Down from the Clouds (The Unspoken Series)

by Grey, Marilyn

  Didn't take long for us to find the road. Only a minute from Pop's house. I asked him to tell me the story once when I was nine years old and I remembered every detail since. When Ella asked, I told her exactly what I remembered, "Dad put my car seat underneath a Japanese maple tree. Cops said the lady who lived in the house came out to water her flowers in the morning and saw the seat. I hadn't cried at all. Never even stirred. She thought I was dead and called the police. By the time they arrived I was in her arms, adjusting to the light around me. Pop knew the lady well. People called her Mama Jane. A widow since her husband died in World War II, she spent her days caring for everyone within a 5 mile radius. No exceptions. Pies, cookies, diapers, anything anyone needed at any time, somehow Mama Jane knew and took care of them. She'd leave anonymous bundles on the porch, but everyone knew it was her. Smelled just like her house. An unmistakeable blend of cinnamon and juniper."

  I parked along the road and looked at the porch. Mama Jane died years ago. Pop and I went to the funeral along with hundreds of others. Everyone left little baskets on her grave, filled with flowers and notes, just like the baskets she left for so many of us.

  Now, the porch lacked life. The garden should have been blooming by now, but the flowers died along with her.

  "Does anyone live here?" Ella said.

  "Not sure."

  "Should we dig up their yard without asking?"

  I turned the car off and walked up to the porch. Ella reached for my hand. Broken wood creaked under our feet. The screen door hung by one hinge. I peeked inside. Something moved. I opened the screen door and knocked.

  A man stepped forward. Stained t-shirt and dirt-covered hands. The screen door fell toward Ella. She leaned into me.

  "I'm sorry," she said, clinging to my arm.

  "Ah, don't worry about it,” the man said. “Needed a new one anyway."

  "Wish you were as nice to me." A woman's voiced screamed from the house. Something crashed by the front door and shattered at our feet.

  "Don't mind her. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed." He leaned in. The scent of whiskey on his breath. "She always does."

  "Sorry to bother you, but my grandfather used to live near here. At the time a lady we called Mama Jane lived here." I pointed behind me. "He buried something under that tree for me to find and I was just wondering if it would be a problem for us to dig it up."

  He spit across the porch. "No problem, man. Do what you need to do."

  "Thank you," Ella said, peering behind him. "We'll make sure to clean it up."

  He smiled and spit again, then closed the door. As we walked down the steps we heard more yelling and crashing. Ella tugged on my shirt and looked over her shoulder. "Should we do something?"

  "None of our business."

  "But maybe we were sent here for a reason."

  "We were. And we're standing in front of it." I looked at the pile of dirt under the tree. "Got the shovel in your Mary Poppins bag?"

  She lifted it out. I dug as she stared at the house. Never took her eyes off. I always believed her eyes were emerald for a reason. I called them emerald city eyes. Dark. Looked brown from a distance, but when you got close enough you'd see the most beautiful green staring back at you. Emerald City. The place where people realized their dreams were never far off to begin with. Hope. She never saw anyone as hopeless and she ached over the pain others felt.

  I pulled a plastic bag out of the ground and looked up at Emerald City, then sang a line from my favorite Petty song, "You got a heart so big, it could crush this town."

  "You sure we shouldn't do something?"

  "What can we do?"

  She knelt down and filled the dirt back in. "Let's come back tonight. When they're sleeping. We can buy some flowers and redo the garden. Maybe it will start to bring them back to life too."

  "You got a heart so big, it could crush this town."

  She patted the earth as she looked at the house. "It's no bigger than anyone else's."

  We drove off as she opened the bag and read Pop's words.

  Mama Jane lived for others because she had no one else. So everyone thought. But she did that long before Benjamin died. Go to her grave. I buried something under a tree. Stand at her grave. Then take 23 steps to the right. You'll see it.

  "It's a good thing we're both unemployed."

