Garrett's Gift

by Jayna Morrow

  Even though Garrett was older than Matthew, and had been raised differently, a bond existed between them that overcame the differences. Around Matthew, Garrett’s protective instincts kicked into high gear, along with a desire to see the boy succeed.

  Once he arrived, an hour slipped by at the bedside of the dying man. An incoherent Roger Bertram slipped in and out of consciousness. A nurse checked him over and gave them an update. No change, but death was imminent. A little later, Matthew’s mother came into the room. Garrett stood to greet her.

  He gave her a hug before allowing her to check on her dying husband. That done, she gave her son a serious look. “What’s this I hear about you not going to college?”

  Garrett’s head spun. Hadn’t they just had a conversation about this in his office?

  “I can’t leave you and Mark and Maverick. Who’ll pay the bills and take care of repairs and odd jobs around the house?”

  Garrett crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “We talked about this, Matthew.”

  “That was before Dad was put on his deathbed. When he was in the hospital, I guess I still thought there was a chance he would recover.” His eyes glistened as if he might cry.

  Matthew was the oldest child and expected to be a leader and role model for his family. Feeling a responsibility in a situation like this was only natural.

  “Me and the boys will be fine. The one responsible thing your father did for us was taking out life insurance with his company. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough. And I’ll get a job. Your brothers are old enough to walk home from school or ride the bus and stay alone until I get home.” She gave him a look of pure distress. “I want you to make me proud by living your dreams.”

  Matthew still seemed worried, and Garrett couldn’t keep quiet.

  “What else is bothering you, Matt? Besides leaving your family?”

  He lowered his gaze and then dragged it upward to meet Garrett’s. “I can’t make it on my own. I’m scared.”

  Garrett felt for the young man. He might be destined for athletic and academic greatness, but deep down he was a frightened little boy who’d never ventured out of Sweet Home. Like most kids around here, he’d been sheltered from the outside world. He had pressure from every angle. Pressure to please an alcoholic father who couldn’t be pleased. Pressure to protect his mother and brothers. Pressure to keep his grades up and give his best on the field. Pressure to enter the real world under a spotlight. Pressure not to make any mistakes along the way. And now his father was dying, and he had to deal with that. Garrett couldn’t imagine.

  He knew what Micara would do in this situation. She would take that boy’s hand and pray for him, but she wasn’t here. Could he...possibly...do it? Trembling, he reached for Matthew and Angela. Lord, control my tongue like you did the night of the hero’s banquet. “Would you mind if I prayed with y’all?”

  They both nodded.

  Garrett took a deep breath. “Lord, we come to You for guidance. This special young man is about to embark on the next stage of his life, and he’s torn. He doesn’t know what to do, Lord. Everyone around him is full of advice, but only You can speak to his heart and help him make the right decision. We love him so much that we’ll accept the decision he makes, whatever it may be.”

  Angela sniffed.

  Matthew took a deep breath.

  Even Mr. Bertram quieted, as if given a moment of reprieve.

  Was it a positive sign or…a bad one? Was he doing this right? “Lord, you have a plan for Matthew. His mother and I ask that You strengthen him, so that he can do what he was born to do. We’re both prepared to be Your instruments to help him along the way, so that he isn’t alone. Surround him with Your presence, Lord. He doesn’t want to be afraid and alone, and he doesn’t have to be. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.”

  If they repeated his Amen, it was muffled by tears, but Garrett sensed the rightness of his prayer. He felt as though it had been just what they needed to hear. He knew where the words came from, and he thanked God for His provision. And once he’d started praying, all his uncertainty and discomfort disappeared. A beautiful miracle. Now he understood why Micara loved God so much and trusted Him completely. Garrett set his heart on the same course.

  Someone knocked on the bedroom door.

  Garrett’s gaze flashed at the sight of Brent’s head poking into the room. What connection did he have to Matthew’s family? Why was he here? Surely, he wasn’t trying to buy their property at a time like this.

