Even the eye of a hurricane can be calm. Maybe she could steal a few days at home…
Around 4 a.m. it all changed when suddenly everyone in the entire world wanted to talk to her, starting with the sheriff pounding on her hotel room door while both her phones were ringing: someone had fired shots at Oak and Joni, the bullets thankfully missing them but lodging just above Terrence and Tamara’s 2nd floor apartment window. Oak and Joni had been told to get (the hell) out of the tree and if they didn’t, would be arrested. Thankfully, after hauling down most of their stuff, they complied. The entire lot was now flagged off as a crime scene and everybody had to stay out for at least a week because this was now the location of an attempted murder investigation. Maybelline was horrified. Wearing her robe, she sank into the hotel chair, so upset she was shaking. The sheriff told her, with great dissatisfaction, that Oak and Joni had refused to come down to the station and ‘high-tailed’ it’, disappeared. Looking at her phone sitting on the nightstand, he asked her if she might know where they went and also, he needed their full legal names and the license plate of their vehicle (“we know they have a van but haven’t seen it for a few days”). The sheriff explained the information was needed “to insure their safety”. Maybelline felt her heart skip a beat when he told her that in researching them, her, “nothing indicates you have a son”.
“Has a different last name, different father? Somethin’ complicated?” the sheriff asked. She catatonically nodded yes, “because it’s pretty obvious you two are related. He sure looks like you.” He continued. “In researching your son, he pops up on the Internet, in a few newspapers. He’s been doing this for a few years. He’s staged these sit-ins all over, even in Canada. We know he names himself after whatever kind of tree he’s defending.” Looking down at his clipboard, he continued. “He’s been “Oak” a few times. He was “Magnolia” and “Loblolly” in Georgia. He’s been “Pine”, “Cedar”, “Spruce”, “Hickory”, “Maple”, “Tulip”, I guess for the tuliptree and that is a beautiful tree. I have family back east. Of course he’s been “Sequoia” and “Redwood” here in California a few times. They’re regular Julia Butterflies, we get it. After all, this is California.”
Maybelline flinched at mention of “Julia Butterfly”. Even he had heard of her.
Still trying to remain calm regarding Oak and Joni’s “real full legal name” Maybelline felt her heart go into palpitations, like a little motor shifting into overdrive, when blessedly, thankfully, the sheriff went off on another tangent, lecturing her that it was time to end the “whole fiasco”, “let the legal process play out” especially because now it was a far more serious matter. Angry, Maybelline reminded him that Tank openly threatened them, heard by at least 50 people at the community meeting. “Of course,” the sheriff responded, they were “looking into it”, Tank as the main suspect; but there were other suspects as well, a couple of guys Oak and Joni told them about.
“He’s in a jam,” the sheriff commented.
“Who’s in a jam?” she snapped.
“Tank. I take it you don’t know some of the details.”
“Well, he is running around telling everyone he has the timber rights but nobody has seen any proof.” Maybelline was insulted by the idea they thought her so daft. Wasn’t this the point of the whole—
“He’s into it I guess for about $20,000. Squirrel-Mart didn’t want the wood, care, just wanted the tree gone so Tank entered into a contract with a fancy furniture company out of Vermont…to supply them the wood…the tree’s not rotten, and anyway, I guess he wanted most of it up front, said for time and materials and all that stuff. So they fronted him and now he’s got to deliver or face a nasty—”
“This is why he’s rushing things?”
“He wouldn’t call it rushing things from his end because when he signed the paperwork, you were not part of the picture. He’s just trying to meet his obligations to—”
“Your taking his side,” Maybelline said with a gasp.
“I’m not ‘taking his side’ Mrs. Emmons. I’m not taking any side. The whole thing is a goddamned mess is all and I’m just trying to explain to you his motivation.”
“That justifies attempted murder?”
“Of course not Mrs. Emmons. You are mis—”
“Why no paperwork showing the timber rights?” she demanded.
