The Wishing Trees (34 page)

Not once did Georgia take her eyes from Holly and Ian. She studied her daughter’s movements, her expressions. She saw something emerge from within her. It wasn’t just joy or hope, but rather vulnerability combined with a desire to connect with a man her father’s age. Of course, Georgia had recognized this desire before, but with Ian, Holly’s emotions seemed pronounced. She was paying more attention to him than she was to Mattie.

They played for an hour. Finally, other swimmers arrived, and the games ended. Mattie and Holly stretched out on lounge chairs next to Georgia’s, and after Holly found a bottle of nail polish in her mother’s beach bag, she painted Mattie’s nails. Ian watched the girls, aware of Mattie’s smile and Holly’s precision. Then he began to swim laps, his stomach pain gone, his body filled with an energy he rarely felt. He swam until his shoulders ached, and then they all relaxed in the sun together.

Later, when their sunscreen had worn off and their skin started to take on a pink hue, they wrapped themselves in towels and headed to the elevator. Back in the apartment, they snacked, then took turns using the two bathrooms. Georgia and Mattie went first, heading to opposite ends of the apartment. When Ian emerged from his turn, he saw them sitting together on a couch, looking at Mattie’s sketches. He heard the passion in his daughter’s voice as she told Georgia about each sketch, and he smiled. Stepping into the kitchen, he found a cutting board, placed onions and garlic cloves atop it, and began to chop.

Ten minutes passed before Holly came out of her shower and started laughing with Mattie. Georgia entered the kitchen, asking Ian if he wanted a glass of wine. She opened the bottle in a way that to him seemed remarkably graceful, filling his glass, handing it to him. She’d changed into a strapless ankle-length dress that was ivory colored and featured turquoise and blue tropical leaves.

“Thanks for today,” she said, lifting her glass against his.

“I owe you the thanks.”

She started to turn to the refrigerator but stopped, moving back toward him. “Ian?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s nice . . . that we can be friends. I think Kate would want us to be close, to bring Mattie and Holly together, the way we used to.”

“I reckon so,” Ian replied, wondering how, at the end of her life, Kate had been able to think about bringing them together. “Kate always wanted what was best for everyone.”

Georgia lifted her glass again. “To Kate.”

To you, my luv, Ian thought, raising his glass.

“I miss her, you know,” Georgia said, sipping her wine.

“I know.”

“And I want to help. So please tell me how I can help with Mattie. And with you.”

“You just helped her. You made her smile. And that makes me smile.”

She nodded. “Good. Or as Holly would say, good, good, good.”

“She’s a fast talker, all right. Kind of like yours truly.”

“Kind of. But without the funny accent.”

“Or the facial hair.”

Georgia grinned, turning down the music, listening to laughter emerge from the other room. “Amazing how they haven’t hit a wall yet, isn’t it?”

“They’re making up for lost time,” he replied, sipping his wine, feeling himself relax as the alcohol entered his system. He thought about what Georgia had said earlier, about their friendship. He’d been friends with many women in college and in Japan. But since he’d married Kate and started his company, those friendships had faded. He wondered if he could be close to Georgia, to someone who was bright and appealing. His yearning for the companionship of a woman had been so repressed that when he experienced a desire to reach for Georgia’s hand, he didn’t know what to do. She was lovely, and he sometimes felt so alone. He just wanted to hold her hand for a moment and talk with her. But he couldn’t betray Kate in such a way, and so he smiled and returned to the cutting board, dicing the garlic.

Georgia watched him turn from her, thinking about Kate’s final e-mail, about how she had said that he and Mattie might be coming. Did you send us on a path toward each other? she wondered, wishing again that she’d been able to see her friend before she died. Is that why you didn’t ask me to be with you, at the end? Because you didn’t want Ian and me to be together for your death, but for something else?

Removing the fish from the refrigerator, Georgia realized that she hoped to see Ian again, that she didn’t want him to go. “You leave in two days?” she asked, setting the fish on the counter, seeing the gray in his sideburns and remembering when they were all so much younger.

