“Oh, okay, I’m sorry.” She gets up to wash the coffeepot.
“Do we have to visit Shane in the hospital?” Toby asks.
“No, honey.” Gina will call the hospital to make sure Shane’s okay, but she won’t go to see him. If he bothers them again, maybe she will file that restraining order.
“Mom?”
“Hmm?” She’s wondering whether the hospital will give her information over the telephone.
“Could you marry Dr. Mackey?”
Gina turns off the water running into the carafe. The refrigerator clicks and sighs. “Honey, technically he’s still married.”
“But I think he’s getting divorced.”
“Honey, he would have to ask me.” She puts the carafe in the drainer and turns to face her son.
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“Look how late it is!” She points to the clock. “After midnight already!”
Toby furrows his brow at her.
“Well, even if Dr. Mackey is getting divorced—”
“What? You still wouldn’t ask him?”
Gina shakes her head.
Toby kicks the table again and the creamer slides off and crashes to the floor. Half-and-half gurgles out in a stream.
Toby looks up at her as though he’s probably in trouble.
Gina shrugs. “I know, honey,” she says. “I know.” She opens the bottom junk drawer by the telephone, takes out the hammer, and hands it to Toby. “You can smash the pitcher if you want to. We already lost the sugar bowl tonight.” Gina had hoped to own the whole set of Viceroy china, with their purple African violets and gold-veined leaves. The dishes are expensive, so she’s been buying them one at a time. Now she doesn’t care.
Toby cocks his head at her. She sets the hammer on the table beside him.
“You know I love you?” she asks.
Toby nods. She squeezes his shoulder. He is too thin. Tomorrow night she’ll make him a big dinner of homemade macaroni and cheese and hot dogs.
“You want to call your dad and talk with him for a while?”
Toby shakes his head. “How come you can’t ask Dr. Mackey?”
Because I know the answer, she wants to say. Because I would be even more hurt and humiliated than I already am. Even though I don’t think he loves me, I’m willing to sleep with Dr. Mackey. I love him almost as much as I love you, and I want nothing more than for you and me and him to move into a house together in a neighborhood with a school that you like and kids who appreciate you. And then I want Dr. Mackey and me to have our own baby. But only if that’s what you want. Only when you’re ready for that. First I just want the three of us to be together.
“Because, honey . . .” She pushes her fingers into Toby’s thick curls, searching for the right words. His hair is silky, despite the snarls. For once he doesn’t recoil from her touch. “It just doesn’t work that way.”
11
Elinor wakes to a mosquito buzzing in her ear. West Nile virus! No, a leaf blower in her backyard. No, a chain saw in the front yard. The tree cutters or maulers or whatever you call them—murderers—have arrived already. It isn’t even eight o’clock. They aren’t supposed to come until nine! As she throws aside the covers, a sheet of paper sails to the floor. She crouches and sees that it’s a page of music. What’s Chopin doing in her bed? She tosses the waltz, which she always found too complicated, into the trash, stumbles into the bathroom, splashes water on her face, and swishes her toothbrush through her mouth. Then she pulls on jeans under her nightgown and a sweatshirt over her head and heads for the yard.
Outside, the August sun already scorches the sky. The angry snarl of the chain saw echoes through the neighborhood. The tree is the property of the city (she didn’t know this before Noah told her), but the guys could have at least rung the bell. A man dangles high in the branches of the oak, attached by a clip at his waist to a leather loop around the tree. Orange cones cordon off a section of the street. A big truck with a trailer blocks the driveway. Elinor doesn’t see any sign of Noah.
“Hey!” she hollers up to the guy in the tree. All she can see are his denim-clad legs. A large branch crashes onto the driveway. A second man appears from around the truck, stoops, and shoves it into the chipper at the back. A loud grinding is followed by a whir and a shriek, like a blender loaded with too much ice.
“Turn it off!” Elinor charges toward the man, waving her arms. Perspiration trickles down her chest under the sweatshirt. “Turn everything off!”
The man jumps, startled when he sees her. “Ma’am?” he shouts.
Elinor plants her hands on her hips, trying to convey authority, even though her nightgown hangs around her thighs. “You’re not supposed to be here until nine.” She points to the oak, which now looks as though it has had a bite taken out of its leafy shape. “All I wanted was one cup of coffee under that tree.”
The man frowns, confused. He turns off the chipper and slashes his hand in the air, signaling for the guy in the tree to cut the chain saw. The saw quiets to a low drone. “We’re starting early on account of the heat,” he says, pulling off his cap and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Well, I—” Normally, Elinor would offer contractors lemonade or coffee. “Can you wait? I just want to . . .” What? She just wants them to go away so she can take a shower and get her blanket and book, lie under the tree, and reclaim her morning.
Kat pulls into the driveway after dropping off her kids at school. When she sees Elinor, she turns off the car and jumps out.
“Already? You sure you want to watch?”
Elinor feels her head nod.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the chipper guy says, scratching his meaty, tanned arms and squinting. “The disease can spread to other trees. You knew we were coming?”
“At nine.”
“Listen, can we just have a minute with the tree?” Kat asks the man.
He rolls his eyes. “Hang on!” he hollers to the guy in the branches above.