“Might have been verbal, family member might be dead now. I agree. Everyone agrees he’s got to show SOME-thing legal but for now, our concern is public safety. There is also the possibility,” he paused, “it’s complicated. You have heard of the Hatfields and McCoys?”
“Hatfields and McCoys?”
“You’re not from here, correct?”
“I was 40 years ago,” Maybelline answered, indignant.
“Well, most likely, Tank, or a member of his family drove right by you 40 years ago. There aren’t many of the original families left but the Darden’s and the Byrd’s are still here.”
“Go on.”
“They used to be partners, go in together on jobs, but the work got scarce, competition grew, and pretty soon, like it is every time, money took over where a friendship used to be. Like many of the original families, they were into timbering, mining, excavation. When the parents died, they tried to keep working together then one of the older Byrd boys undercut Tank’s family, bid on a job against him and got it. Neither of the families planned very well for the future, the new people coming in, population growth, attitudes changing, environmentalists, like your son. Now there is nothing left to cut, mine, extract. They tried going into construction, building spec’ homes, general contractor stuff but went belly-up during the so-called “Great Recession” a few years ago.” He paused to think. “The Darden’s are doing better than the Byrd’s it seems. They seem to have a little better business sense—”
“Sense? Sense? He threatened to kill Oak, in front of a room full of people!”
“My point exactly. What better way to frame Tank, the family, make it look like he did it, my point being Mrs. Emmons, we’re not sure it was Tank. It might have been some of the young little thugs just coming up from both families. These kids aren’t like in the past. They’re motivated by different things now, a lot of them on meth, pot. Frankly, I’m as sick of all the pot stuff as I am meth. They’re all drugs no matter how you look at it and they all addle the minds of these young people. Make our jobs hell, I will tell ya’ that.” He sighed. “We’re looking into it. I agree, what Tank said at that meeting was stupid but he’s never been the brightest bulb in the closet.” Shifting his weight he fiddled with his clipboard then looked at her. “But I do have something to say to you Mrs. Emmons. To be frank, some people, including myself, don’t understand why you’re putting your son and his girlfriend, wife, whatever, at risk.”
“At risk?” Maybelline felt her head getting hot. She hadn’t had a hot flash for years or was this just a new experience for her—being pissed off about something she dearly cared about. She wasn’t sure.
“Your son and his girlfriend, wife, whatever they are, are at risk of great physical harm. As the mother—”
“What risk? They climbed the, our tree, for God sake’s. Aside from falling out of it, what risk was there supposed to be?”
“Supposed to be?” the sheriff repeated. “That has no meaning in today’s world Mrs. Emmons. There is no “supposed”…You think we are surprised by this? I’m not sure what version of the world you hail from Mrs. Emmons, and nobody wants to talk about this, but Americans are in a perpetual civil war with one another or said another way, they hate one another, be it domestic, over politics, race—hell, the kind of car somebody drives! Not everybody in Sonoma County has moved on. Your son and his wife, girlfriend, whatever, are at great risk of getting seriously hurt, even murdered, and if you love them, you won’t let them get back in that tree. Like I said, I understand your son and his wife, whatever, are lawyers, or skilled in this way—this isn’t their firs
t tree rodeo—but my recommendation is focus on letting the legal process play out especially because you know how to play it and my feeling is, you will probably win if you go this route.” He paused. “And by the way, you have about 1500 “friends” on your Facebook page. They’re watching this too.”
“We don’t have a Facebook page, that I know of,” Maybelline said, tilting her head to think.
“Yes you do. Maybe somebody created it for you. The point is, you have a support system for your cause, people who care about that tree. The media is on it so there is no need to put your son and his wife, girlfriend, whatever, at risk.”