“That’s right. In two days we buzz off for Vietnam.”

She nodded, waiting for him to say more, wondering if he would.

“It won’t be easy . . . for Mattie to leave Holly,” he added.

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

“Reckon sometime you could come to New York? To visit us?”

She reached for the wine bottle and refilled their glasses. “I don’t know, Ian. I really don’t. But maybe.”

“Mattie would fancy that.”

She set the wine bottle down, feeling a familiar pain, a sense of loss. The sensation wasn’t nearly as acute as it had been when she learned about her husband’s infidelity, but nonetheless, she felt as if Ian were already stepping away from her. She started to reach for his fingers but stopped herself. He would leave her, she knew, but he wouldn’t leave Kate. And she didn’t want him to. Not for her. Not for Holly. Kate still dwelled in his heart, and Georgia couldn’t ask him to turn from his true love. And so she sipped her wine, gathered her thoughts, and left him to go say hello to the girls.

THE FOLLOWING DAY, IAN AND MATTIE SAT in a dress shop. He had taken her there to buy her something pretty, to make her smile despite their looming departure. The shop seemed indulgent even by Manhattan standards. Standing beside the glass storefront were beautifully dressed mannequins, only these mannequins were living Chinese teenagers, who stood still and smiled for passersby. The girls seemed content, but Ian thought the display was bizarre. The rest of the store was equally ostentatious. The walls were black and lined with gold-framed pictures of women in flowing gowns. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The dresses on display—those on the living mannequins as well as those hanging from silver stands—were fashionable and lovely. Ian wanted to see Mattie in one, to watch her face light up at the sight of herself.

But Mattie wasn’t interested in the dresses. The artist in her admired their designs, but the little girl in her didn’t want to be looking at dresses. She longed to be with Holly, to be laughing and playing Marco Polo. The thought of getting on a plane the next day and flying to Vietnam made her feel as if she was lying in bed with a fever. She had already said good-bye to her mother and to Rupee. And she didn’t want to leave Holly. She didn’t feel strong enough for another farewell, even with her father beside her.

Now, as he spoke with a saleswoman about the different dresses, about silk and size and style, Mattie did her best to keep her emotions at bay. She felt so tired, so weak. She didn’t want to burden her father with her feelings, aware that he was trying to make her happy, that he was sticking to her mother’s plan. Normally, she would have enjoyed picking out a dress with him. He’d never taken her to such a store, and she was glad that the idea had come to him. Only she couldn’t focus on that gladness. Instead she thought about Holly, about how she wouldn’t see her for many, many months.

An elegantly dressed woman asked Mattie to stand and started taking her measurements. Mattie held out her arms, watching how the mannequins smiled at one another, wanting to share their smiles but feeling her strength ebb away. Her hands began to tremble. She swayed unsteadily. Suddenly she lacked the stamina to stand, and stumbled toward a leather couch. Her father caught her, his eyes on hers, tears blurring her vision. He said something to the saleswoman, and picked up Mattie, carrying her outside, kissing her forehead. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling herself tighter against him, trying not to sob, but unable to stop herself from doing so. She buried her face against his chest, aware of the sun on her neck, of him taking steps. He didn’t say anything, but kissed her again.

He must have walked a thousand steps, she thought, by the time she finally stopped crying. She opened her eyes and saw that he was carrying her into a park, into a place of tall trees and ornate bushes. He headed toward a granite bench and sat down, holding her on his lap.

“What hurts, luv?” he asked, stroking the side of her face.

“I . . . I don’t want to go.”

“You don’t want to leave Holly?”

“No. Or to say any more good-byes. Please, Daddy, please don’t make me say any more good-byes.” She took a deep breath, feeling as if she wasn’t able to fill her lungs properly. “I still . . . I still say good-bye to Mommy. Sometimes at night. But I don’t want to. And I don’t want to say good-bye to Holly either.”

“Why, Roo? Why do you say good-bye to your mum?”

Mattie’s tears began anew. “Because sometimes . . . sometimes she’s here. And then she’s gone. And I have to say good-bye all over again.”