  Garrett watched with a suspicious eye as Brent hugged Angela first and then shook Matthew’s hand. “I heard about your husband and father, and I wanted to come by and pay my respects.”

  The skeletal figure lay motionless on the bed.

  “My name’s Brent Berg. Coach Hearth and I went to school together, and I played football during my college years. I heard you’d been accepted to play college ball, too, so I wanted to stop by and show my support for your family. If there’s anything I can do for y’all, just let me know. Coach Hearth knows how to get in touch with me and so does the school.”

  Angela and Matthew smiled and thanked Brent for stopping by.

  “I’m real sorry for your family, but I know you have a lot of support to help you through.” He turned to leave.

  “Brent, wait.” Garrett rounded the bed and stood halfway between Brent and the Bertrams. “I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

  Brent shut the door with a soft click that matched his terse nod. Now it was in God’s hands.

  ~*~

  A sign on the front door instructed visitors to enter without knocking. Micara stepped into the Bertrams’ quiet living room carrying a casserole her mother had made for the family. The room was dim, paneled in dark wood. Bed sheets hung over rods to serve as curtains. The house smelled moist and musty with a hint of some sort of animal. Smells and moisture were harder to fight in a mobile home. She knew because she’d grown up in one trailer park after another.

  Despite the mustiness, the house was neat and tidy. Fresh vacuum lines marked the carpet, and not a hint of clutter spoiled the room’s appearance. From where she stood, she could see the living room, kitchen, and dining room. The open area was decorated to the best of this poor family’s ability. She imagined every knick-knack held a memory. The pictures on the wall were pinned up with tacks, but they were there, and they illustrated this family’s journey through life together. The kitchen table was covered in dishes of food, offerings of comfort from friends and neighbors, so the family would have one less worry. She imagined the fridge was filled to bursting as well. If Sweet Home was known for something, it was food trains for every occasion. The town knew how to feed people.

  In the far corner of the living room, someone sniffled. Pippy Warren sat on the end of the couch closest to the wall, in a corner with tissue in hand and tears streaming down her face, a half-silhouette in the dim lighting.

  Micara crossed the room and joined the lawyer. “Pippy, did Mr. Bertram pass away?”

  Pippy shook her head.

  “Why are you so upset then? I didn’t know you had connections with the Bertrams.”

  That brought on fresh tears. Pippy wiped at them with her tissue. “I don’t, but I can’t help but feel somewhat...responsible for this.”

  “I don’t understand. How could you be responsible for this? Mr. Bertram has had liver disease for a long time.”

  Pippy swallowed hard and blew her nose. “I know, but his body was so weak. And—” Another burst of tears rendered her unable to speak. She stifled them by taking deep breaths. When she was able, she began again. “I talked with Mr. Bertram about his neighbor selling his land, and I painted a picture of what that would mean to him and his family.

  “I had the best of intentions, but it backfired. He ended up getting in a fight with his neighbor at a bar and was injured. His body was already shutting down because of his liver.

  “Then Matthew and the other man’s son fought because the
ir dads fought. Matthew almost lost his scholarship. I thought putting pressure on folks who intend to sell by having talks with their immediate neighbors would persuade them to change their minds, but it was a terrible thing to do.” Pippy tried her best to regain composure.

  Micara’s mind flashed back to her lunch with Connie. She had mentioned Pippy stopping by her house to tell her about the neighbors. Connie had been upset, too, because she’d felt betrayed. Micara’s decision to stay out of the whole land development issue felt more and more right. Too many people were taking matters into their own hands, and it was turning into a colossal mess. She would continue her set course of prayer and patience.

  “Pippy, I know you meant well.” She tried to comfort the woman. “You and I both are hopeless. We have a tendency to stick our noses where they don’t belong. But you know darn well that we would never intentionally hurt anyone. You made a mistake, but you’re not at fault. Everything will be OK.”

  Pippy nodded and managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Micara.” She stood. “I don’t—”

  Mrs. Bertram entered the room and smiled at them both. “Micara, Pippy, so glad y’all could come by.”