She couldn’t explain to him that Oak was not her son and that she had no choice in the matter, that she showed up on her land and there they were, in her tree, defying even her, not that she protested. How could she? Still in shock, it dawned on her with some horror that she was “putting at risk” someone else’s children. What if they got hurt, killed, not just Oak and Joni, but Tamara and Terrence, Bojo, Rikki, any of them? What would she say to their parents? The lie that she was Oak’s mother…Did Oak and Joni’s real parents know what was going on? It didn’t matter. The sheriff was making a good point—she couldn’t allow anyone in the tree anymore. The sheriff then asked Maybelline about insurance, said he couldn’t account for how the apartment building owners would respond, if they would demand compensation from her, blame her for the shooting, something Maybelline could not comprehend. She told him she was fully insured under the previous owner’s (Millicent’s) policy—it transferred with the sale. (Oak insisted she confirm this, and thank God, she thought).
Possibly not even fully aware of what she was saying because she was so overwhelmed, tired, she suddenly blurted out, “what if I climb the tree and stay there? Will you arrest me?”
The sheriff laughed and shook his head.
“We want all of you, your son, his girlfriend, wife, whatever, AND YOU to leave—not just the town, but the county; we need to conduct the investigation with things settled down and anyway, if any of you try to get back on the land, in the tree, we’ll arrest you, even you Mrs. Emmons, even Tank. Nobody’s allowed access.”
Maybelline derived some comfort that in this perverse way, the tree would be protected.
After nearly an hour, he got up to leave. He asked her if she was okay. She answered “absolutely not” then they both kind of laughed. After insisting yet again she think about what was best for their safety, he left. When Maybelline got up to grab her phone off the nightstand, her back to the door, Monty Cross caught the door before it closed and slipped into the room, quickly seating himself in one of the armchairs. Still facing her bed, Maybelline quickly dialed Oak and Joni.
She could not get the words, “how are you? Where are you?” out of her mouth fast enough. They were fine, in the van and on their way back to Berkeley. Oak explained his father was having some kind of health issue and both of them needed to reassure their parents everything was fine. While Maybelline was wondering if she was going to have a heart attack, Oak sounded level-headed about the whole situation. “I mean, we were warned. We always expect SOME kind of reaction when we tree-sit, granted this is the first gun-shot. Our feeling is they didn’t mean to hit us though we know this isn’t much comfort for you.” He asked her if she was freaking out. “What do you think?” she ‘back-asked’. She told him about the visit from the sheriff. As everyone was safe, though shaken, they decided to talk after some sleep. Tamara would keep them posted as well. Hanging up, Maybelline turned around, completely startled to see Monty sitting in the armchair. Before she could even get a word out, he asked if everything was okay and where Oak and Joni were.
“How did you get into my room?”
“I slipped in when the sheriff left. I’m sorry. I was in the hall.”
“For God sake’s Mr. Cross, it’s five o’clock in the morning. I’ve been through enough at this point.”
“I’m sorry but the news got out. I wanted to see how you, they, are. You’re shaking.” Noticing the bottle of wine and two wine glasses sitting on the table, he asked her where the corkscrew was.
“Of course I’m shaking,” she spit out. “On top of being exhausted.”
Spotting the corkscrew on the nightstand, he grabbed it and opened the wine, pouring each of them a glass. Just as he was handing one to her, there was a knock on the door.
“Don’t answer it. Probably television news.” The knock came again.
“Those fucking assholes with their fucking cameras.” He opened the door, tossed his glass of wine onto the lens staring him in the face then slammed the door shut and locked it.
“You’re going to fucking pay for that lens if it’s trashed, Cross,” they heard through the door.
“We’re calling the police,” Monty yelled while instructing Maybelline to report them to the front desk. Within minutes they heard someone telling them to leave.
“My God,” Maybelline said melting on to her bed. “Thank you.”
“No problem. I enjoyed it.” Fully aware of the irony, Maybelline was too tired to comment. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’m going to hang out here for a few minutes until they’re all gone.”
“Okay, but I’m very tired. I have to lie down.”