He pulled her tighter against him. “Oh, luv. You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do.”

He wiped away her tears. “Just say hello to her. When she comes. And the next time she comes, say hello again. You don’t ever have to say good-bye.”

She continued to cry, unable to stop, shaking against him. He watched her crumble, and the sight of that collapse beat him down, bringing his worst fears to life, his deepest sorrows. His baby girl was wounded so badly, and he didn’t know how to stop her from bleeding. He kissed her painted pink fingernails, his stomach throbbing, his world on fire.

Ian looked up, searching for Kate, but seeing only the treetops. A wind tugged at them, a wind from the north, from China. The wind was humble, lacking gusts and spirit, yet it seemed to carry an answer to him—as if he had been spoken to, been given a gift from Kate. “Roo,” he said, looking into her glistening eyes. “Write down what you want. About Holly. Write a wish down on a piece of paper.”

“What?”

“Just do it, luv. Please do it.”

Mattie sat up, wiped her eyes, and opened her backpack. She took out a piece of paper, wrote down that she wanted to see Holly again, and folded up the paper. “Now what?”

Ian pointed to an immense ficus tree. “Now climb up on that first branch. And leave your wish.”

Nodding, she stood up, holding his hand, and walked to the tree. He lifted her from the ground until she was able to grasp the bottom branch. Pulling herself higher, she swung her legs over the branch, moving her hands to the trunk. Vines encircled parts of the tree, and she tugged at one, testing its strength. Deciding that the vine was sound, she tucked the folded paper between the vine and the trunk, closing her eyes, saying hello to her mother. She remained in the tree for a few minutes, silently repeating her wish.

Ian helped Mattie down from the branch and set her on his shoulders. “I can’t promise what they’ll say, Roo, but I’ll ask Georgia if she and Holly would fancy meeting us in Vietnam. They could travel with us for a few days, and I’m sure we’d all have a beaut of a time.”

“Really?”

“Aye, aye, First Mate.”

“Really, Daddy? You’ll ask her?”

“Absobloodylutely.”

“Do you think she’ll say yes?”

He pointed to where her note poked out from beneath the vine. “That’s a wishing tree if I ever saw one, Roo. See how it spreads out, up high? How it has so many branches for people to leave their wishes on?”

“I do.”

“That tree isn’t going to let you down. And neither is your mum. She’s seen your wish, and I reckon she’ll make it come true.”

Mattie lowered her hands around his head and squeezed him tight. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“You’re choking me, luv,” he replied, smiling, wondering if Georgia would agree to meet them, praying that she would.

“Let’s go call them,” Mattie said. “Right now. Before they make other plans.”

“No worries, Roo. But one thing first.”

“What?”

“If they can’t meet us in Vietnam, we’ll just have to sit tight and do it another time. And even if they come, and we do a walkabout together, we’ll have to say good-bye to them in Vietnam. Our trip’s almost over.”

“I know. I understand.”

He kissed the back of her hand. “Your mum was always such a good listener. Just like you.”

“So?”

“So, let’s go find out what she’s decided to do with that wish of yours.”

VIETNAM

A Light in Her Eyes

“WHEN EATING A FRUIT, THINK OF THE PERSON WHO PLANTED THE TREE.”

—VIETNAMESE SAYING

F
ollowing an hour’s drive from the heart of Ho Chi Minh City, Ian and Mattie stepped out of a beat-up jeep, thanked their driver, and walked toward Cao Dai Temple. Ian had wanted to visit the temple because, a century earlier, its founders had created the Cao Dai religion—a combination of Buddhism, Islam, Christianity, Hinduism, Confucianism, and a variety of other worldwide faiths. He had remembered the site from his earlier trip to Vietnam and wanted to show Mattie.

The temple was a three-story yellow-and-pink building that featured two pagoda-like towers on either side of the front entrance. Holding Mattie’s hand, Ian led her across a wide boulevard, which was almost vacant of traffic and completely unlike the streets of Ho Chi Minh City. At the opposite corner, a man dressed in white trousers, a black T-shirt, and a traditional conical hat held a bamboo birdcage. Inside the cage was a gray-and-white dove.

