Wisdom Tree

by Mary Manners

“Oh, Jake. I’m so sorry.” Tears blurred her vision, and her throat tightened with grief. “Do you want me to come?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You stay here. I’ll call you when I can—later.” He rocked to his feet and bent to kiss her. “I’m sorry…I want to hear what you have to say, truly I do.”

  “I know. But it can wait. Pastor Julian…”

  Jake’s breath hitched and tears filled his eyes. The pastor…the man…clamped a fist to his mouth to stifle a sob, and it broke her. She drew him in, pressing her cheek to his T-shirt. His heart thumped beneath the fabric, matching the cadence of hers.

  “I have to go.” He smoothed her hair, stroked the tension from her shoulders. “If I’m unable to get to the school before Corey finishes practice, can you pick him up this afternoon?”

  “Of course. I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry, Jake.” She smoothed a hand to his cheek, felt the shadow of stubble. “Don’t worry about anything.”

  17

  “You can challenge me if you want,” Carin cautioned. “But I really think you’ll be sorry.”

  “That’s not a word.” Corey reached for a handful of popcorn from the bowl Carin set on the table. He tossed a kernel into his mouth as he studied the Scrabble board. Nearly every space was filled, just a turn or two’s worth of tiles remaining in the red-velvet pouch set to the side of the kitchen table. “At least not the way you have it spelled.”

  “Are you going to argue with your English teacher?” Carin gathered a handful of popcorn. The aroma of butter clung to the air, making her stomach grumble. She wondered if Jake was eating on the run again as he planned Pastor Julian’s memorial. The elderly man had no family, and Jake loved him like a father. Carin tamped a wave of sadness and focused on the game. “Of course testatrix is a word.”

  “Yeah—it was one of the vocabulary words you assigned in English class. But you’ve spelled it wrong here. There should be an A between the T’s—not an E.” Corey glanced at his tiles, then the board, and Carin knew he was carefully debating his next move. “I’m going to challenge. We need a dictionary.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” Carin grabbed another fistful of popcorn. “You’ll lose a turn, you know.”

  “Or you’ll lose a turn, which is what I’m hoping for.” Corey challenged her with his gaze. “I think you’re bluffing, and I can still win this game.”

  “With a miracle, maybe.” Carin enjoyed this bit of smack-talk. She was pleased to find Corey could hold his own. She’d bluffed him on purpose, hoping he’d rise to the challenge. And he had. “There’s a dictionary on the bookshelf in the living room. Grab it while I pour some iced tea.”

  Corey retreated into the living room and returned a moment later flipping through the pages of her dictionary. She knew the very moment he found the word; his tennis shoes slapped the wood floor as he commenced to victory dance. “I was right!” A grin threatened to split his face wide open. “Take your tiles off the board, Miss O’Malley.”

  She removed the tiles, one by one. “You have been paying attention in class.”

  “Yes, I have.” He took the glass of tea she offered. “Check the score. You have to deduct those points.”

  “Ouch, but OK.” She took a pen, recalculated their scores. “Now, tell me what it means—testatrix.”

  Corey scratched the side of his head, squinting. The gesture reminded her of Cameron, and a slight pang zinged her heart. “It’s someone who’s made a will.”

  “Be more specific.” She tapped the table with the pen. “I taught you better than that.”

  “It’s a woman!” Corey shouted, slipping back into his chair. “Yes, a testatrix is a woman who’s made a will.”

  “Very good, Corey.” Carin grinned at him before she drew a sip of tea. “Now, I guess you’d better take your turn, finish this out so you can brag to all your friends about how you beat your English teacher, of all people, at Scrabble.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that.” He shook his head. “Well, maybe just to Dillon…and Amy. And of course I’d have to tell Jake, too.”

  “Of course.” Carin laughed. “But you have to win, first.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “And the timer’s ticking.” She flipped the pint-sized hourglass and set it back on the table. “So you’d better get on it quick.”

  “OK. Right.” He rearranged the tiles on his rack.