“Lie down then,” he welcomed.
Collapsing onto the bed, within minutes, she was snoring. He waited a few more minutes and once assured there would be no more knocks, opened the door. At that Maybelline awoke. She lifted her head off the pillow to look at him.
“I’ll be taking off then.”
“Fine,” Maybelline said lowering her head back down and letting out a sigh.
“Mrs. Emmons?”
“God, what?” she mumbled.
“After this is all over, will you tell me your story, I mean, the truth?”
“The truth?” she repeated weakly, too tired to summon-up anything more.
“Yes. Will you offer this to me, exclusively, later, what was really going on here?”
Side-swiped yet again on top of being at her physical and mental limits, she mumbled a yes then asked him to leave.
“Thank you,” he confirmed. He opened the door just a crack and after insuring the coast was clear, slipped out.
Chapter 14
“Tell me something I didn’t already figure out,” Oak replied after Maybelline told him about the predicament Tank was in. She was standing in line to check out of the hotel. She was going home.
“And now the shooting,” Maybelline said, lowering her voice. “I just don’t know about all this Oak.”
“Too late, Mom. It’s got to play out. We’re not pulling out. We’ll win, Mom. Trust us.”
Maybelline moved up and was now standing at the counter.
“I’m afraid you will still be charged for the room,” the young female hotel clerk said. “Check-out is at 11:00.”
After telling Oak she would have to call him back, an older, robust, take-no-prisoners type woman busted in.
“I’ll handle this,” she declared, moving the youngster out of the way. “I’m Irma, the manager. We know what kind of night you had Mrs. Emmons and we’re glad everyone’s okay, including the tree.”
Maybelline laughed a little, apologized, then thanked them. Irma wished her a safe trip home.
She had to say goodbye to Washington Millibelle. She didn’t know; maybe her tree, their tree, would be cut down by the time she returned. (This would certainly take care of everything). She looked at the tree, surrounded by yellow “CRIME SCENE. DO NOT ENTER” tape bringing a whole new meaning to “tie a yellow ribbon ‘round the ole oak tree” that she had just heard on the car radio (easy listening channel). Shaking her head and chuckling about the coincidence, she looked at the spray painted circles that marked where the bullets lodged above the window of Tamara and Terrence’s apartment. Any lightness of heart was immediately replaced by a shudder at the thought that they, anyone, could have been killed. Look
ing at her tree without Oak and Joni, the kids, all the other concerned people, Pa Pa’s chair still leaning against the tree, it seemed as if her little ‘lot’, the place itself had lost part of its soul. Ducking under the crime scene tape, she retrieved the chair and put it in her Jeep. “We’ll be back! We won’t leave you! We won’t give up the fight!” she yelled to the tree. Getting into her Jeep, she headed ‘home’ not really sure at this point where ‘home’ for her really was.
Chapter 15
Upon reaching Santa Barbara, she was pleased to see that everything was fine but something seemed different—in her. She flipped through her mail, annoyed that the county, as represented by the Planner I, had mailed her a large envelope when she had expressly told the Planner I, face to face, she was in town, even providing her hotel information. Perhaps from now on she should deal with a Planner II, or maybe even a Planner III. Instead of avoiding it, this time she quickly opened the envelope—maybe the county had found something relevant to timber rights; but no such luck plus this kind of diligence from the Planner I would have surprised her. Still, it was essential paperwork. The title had cleared and the deed was recorded. The land was officially hers. Just in case, she scanned it for timber buzz words, finding nothing. Sighing she looked out the window and saw the handsome sports car that belonged to her handsome pilot neighbor. Later she would visit him and when he would ask her how everything was, as always she would answer, “fine. Nothing to report.”
Her rituals, sleeping in, drinking coffee in bed while watching the morning news, moving out to her patio to fill the hummingbird feeders, water her plants—didn’t work this time. She could never go back to the pre-tree period of her life. Did she want to? Damn-it, she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
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