“You want to free bird, to bring good luck to you?” the man asked Ian, stepping forward. “Only cost you five dollar. And five dollar for good luck is good, good deal.”

Ian smiled at the stranger but shook his head, eager to enter the temple, the doors of which were open. Inside, the building was as he remembered—cavernous and full of light. Massive pink columns encircled by snakelike green dragons supported the roof. The dragons were openmouthed and seemed to grin. The blue roof was painted with clouds. Perhaps most striking was the floor, which contained no pews or places for people to sit but was wide-open and covered in elaborate brown and white tiles. Along the walls, images of a single eye with rays of yellow light shooting in all directions appeared to look down on hundreds of worshippers, who sat on the floor and were dressed in white, yellow, blue, and red robes. No one spoke, and the sound of cooing pigeons was all that could be heard.

Ian led Mattie forward a few feet, and then to one side of the structure. She had seen so many churches and temples that were magnificent, but almost inevitably dark and full of gloom. This place was open and inspiring and colorful. She felt as if she were inside a magical, wondrous box. The wall beside her featured a painting of three men dressed as they might have been when the temple was built. One man looked to be from Europe, one from China, and the other from Vietnam. The European and the Chinese were writing upon what appeared to be a window in a sky. Within the window, words were written in French and Chinese. Mattie opened a pamphlet that their driver had given them and found a picture of the painting. The words said, “God and Humanity, Love and Justice.”

She thought about the words, then whispered to her father, asking him if she could take out her sketch pad and draw the inside of the temple. He nodded, sitting quietly on the floor, assuming the position of the worshippers in front of them. Mattie sat as well, putting her sketch pad on her lap and removing her colored pencils from their carrying case. Looking around, she wasn’t sure what should be the focus of her drawing. The far end of the building seemed to have an altar of sorts, upon which rested an immense, emerald-colored sphere.

Mattie decided to start with the sphere, her fingers gripping a green pencil and moving instinctively. She wanted to create something beautiful for her mother, who had heard her wish and made it come true. Georgia and Holly would join them in two days back in Ho Chi Minh City, and then the four of them would travel along the coast and into the mountains. Holly had already been to Vietnam twice and knew exactly where they should go together. She’d been as excited as Mattie when Georgia agreed to the trip. The girls had held hands and danced in a circle while Ian and Georgia talked about how and where they might meet.

Her wish being granted was only one of the reasons that Mattie’s hand re-created the scene before her. They had come to the temple because they hoped to open the remaining two canisters in a beautiful place. Mattie didn’t want to read her mother’s last words but needed to before Holly arrived. And whatever her mother said in those final words, Mattie planned to leave her a drawing, to show her how much she loved her.

Mattie sketched the temple with no sense of haste. She wanted her picture to be as good as she could make it. She liked how the worshippers had combined all the religions of the world, and felt that in such a place it might be easier for her mother to find her. “Can you see me, Mommy?” she whispered, drawing a dragon.

More than an hour passed before she was content with her drawing. She showed it to her father, who held it carefully, nodding, kissing her cheek. They stood up and walked along the edge of the room, coming to a side door, exiting into a garden crisscrossed with paved pathways. An arbitrary collection of trees, bushes, flowers, and grassy patches composed the garden. Mattie walked toward a shady spot and sat down on a cast-iron bench. She felt the canister’s bulk within her pocket but wasn’t ready to open it.

“Do you think she’ll say good-bye?” she asked, looking above.

Ian shook his head. “No, Roo. Your mum would never say good-bye. Don’t be afraid of that.”

She wished that her heartbeat would slow. “Daddy?”

“What, luv?”

“The people in there . . . would they say that she’s in heaven or reincarnated or something else?”

“I don’t know. But we can ask.”

“What do you believe?”