  “And one more thing…when we’re not at school you can call me Carin, if you’d like.”

  “Cool.” Corey glanced up, caught her gaze. “I’d like that.”

  ****

  Jake pushed the glider on Carin’s front porch into motion and drew her close.

  “I love the sound of the rain.” She rested her head against his chest and sighed. “Especially rain like this—light and melodic, almost like a sweet symphony.”

  Jake wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Voices from the TV drifted through an open window, and he knew Corey was curled up on Carin’s couch, jotting notes in his journal. “You smell like buttered popcorn.”

  “From our Scrabble game. I made a bowl, and Corey and I devoured it.”

  “Hmm…” Jake kissed her. “Tasty, too.”

  She laughed, pressed a hand to his chest, and his heartbeat kicked up a notch. He wondered if she could feel it through the cotton fabric of his polo shirt. “Are you holding up OK?”

  “I’m good.” He sighed. “But it has been a lot lately.”

  “I know. And I feel like a lot of it is…my fault.”

  “Stop thinking that way.” Jake leaned back in the glider, listened to the dance of rain in the gutters, and thought maybe he knew what Carin meant when she called it a sweet symphony. “Corey told me he beat you at Scrabble.”

  “I’ll bet he did.”

  “He’s on cloud nine. Who knew what a little victory could do?”

  “Glad to sacrifice my ego to the greater good.”

  “He’s writing in his journal now, probably documenting the whole event.” Jake rubbed a hand over the stubble that covered his chin. “It’s about time he writes about someone besides me.”

  “He wrote about your parents…just this week.”

  “He did?” The glider paused. “Is he…OK?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded as the rain sluiced over the porch awning. “He got it off his chest, let go of some of the hurt. It will be easier to talk about…to write about…from this point on.”

  “He rarely puts that journal down now.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “How did you know…that writing would help him so much?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “But then, why?”

  “Selfish reasons, I guess. To give me insight into what he’s thinking…and feeling.” She slipped away from him, gazed out over the rain-drenched woods as drops continued to patter the porch overhang. “I was thinking of Cameron, and how he kept a journal. But I didn’t know—didn’t pay much attention—until after he was gone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s what I meant to tell you this afternoon, before you got that phone call, before Pastor Julian…”

  “Tell me now,” Jake coaxed. “I’m listening.”

  Carin waited while Jake nudged the glider into motion once again. “It was hard after my mom died, to keep it all together. My dad kind of disappeared into himself—the grief overwhelmed him, I guess. He’s always worked a lot of hours, but after Mom was gone, I don’t know, it became so much more excessive. Cameron was left alone a lot, and he was only sixteen when Mom died. He was going through a difficult time anyway, and losing Mom, well, it just made it that much harder. I tried to talk to him, but I was busy helping Dad, and living half-an-hour away. I didn’t get home to him as often as I should have.”

  “But the journal?”

  “I found it in his room…after.” Carin brushed her palms back and forth over the thighs of her jeans, then clasped her hands and settled them in her lap. “I was going thr
ough his things, trying to donate what I could and box up the rest. The journal was tucked beneath his mattress, and I felt like an intruder as I read through the passages. What would he think if he was there to see me?”

  “Maybe he left it for a reason. Maybe he wanted you to find it.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Can you share what he wrote?”

  Carin nodded stiffly. “He wrote about all kinds of things…things he might have shared with me, if I’d taken the time to listen. But I didn’t, and by the time I found his journal it was too late.” She turned to face him, tears shimmering in her eyes like the raindrops that splattered around them. “He was hurting so much, and I didn’t know. I didn’t listen—I didn’t see. But I should have.”

  Jake reached for her hand. “You were grieving, too, Carin.”

  “But I was older. I should have protected him. I should have been there for him.” The tears spilled over. “Cameron needed me, Jake. And I let him down.”

  “You did what you could with what you had to give at the time. You’re only human, after all.”

  “Would you say the same if it were Corey?” She stood, paced. “Could you live with yourself, knowing you could have—should have—done more?”