  She laughed. "We're not unemployed. We are starting our own business."

  "No." I smiled. "We are driving around Pennsylvania digging up notes from my dead grandfather."

  "You have to admit," she said. "It is kind of fun."

  "Yeah."

  "And doesn't a little part of you feel like he's alive again?"

  "I wish."

  We parked and walked to Mama Jane's grave. Covered in baskets and flowers.

  "It's been years since I've been here." I looked to the right and counted twenty-three steps. Ella followed.

  "I don't see anything," she said.

  "I do." I knelt under the tree. "Shovel?"

  "Does your grandfather have a thing for trees?"

  I laughed. "Actually he does." I pulled out another bag and filled in the dirt. "He planted at least a hundred trees in his lifetime. He always used to say that trees were like people who didn't waste their life and truly lived."

  She squinted her eyes and tilted her head. "How so?"

  "That's what I said when he told me. He said because they were planted by someone else, needed lots of sun and water and attention in the beginning. If the wind or animals broke them early on they'd never make it, but if they were protected they would grow stronger. The stronger they grew, the less they'd break in a storm. And if they got to that point they'd live for a really long time, leaving their mark on tons of lives after that. They could never be uprooted, just a few dead branches broken here and there, but never uprooted."

  "Wow."

  "Know what I said when he told me that?"

  "What?"

  "I was eight at the time. I said, 'What if someone cuts it down for fire wood?'"

  She laughed. "How profound of you."

  "When I turned nine I woke up and rolled over in bed. Wrapped up in blue and white-striped paper wasThe Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein."

  "I loved that story when I was a kid."

  "Me too. Pop said he spent most of his life being the boy in the story, but I never thought so. I definitely considered him to be my tree. He always told me to live my life like the tree, not the boy. To be a giver and not a taker. Maybe that's one of the reasons I shove everything inside."

  We sat in the car, a blanket of silence draped over us. Seconds turned into minutes.

  Ella cleared her throat and wiped away the relaxed silence. “Sometimes giving means opening up and letting others know you. Sometimes the best thing you can give someone is yourself. The real you. All of you."

  I held her face with both hands and leaned forward. Our lips met and lingered in place, no movement, just together. I pulled away, her breath still on my lips, and reached in the bag for the next note.

  Remember, Gavin, Mama Jane was a giver. That's why so many people remembered her when she died, but the real amazing thing is that she never knew it. She didn't live her life to be remembered. She didn't want fame or honor. All that time she thought she loved anonymously, but she didn't realize that true love can never be hidden. People always know when someone loves. No matter how much they try to hide their beauty, it's written all over the place. That's what I want for you, Gavin. That's what I want you to teach your children too. Be a giver. Not because you want something out of it. Because it's who you are. Next clue: The Giving Tree. I hope you still have the book. If not, you'll never find the next clue.

  "Do you have it?" Ella asked.

  "Somewhere."

  "Where would it be?"

  "Probably in a box in the basement. I have no idea. I didn't give it away though."

  We kept the music off as we drove back to Philly. Just left the windows down and listened to l
ife. My mind peeled back pages of dog-eared memories. Of everything Pop did for me. All the laughter and tears. The advice he gave me when people made fun of me at school. I loved him so much. I hoped he knew it. He gave me everything and I couldn't even bring myself to give him one last hug, to go to his funeral, to sit on the ole tree stump one last time.

  Chapter Twelve

  We found the book as soon as we got home. In a box of books I hadn’t unpacked since I came home from college. The last page had a short note in blue ink. When you read this you’ll know what it is. Go to the place where you learned how to really fight.After that we drove to a local garden store and picked out two-hundred dollars worth of flowers and shrubs. I’m an art guy. You’d think I could’ve kept up with Ella, but I knew nothing about plants. She zoomed around with a huge smile on her face, dumping more and more on the cart by the minute. When we got back to the house I, once again, begged her to stay.