He motioned for her drawing, unrolling it, studying the movements her pencils had made. “I believe, Roo, that she’s in you, that in some ways, you’re her reincarnation. She helped you learn to draw, and you love to draw. She taught you how to swim, and you love the ocean. And she was kind and caring and beautiful inside, just like you.”

“You really think so?”

“I reckon she’ll always be in you.”

Mattie bit her bottom lip. “Should we open them?”

“If you want to.”

She didn’t move right away, but soon her hand reached toward her pocket. The canister opened; the paper unfurled.

My Angel,

This will be my second-to-last letter to you. Another one awaits you, to find and be opened by you on your sixteenth birthday. But for now, for this trip, these are my last words.

I hope you enjoy Vietnam. It’s a place that once knew only war and suffering but now is different. Now there is hope. And I think you’ll see this hope, and learn from it.

I know that you believed that your trip would end in Vietnam, but this isn’t the case. I would like you and your daddy to pick a new country, a place where he and I never traveled. I want the two of you to create your own memories, to walk through the wonders of a new city and to feel those wonders run from the bottoms of your feet to the tops of your heads. And I want you to tell me about those wonders, through your thoughts, your dreams, and your art.

Speaking of your art, will you do something for me, Mattie? Will you make an exhibit for your daddy and me? Of the places you’ve been? I want to see your first exhibit. I’ve wanted to for so long, but I’m not going to get the chance. At least not in this body. So please create an exhibit and know that I’ll watch from above.

I am so proud of you, Mattie. I could not love you any more than I already do. Please don’t be sad for me. I feel myself traveling somewhere beautiful. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m not afraid. I’ll be fine. And I’ll be with you when you graduate from high school, when you go to college, when you’re out on your own. If you decide to marry, to have a child, I’ll be with you then as well. Just like I’ll be beside you throughout all the highs and lows of your life.

During the past month, I’ve read a lot about the journey I’m about to take. Do you know what Albert Einstein said about that journey? He said, “Our death is not an end if we can live on through our children and the younger generation. For they are us, our bodies are only wilted leaves on the tree of life.”

With all my heart, Mattie, I believe in his words. I’ll always be with you, my precious girl. Like the sun is with the sky. Like how green remains deep within the soil, all winter, and returns with the spring.

Be happy, Mattie. Let me see you dance and sing and smile. A mother and her daughter have a special connection, a bond that can never be broken. It may be tested. It may be pulled. But that bond will endure. Forever.

I love you, my delightful, wonderful child. Now go and laugh. Go and be free.

Mommy

Mattie let the paper coil back up. Then she read the letter two more times, tracing the final words with her forefinger. Finally she placed the note back into the canister. “She said what you did, Daddy.”

“What do you mean, luv?”

“She said that she’s in me.”

He took her hand within his own. “Of course she is.”

“Are you going to read your note?”

Nodding, he removed his canister. He looked to the temple, to the sky, to his daughter’s face.

My Love,

Thank you for going on this trip, something I asked you to do, something that must not have been easy, but I hope was beautiful. I debated sending you on such a journey but, in the end, felt that I had no choice. You had to walk where we planned on setting our feet, where we once traveled. You had to live.

In my note to Mattie, I asked that you both go someplace new, after Vietnam. Will you do that? I want you to experience a country where we never traveled, where you and Mattie can create memories for the two of you to share. That’s how I would like you to end your trip, before returning to America. Go somewhere wonderful and behold that wonder together.

This is one of my last notes to you. There will be one more, which will find you in the future. But for now, my pen will be put to rest. I’m so tired. I’m about to leave this body, which has served me so well. As I said to Mattie, I’m set to start my own journey. And though that journey may take me in a different direction from you, I’ll see you and Mattie again. Love does that. It creates bridges. And I’ll follow those bridges to you. I’ll follow them to you, and I’ll support whatever choices you have made, whatever destinations you have arrived at.

I’m going to put my pen down now, my love. I’m going to rest. But I’ll leave you with one last poem. At least for now.

Two as One

Here he comes
Across the room.
His voice so strange
His hand outstretched.

Can love live at first sight?