  “I don’t know. If you hadn’t come along to help, to see what I couldn’t…” He lowered his voice, let the words—and the thought—fade away. “But what I do know is that the should-have’s will destroy you if you let them.”

  She nodded, brushed a tear from her cheek. “I know that.”

  Jake sighed and drew her back to his side. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “There was someone who listened to Cameron, someone who heard him even when I didn’t.”

  “Who?”

  “Phillip.” Carin forced the word out on a sob. “I thought he was helping Cameron. I thought he genuinely cared. We were dating at the time, and he seemed to reach out, to understand just what Cameron needed. But Phillip’s interest was all carefully orchestrated, just a good show in an attempt to gain a promotion at my dad’s law firm. I didn’t know—had no idea—until I stumbled across a series of entries near the back of Cameron’s journal.

  “Cameron was hurting, and I guess he mentioned something to Phillip about how hard it was at school, the way the kids stared at him like he was some kind of freak since Mom died, and how all of his friends avoided him because they didn’t know what to say. His grades were slipping, and he quit the basketball team. He said no one cared—not Dad, and not me, either. He needed something…to help him cope, to get him through.”

  Jake rubbed her arm and gathered her closer.

  “Phillip encouraged him to skip school, took him to a park where they hiked a bit before Phillip introduced him to rum and cola.” She shook her head. “I remember that day, because Cameron was late getting home, and he seemed a bit off…really quiet. When I asked him about it he gave some lame answer. I was engrossed in reports for my dad, so I didn’t question him further, and I should have.”

  “There’s another ugly should-have.”

  Carin set the glider into motion, leaned into Jake again. “It happened with greater and greater frequency over the next several months, and then one night Cameron got arrested for vandalism at the high school. Phillip went with me to bail him out, and I thought Phillip was helping me—helping Cameron. But all he was doing was masking the truth.”

  “What happened after the arrest?”

  “Cameron got suspended. He spent his days at the alternative school, in a cubicle, working alone. He fell into a deeper depression and sulked all the time. The arrest—and my dad’s anger over it—put a strain on all of us. Cameron wasn’t thinking straight, Jake. He was a different kid—messed up bad, and over the following weeks, he and Phillip only drew closer. I guess Phillip assumed if my dad thought he was helping Cameron, it would give him a leg up toward the promotion. He was pushing me, too, for more than a little dating. He said he wanted to…get married.”

  “But you still didn’t know about the alcohol?”

  “No. Phillip had his guard up all the time, though. But when I questioned him, he just said he was working hard toward a promotion, and the stress was getting to him. He started pressuring me more, but I refused to consider marriage. I think I knew, in the back of my mind, that he wasn’t ready to settle down. And I was right.”

  “And Cameron…what happened to him?”

  “He died in his sleep, two days after his seventeenth birthday…when he mixed alcohol with a handful of my dad’s sedatives.”

  18

  Carin gazed over the pond at the senior center. A cool breeze made rivulets of water dance across the surface as the weeping willows swayed. Clouds gathered overhead, like a ball of gray wool that seemed to unravel with each passing moment. Soon the sky would open up and cry for Pastor Julian, and for all the others loved and lost.

  Carin retrained her gaze, settling on Jake, who stood at the head of the group that had gathered near the gazebo. His voice soothed as he gave the eulogy in Pastor Julian’s honor.

  “Pastor Julian brought humor and wisdom to my life, and to the lives of so many. He was the kind of man I hope to be. He’ll be greatly missed.”

  Carin brushed tears from her cheeks as she glanced at Lilly, bundled beneath a quilt in the wheelchair beside her. The woman’s expression was faraway, her gaze set on the shimmering water, and Carin wondered if she was thinking of the husband and daughter she’d lost so many years ago and the granddaughter who seldom found the time to come and see her.

  Jake finished speaking and closed his Bible. “Thank you all for coming today and for sharing this special glimpse into Raymond Julian’s life. If you’d like to join us, there’s coffee and finger foods in the community room.”