  “Well, since we have to get up at three in the morning I will consider it.”

  “Consider it?” I pretended to wipe my eyes.

  “I’d have to sleep on the couch though.” She shook her head. “No, no. What am I thinking? I want it to be right.”

  “What’s so wrong with it? We’re engaged. That’s practically married. I’m not asking you to climb into bed with me, just to sleep under the same roof.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I know it’s weird. We don’t live in the golden days anymore, but I wish I did. I love that they barely even saw each other alone until they were married. It’s so romantic.”

  I sighed. “Let’s get married tomorrow.”

  “Let’s do this properly.” She smiled. “I know it’s ridiculous to everyone around us, but I want to be different. Every love story in the universe involves passionate sex before marriage and a live-in roommate. Or people with promise rings to God who do everything except sex and think they are justified. That’s not romance to me. The other thing we forget is that most of these promise ring and passionate roommate marriages end up in divorce. Once they get bored or someone is unfaithful they go looking for a new playmate. I’m not interested in a playmate, Gavin. I’m interested in a soulmate. We will never be apart. Ever. No matter what. So don’t make me start this on the wrong note. I want it to be right. To be romantic. And to be different. I want to beat the odds with you.”

  I pulled her close and kissed her, then tickled her until we both ended up on the floor in tears.

  “I love you so much, Ella. I want it to be right too. I don’t think beginning our life together on this note will change the future though. I think it’s a choice every day. And no matter what, even if it means reliving a Jane Austen tale, I choose you. Over and over again, I’ll choose you.”

  The clock in my car read 3:21am when I pulled up in front of Ella’s apartment building, right next to the building Matt and I used to live in. Still couldn’t believe she lived right there. I searched all over the place for her and she was right next to me.

  She hopped in the car and shut the door. “Sarah thinks we’re crazy.”

  “We are.”

  “But she likes it. She’s been wanting me to live again. You’ve brought out the spontaneity I’ve been suppressing for so long.”

  I took her hand and accelerated. “If I start to doze off, slap my face.”

  “Seriously?”

  I nodded. “I couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about Pop. His will.”

  “What about it?”

  “I’m really worried he left the house to me. I’d feel horrible getting rid of it, but at the same time I can’t live there.”

  “Why not?”

  “Lots of reasons. Especially because Harold Kessler is bound to show up there. Probably already has.”

  “You need to face him sometime, Gavin.”

  “I don’t need to, but I probably have to.”

  “Has he called anymore?”

  “Yes. Different number every time. No idea how he’s doing that.”

  “Maybe a pay phone?”

  “I haven’t seen a pay phone in years.”

  “Good point.”

  We talked as we drove. Flowers piled up in the backseat made it hard to see anything behind me. After hitting that dear I became a little paranoid in the car. Wasn’t interested in dying soon, especially in a car wreck. An hour-and-a-half later we parked in front of Mama Jane’s old house. Looked more like an abandoned house. Lights were out. Nothing but the sound of crickets to serenade us as we planted. Ella wanted to plant in the dark. No flashlights. If someone saw us they might stop us, and Ella wouldn’t have that. She was on a mission to resurrect a marriage that was probably never alive in the first place. I didn’t think the garden would help, but I didn’t tell her that. There were times when I envied her idealism. Ugliness stared her right in the face and she always found something beautiful to say. At least most times. I loved that about her.

  “Well.” I rubbed my hands together. “Hope it looks okay when the sun comes up.”

  “We’ll come back and check.”

  “Ready to go to the next place?”

  We gathered our things and drove off. Only took ten minutes to get to the next place. The sky, still dark, didn’t help. So for once I took advantage of technology and used the flashlight on my iPhone. Ella held the light while I dug a hole in the playground. Right under the sliding board. Couldn’t believe they still had the same sliding board.

  “What’s the story with this place?” she said, sitting down.