  Pippy stood and crossed the room to hug Mrs. Bertram. She’d composed herself enough for the greeting, but Micara figured more tears would come.

  “Micara, do you wanna come, too?” Mrs. Bertram stood with her hand outstretched.

  She glanced at Pippy. Her friend needed privacy to talk with Mrs. Bertram.

  “You go ahead. I don’t mind waiting.” She smiled and kept her seat.

  “We’ll finish our conversation later.” Pippy gave Micara a watery smile. Then she and Mrs. Bertram disappeared down the hall.

  Minutes later, the front door swung open again. This time Joy Pendleton entered the room, dressed in black slacks with a zebra print jacket and a chunky necklace that sparkled. The woman made a fashion statement wherever she went.

  She took in the room, empty but for Micara. “Where is everyone?”

  “Mrs. Bertram is in the back with Pippy Warren. I’m up next, but you can go in with me if you want.”

  Joy seemed relieved to have a visiting buddy. She sat next to Micara on the couch. “I don’t know them well, but they’re members of my church, so I thought I should stop by. It’ll be easier going in with someone who knows them.”

  “I don’t know them that well. They don’t go to my church and we’re not part of the same social circles, but Matthew plays on Garrett’s team.”

  Joy’s smile widened. “Garrett, huh? You two have been spending a lot of time together, haven’t you?”

  Micara’s cheeks burned. Besides her mom and grandmother, she hadn’t discussed her relationship with Garrett with anyone. Everyone knew though. She and Garrett had been together almost every day since the day they met. Football games, dinners at the cafe, movies in Bishop, long walks on her property, and even a picnic.

  “Yeah, we sure have. We had this instant connection and everything has fallen into place. He has an amazing heart, and he’s overcome a lot of hurdles. He’s a wonderful man, and I—I love him.”

  Joy brought her hands to her mouth. “Really, Micara? Oh, that’s wonderful. I’m delighted for you.” Her eyes started tearing up.

  “You don’t look happy. What’s the matter?” Concerned, Micara took her friend’s hand.

  “It’s just hard for me to see young love blossoming. Hank and I—”

  “Hank?”

  “Yes, we’re a couple. Didn’t you know?”

  She shook her head. “I had my suspicions the day you told me he uprooted the trees in your backyard and then he showed up at your house to see the koi pond as I was leaving.”

  “But you didn’t know for sure.”

  “No, I had no idea.”

  Joy traced a vacuum line in the carpet with the toe of one shoe. “That’s because Hank wouldn’t allow me to tell anyone about us.”

  “Why not?” Micara frowned, confused.

  “He’s been a bachelor for so long. He’s afraid of commitment, or he’s worried what people will think of him getting married for the first time at such an old age. I’m no spring chicken myself, but in my opinion, it’s never too late to find true love. We argued about it a lot. Ultimately, I let him control every aspect of our relationship. I realize now that I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “So are y’all going to make your relationship public now?”

  Joy shook her head. “I broke up with him.”

  “Oh, Joy, I’m so sorry.”

  A couple of tears fell now. Joy swiped at them with two fingers. “He keeps calling and telling me how much he misses me, but I won’t give in. As much as I love him, I want a normal relationship or nothing at all. Am I wrong?”

  Micara shook her head. “No. If Hank loves you, then he should want to shout it from the highest mountain. Give him some time. He’ll realize what a fool he’s been.” She patted Joy on the leg and then handed her a tissue from the box on the end table. “I hear voices coming down the hall. You ready?”

  “Yes, let’s go.”

  14

  Garrett sipped his coffee and thought about Matthew’s family. Tragedy was about to shift their family dynamic.

  The cafe was having an unusually busy morning. A constant rattle of dishes clanged and banged around him. The smell of coffee and bacon and syrup and sausage was intoxicating.

  “Can I get your autograph?” A hand pressed on his shoulder, and he turned to greet a buddy from high school. Rick Elwood still lived in town and owned an insurance agency a couple of streets over.

  “Hey, man. An autograph? What are you talking about?”