  “I’m starving.” Corey’s voice broke through Carin’s thoughts. He tugged the collar of his dress shirt and blew a tuft of hair from his eyes. “I’m going to head inside to grab a doughnut.”

  “OK. Jake and I will be there soon.” She knew how hard this was for him—first his parents, then Scooter’s close call, and now Pastor Julian—so much loss. It seemed to never end.

  “Thanks.” He turned from her and started across the grass. “I’ll save you a doughnut.”

  “Where’s he headed?” Jake rounded the gazebo, gathering his coat at the seam. The wind kicked up, and the chill was uncharacteristically sharp for an early-November, East Tennessee morning.

  “Where do you think?” Carin grazed a hand across his stubbled cheek.

  “He got wind of the pastries, right?” Jake’s lips curved into the slightest grin, though his eyes were shadowed from yet another sleepless night. She knew he’d spent hours getting the eulogy just right, making sure all he wanted to say was included and that Pastor Julian was properly honored.

  “And the soda, of course. I told him to go on, that we’d meet him there shortly.” She stooped to adjust the blanket over Lilly’s lap. “We’d better get you inside. The wind’s kicking up.”

  “One more minute, Carin.” Lilly closed her eyes and tipped her head back, sighing as the breeze lifted her thin, peppered hair and kissed her cheeks. “The wind is singing. Can you hear it?”

  Carin stilled, allowing her eyes to close as Jake slipped his hand into hers. Through the trees, she heard a sweet melody. “I do hear it, Lilly. Oh, I do.”

  ****

  Jake watched Carin from across the room as she prepared a plate of food for Lilly. With her tough but compassionate demeanor, it was easy to see why she was such an amazing teacher, one who left her imprint on the kids whose lives she touched. Corey sure had warmed to her after a bumpy start. She seemed to connect with him in a way no one else could.

  Carin’s words echoed through his memory…Would you say the same if it were Corey? Losing his folks was tough, no doubt about it. But Jake wondered how he’d survive losing Corey. He quickly banished the thought. The day was gloomy enough. Just the idea of such a thing ripped hi
s heart to shreds.

  Carin came over, pushing Lilly’s chair with one hand while she carried a plate of food in the other. “You holding up OK? You look so far away. Lost in another world.”

  “Just thinking.” Jake brushed hair back from her face and nudged her aside to take the chair handles. “I’ll give Miss Lilly a ride now.”

  “She wants to go back to her room. She has something she wants to show Corey.”

  “Oh?”

  “That’s right, Pastor Jake.” Lilly’s watery gray eyes settled on Jake as she craned her head for a look. The scent of spearmint wafted up, fresh and clean. It clung to Lilly’s cotton slacks and sweater. “Take me there, please. And make sure your brother joins us. He’s had enough of this stuffy old death to last a lifetime.”

  “Sure, Miss Lilly.” Jake set the chair in motion. “Show me the way.”

  They gathered their plates of food, and Corey, and caravanned down the hall. Carin reached the room first. When she opened the door, Corey leaned over her shoulder to glance inside, his gaze sweeping over shelves of knickknacks and stuffed animals that lined the headboard of her twin-sized bed. The room was small, not meant for a crowd of four, but they managed to make the visit comfortable.

  “Take a seat,” Lilly urged. “It’s OK to sit on the bed. It won’t bite.”

  Corey flopped onto the patchwork quilt, bouncing the narrow bed so the springs protested beneath his weight. “What’s this?” He reached for a photo album that lay on the bedside table.

  “Corey, don’t pry.” Jake reached to take the album from his brother, but Lilly shushed him.

  “Let the child look.” Lilly nudged her chair closer to the bed, ignoring the plate of food Carin set on the dinette table. “He can’t hurt anything in here. It’s just a bunch of this and that.”

  Corey flipped to the first page, and his eyes widened in astonishment. “Wow, get a load of their clothes. These pictures have to be, like, a gazillion years old.”

  “Corey—” Jake’s voice was drowned by Lilly’s cackles.