one ladylike activity I loved, because it involved digging in the dirt. On this particular day, Mother and I were mixing old coffee grounds into the soil under the azaleas. She said it made them bloom longer. I remember dipping the grounds out of a big Crisco can, and inhaling deeply. I'd loved the mingled scent of coffee and dirt and growing things.

So odd, how I could remember long-ago things like they happened yesterday, yet yesterday's events seemed covered with moss.

Eddie and Ralph pulled their car into the drive behind us, and I used that infernal walker to get to the porch. Eddie helped me up
the steps—the steps were a nice, clean gray, as if they'd been newly painted—and then I was in the house, and Snowball was bouncing around my feet, dancing as if it were Christmas, New Year's, and every other holiday all rolled into one big, fat, joyful, beefy bone.

Hope picked him up so I didn't trip over him, while Eddie led me into the living room and got me settled in a chair. Hope set Snowball in my lap, where he licked my face and wagged his tail as I talked to him and petted him, and it was only after he calmed down and curled into a soft, strokable ball that I realized I was sitting in the floral chair where my mother used do her hand sewing when she listened to the radio. Of course, that was back when the chair was in her house, and the radio was a piece of furniture.

I closed my eyes and it was like I was transported back to my childhood home. I could practically feel the itchy wool sofa. Daddy's leather chair was angled beside it, the armrest worn and cracked, and . . .

“Okay, Mom?”

Eddie's question made me jerk my eyes open. He was sitting on the sofa in my living room and I believe he'd been talking for quite a while, but I hadn't been paying attention. Oh dear. How rude of me!

“Okay?” he asked again.

I was ashamed to admit that I hadn't been following his conversation. “Fine,” I said.
Fine
was a word that seemed suitable for most responses.

He rose, and the red-haired man seated beside him—Rufus? Rupert? I couldn't recall his name, dadburn it—rose with him. “Well, then, we'd better get going. Our plane leaves at noon.” Eddie came over and kissed my cheek. “We'll be back to get you at the beginning of June.”

Alarm shot through me. “Get me?” I echoed blankly.

“Yes, Mom. To move you to San Francisco.” He spoke in a patient tone, as if he were talking to someone who didn't understand English well or was slow-witted—or nuts.

I hadn't lost my mind. I had the feeling he thought I was crazy.

“We've talked about it a lot, remember?”

“Yes,” I said, although I didn't remember, not entirely. I remembered talking with Eddie and Hope and some lady at the hospital about how I couldn't live in my house anymore, and I knew I'd agreed to something, but what that something was, I couldn't quite fix in my mind. The one thing that really mattered was the one thing I knew for sure: Hope was going to stay here and help me pack up the house, bless her heart, and I'd have the chance to set things right.

But Eddie was talking about what would happen afterward. Maybe I'd better speak up before Eddie's plans got too far along to change. “I don't know if we've discussed it, dear, but as much as I love you, I want to live on my own.”

The redhead's muffled snort let me know we'd discussed it plenty.

Bless his heart—Eddie's eyes remained warm and patient. “I know, Mom. We're going to find a nice assisted living center for you and Snowball.”

“And I insist on paying my own way.”

“You will, Mom. You have your savings and you'll have the proceeds from selling the house.” He bent down and squeezed my hand. “The important thing, Mom, is that you'll be near me. I'll get to drop by your apartment all the time.”

Apartment? “An apartment won't have much space. Where will I . . .”

I'd been about to say “develop my photos,” but then I remembered that I quit doing that a few years ago. Everything was digital now.

Digital. Used to mean you did it by hand—with your fingers, to be exact. Now digital just meant a machine did it for you. Which was easier and maybe even more precise, but something was lost in the process. I'd quit taking photos when that became the thing everyone wanted.

Eddie's brow wrinkled. “Where will you what?”

I patted the back of his hand. “Never mind, dear—just having
a senior moment. I seem to be living one long senior moment these days.”

Eddie turned his hand to take my palm. “You had a hard blow to the head, Mom, but it's all going to be okay, and you don't have to worry. While you're here, you're going to have round-the-clock home health care. And when you get to California, we'll take good care of you.” The way he looked at me made my finger press down, wanting to capture the moment. His eyes glowed with that caring, worried, earnest, eager-to-please puppy dog look that was quintessential Eddie. He'd had that expression when he was four, and he still had it fifty years later. He used to look at Charlie like that, wanting, so badly, his approval.

Charlie thought that praising a child too much made him weak, that Eddie needed toughening up, that I'd spoiled him into sissy-hood. His parents had done that to him, I knew, but still, a surge of anger shot through me. He'd been wrong—so very, very wrong.

“Mom? Are you all right?”

I realized I'd closed my eyes. I opened them to see Eddie squatting beside my chair. I blinked. I saw three of him, and then two.

“Yes, yes, I'm fine.”

“And you're okay with me leaving now and coming back in June to help you move?”

I don't have much choice, do I?
I didn't say it, of course; he was doing the best he could. He was a dentist with an established practice. He couldn't just up and leave it and move out here. Even if he could, I wouldn't ask that of him.

And, truth be told, I was ready for a change. The thought of a move, a whole new life, was exciting. I was ready. I'd always wanted to live on the coast. And yet . . .

I flashed him a smile. “I'm fine with it, honey.”

“I'll call every day, and with Hope here, we can Skype each other.”

I had no idea what that meant, but I nodded all the same.

His brow furrowed. “Are you sure you don't want to come now?
We could catch a later flight. I could pack up a few of your things, and you can just let Hope deal with the house on her own.”

“Oh, no, Eddie.” A memory formed in my mind, a long-ago memory from when I was a girl. I'd wanted to play outside, but Mother had insisted that I resew a button I'd just sewn in the wrong place on my sweater. “Finish what you start,” she'd said. I could see her clearly, so clearly, as if she were standing beside me right now. “Always clean up your messes before moving on to the next thing.”

I blew out a long sigh. Maybe Mother had arranged all this.

“What?”

I opened my eyes at Eddie's voice to see him peering at me, his brow still knitted. I hadn't realized I'd closed my eyes or spoken aloud. “Oh, nothing,” I said, feeling sheepish. “I was just remembering something Mother told me about seeing things through.”

Robert—or was it Richard? I knew his name started with an
R
—leaned in. “Is she on the ceiling here?”

“I—I don't think so.” I started to explain that she could read my thoughts, then realized how cuckoo that sounded. They already thought I was crazy enough.

“So . . . where do you and Hope plan to begin?” Eddie asked.

“Oh, my—I don't think it matters. Usually if you just dive in, you'll end up where you need to be sooner or later. Thinking too much can paralyze you.”

“Interesting philosophy,” the redhead said. “You'll have plenty of options.”

I followed his gaze into the dining room. For the first time, I realized it was stacked with trunks and boxes from the attic. He and Eddie must have moved them down while I was in the hospital.

I patted Eddie's hand, then turned it loose. “You'd better get going or you'll miss your train.”

“Plane,” Eddie said softly.

“Yes, of course.” How could I have forgotten how the world had speeded up?

After a flurry of good-bye hugs and kisses, the screen door banged shut, and a car engine growled to life in the driveway.