  Rick slapped a newspaper down on the counter, making a loud smack! “You’re front-page news.”

  Headlines with pictures filled the page. Didn’t take much to make the Sweet Home Gazette. Nothing too exciting happened around here, so they covered everything, from the biggest catch of the season to cow patty bingo at the Fourth of July downtown festival.

  His gaze stopped on a familiar face. Matthew Bertram signing his letter of intent. Garrett was there, too, standing proudly beside his favorite athlete, a smile spread from ear-to-ear. He remembered posing for the photo, but with everything going on with Matthew’s father, he’d forgotten it was due to come out today. “Man, this is fantastic.”

  “You keep that. It’s your copy. I gotta run. Your boy Matthew’s making this town proud. See you later.”

  “Hey, thanks. Later.” This was something else. Garrett stared at the photo until his coffee grew cold. He’d not made it this far. Had he not injured his leg, he would’ve chosen a university. Then he would’ve sat at a hulking desk next to university officials and had his photo on the front page of the newspaper. What a monumental moment that would’ve been. He’d have to get another copy to give to Matthew if he didn’t have one already.

  “I got some news for ya that ain’t in that newspaper.” The heavy, Texas accent came from B.L. Whitner, a local farmer and part-time rodeo clown. At the moment, he looked too serious to be a clown.

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “They gonna widen PR 147. Ain’t that the road out to your family’s place?”

  “Yes, it is.” His heartbeat quickened. And the road where his parents’ tree stood.

  Micara’s grandmother had told him this might happen. He couldn’t just stand by and let them do this. Something had to be done. He had to act now. “I gotta go, B.L.” He tossed some bills on the counter for his coffee and food.

  “Wait. I ain’t through telling you what all I found out.”

  “Sorry, B.L. I just remembered something important. I gotta run.”

  Snatching up the newspaper, he hurried out to his car. He pulled out of the parking space a little too fast and sped off in the direction of PR 147.

  ~*~

  Through her dusty front windshield, Micara saw Garrett’s car pull out of the cafe parking lot without making a complete stop. He was in a rush t
o get somewhere. She’d just left the Bertrams’ and was heading to the cafe to meet Connie, but without a thought, she passed the cafe and turned onto the same road as Garrett, curious as to what he was up to. She activated voice on her cell and called Connie, but the call transferred to voicemail.

  “Hey, girl. This is Micara. I hope you haven’t left yet, ’cause something just came up and I won’t be able to meet you for breakfast after all. I’ll call you later, and we’ll plan another day. Bye.”

  She hung up and called Garrett’s number. No answer. Figured. He never had it on. She tossed the phone onto the seat and stayed behind him. They passed dirt road after dirt road until they came to PR 147. He turned right, and she did the same. After a few minutes of bumping along the unpaved road, they reached the giant oak they now referred to as his parents’ tree.

  They exited their vehicles at the same time and shut their doors a split second apart.

  “Garrett, what’s going on? Is everything OK?” Micara reached him and threw her arms around him.

  He hugged her back—tight. Then he pulled back a little. “MeMaw was right about them widening the road. Somebody told me at the cafe. Tell me something, Micara. Are you sure this tree can’t be moved and saved?”

  The enormous tree reached for the sky. But it was what lay underneath the earth’s surface that determined its fate. Its lifeblood pumped vital nutrients needed for survival through the intricate root system. The same was true for people whose happiness depended upon a rich inner world. “A tree this large and old would surely die, but it’s worth a try. I know I made it sound hopeless before, but if it’s slated to be knocked down, then we might as well try to remove it and replant it. If it doesn’t make it, then we move on to Plan B.”

  “Plan B?”

  “Preserving the section with your parents’ initials. We’ll cut it out, treat it with a clear wood preservative, and display it in a garden.”

  “Would that work?”

  She nodded her head. “Plan B for sure. People do that all the time. But we’ll try to save the whole tree, Garrett. I’ll get in touch with a friend of mine who is an arborist. If anyone can transplant this natural monument, it’s him.”