  I pulled out yet another plastic bag. Couldn't believe no one found these before I did. “My first fight. This was a playground Dad, I mean, Pop, let me come to alone. First summer I could ride my bike out of his sight, I came here. Didn’t do much. I was too shy to make friends, but some kids from school started making fun of Pop. He talked with a little stutter. Nothing major, but there nonetheless. They started talking to me with a stutter and I hate to say it, but I punched the kid right in the face. Gave him a bloody nose, got on my bike, and rode like a bat out of hell.”

  “Thank you, Meatloaf.”

  “That was for you, darling. Nothing as Jane Austen-like as some epic Meatloaf.”

  She laughed. “What’s this note say?”

  I unfolded it. Salty shores and life guards galore.

  “The beach?”

  “Don’t get too excited.” I stood and motioned for her to follow me back to the car. “It’s just the community pool.”

  “Let’s stay and swing together for a minute.”

  I stuffed the note in my pocket and sat on a swing. She sat next to me.

  “You know,” she said, legs out, head back. “When you proposed you said you thought of me all the time when you were a kid. I bet you sat on this swing and thought of me at some point.”

  I swung higher. “I did.”

  “What did you think?”

  “I wondered who would swing higher and if I double dared you in a jumping contest who could land furthest away.”

  We laughed and swung as high as we could.

  “In the count of three,” I said. “One, two, three. Jump.”

  We jumped off and landed in the mulch. Ella about five inches further than me.

  “Not fair,” I said. “You cheated.”

  “No, I didn’t.” She fell back in laughter and pointed. “You are holding your ankle again.”

  “Don’t make fun of me.”

  We laughed so hard we cried and probably toned our abs quite a bit. Eventually, I got my wish. She fell asleep under the moonlight. Head supported by my shoulder, tucked into my arm. I watched her sleep until the pink and orange sky painted her cheeks and woke her up. She rubbed her eyes and smiled.

  I kissed her forehead. "Did Austen turn over in her grave?"

  "You forget about Maryanne Dashwood. She would've done this. At least maybe."

  "Which one is she again?"

  "We'll watch it soon." She stood and brushed the mulch off. "Ready to go to the pool?"
/>   "Yeah. Let's get there before anyone shows up."

  Another car pulled into the parking lot as we got into the car. Ella's phone rang. She looked at me. "Tylissa. Should I answer?"

  "Yes."

  As she tried to calm Tylissa someone knocked on my window. I hit a button and watched the glass disappear.

  "Sorry to b-b-bother you," the man said. "I'm looking f-f-for directions. You from around here?"

  "Sort of."

  "I need to get b-b-back to Route 30." He leaned in. "You look f-familiar. What's your name?"

  "Gavin."

  The man stepped back. "Kessler?"

  "Who are you?"

  He shook his head. Looked like he might cry. "You have your m-m-mother’s eyes."

  Honestly, what are the chances? I spent my entire life searching for my bride when most boys wanted one night stands. Lived in the building next to hers, probably passed her a thousand times, even went into her coffee shop, asked to have my paintings sold there, and never saw her until I happened to turn on the news one night after a long day.

  What are the chances?

  And to spend my entire life trying to avoid the man I hoped would never come back unless the police found a remnant of his dead body from years ago, proving that he didn't leave me intentionally, only to have him knock on my car window to ask for directions?

  Ella didn't believe in chances anymore. Since we met. She said she spent her entire life dreaming of the day "chances" would bring us together again, only to find out that every choice, whether it brought disaster or beauty, led her to the place she was meant to be. "The secret," she said. "Is waiting. Being patient and content where you are and hoping for what is yet to come."

  So, maybe that explains why I pulled out of the parking lot and left him standing there, arms at his sides, squinting under his baseball hat, alone.

  Maybe I didn't want to admit that perhaps that man, Harold Kessler, my long lost selfish father, came back into my life the same way Ella did. Not by chance. But because he was meant to.