Kat pulls El toward the tree and they stand together in the shade.
“No more coffee with Warren.” Elinor claps the oak’s trunk with her open palm, as though slapping someone on the back. The tree feels solid. It’s her head that feels rotten and hollow, buzzing with bark beetles.
“We can still have coffee outside every day,” Kat reminds her. “You can go through the Sunset book and pick another, heartier tree.”
“That’ll be expensive.” Elinor wonders how much a divorce costs, and whether she’ll even be living in her house in six months. This is what she should be worrying about. “Trees cost money,” she says.
“Trees don’t grow on trees!” Kat punches her arm lightly.
Elinor snorts with laughter. “Look at me. Who needs tree closure?” She turns to Kat. “Were you so patient before you had kids?”
Kat crinkles her small, pointed nose, considering this.
“I take your patience for granted,” Elinor says before she can answer. Kat must feel as though Elinor’s her fourth kid.
Kat shrugs. “Nah. Don’t sweat it.”
“Okay?” the man swaying above them in the tree asks with irritation. It can’t be comfortable to hang like that. “Step aside, please? Some of us have work to do!” The chipper guy stomps out a cigarette in the driveway, as if to emphasize this fact.
Elinor leaps out from under the tree and darts to the porch, Kat following behind her. The oak is dying and threatening the health of other trees. These guys have a job to do and they’re sweltering in the heat. Kat needs to get on with her day. The chain saw rips and howls, sending branches smashing into the driveway. Elinor and Kat cower on the stoop.
“Can I make you coffee?” Elinor shouts over the noise to Kat.
“No thanks,” Kat shouts back.
Elinor studies the chipper’s orange metal chute, with its shrieking blades and big, triangular DANGER labels. Suddenly she has the urge to throw something from the house into it. Her laptop, with all
those e-mails from the office. Why did she agree to do e-mail while on sabbatical? CC, BCC, FYI, blah, blah, blah. Or she could toss in the Zone cookbook. Whatever happened to it, anyway? Did Ted give it back to Gina? A book would easily spin through the chipper’s maw. Yes. She stands up.
“I’ll be right back,” she tells Kat. “One sec.” Kat nods, grimacing at the noise as she reads over school information photocopied onto different-colored papers.
Elinor hurries through the screen door into the house, down the hall, through the bedroom, and into the master bath. As she reaches up to slide the infertility books off the shelf, the pages scrape her neck and chin. She holds them in her arms, flipping through the top book, shuddering. She remembers when she first bought the guides, how intimidating it was to read about the procedures, which became increasingly complicated as the chapters wore on: hysteroscopy, egg retrieval, assisted hatching, intracytoplasmic sperm injection. Thank God we’ll never have to resort to that! she thought when she first bought the books. But gradually she and Ted worked their way through the chapters, and now pages and pages of explanations and diagrams are dog-eared and underlined with highlighter pen. She’s kept the books because she’d always hoped she and Ted would gather the strength to try another cycle of in vitro one day. But strength doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the outcome. She hugs the stack to her chest and bolts out of the bathroom.
“What’s up?” Kat shouts as Elinor sprints past her down the driveway.
Elinor waits by the hedges for the chipper guy to turn his back and reach for a fresh branch. When he does, she lunges at the machine. There’s no time to feed the books into the chute individually, so she tosses them in all at once. A blur of spines and covers and pages tumbles away, stripes of highlighter pen flashing in the sun. The thick volumes bring another kind of sound from the chipper, a dull, mournful rumble, instead of the shrieking whine. The chipper guy shifts to feed in another branch. He looks hot and ready to be through with this job. Elinor backs away from the machinery, her arms feeling pleasantly light without the books.
As Elinor settles back in beside Kat on the porch, a big green pickup pulls up the drive and Noah climbs out. He peers from under his ball cap to assess the tree situation. When he sees Elinor, he hurries up the walk.
“Morning!” he says.
“What are you so cheerful about?” Elinor asks.
“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, removing his cap and fidgeting with it. Is he glad to see her? He is a large man—over six feet tall with broad shoulders and muscular arms. Where has Elinor seen him before? Oh! He is the Brawny Paper Towel Man. An older, balder version. But he isn’t goofy. There’s something inherently attractive about him—about someone who spends all of his time outdoors. Elinor considers her outfit: white nightgown hanging over ripped Levi’s, husband’s old sweatshirt, bare feet, pink toenail polish, bed head. She runs her tongue over her teeth, hoping for remnants of toothpaste. She introduces Noah to Kat and they wave hello to each other.
“You see a lot of sick trees these days?” Kat shouts to Noah.
“Unfortunately.”
“Quite an efficient operation you’ve got here,” Elinor grumbles.
“I’m sorry about the tree.” Noah sits beside her. He has to lift his elbows to rest them on his knees. The hair on his forearms curls in graying wisps. He has a sharp, clean smell—like eucalyptus. Elinor pulls her sweatshirt over her knees in a lame attempt to cover her nightgown.
Cute, Kat mouths when Noah is concentrating on the tree. “I’ll make coffee,” she shouts to him a little too cheerfully—like a first-class flight attendant. Noah says no thank you, but Kat winks at Elinor and ducks inside the house anyway.
Warren has been reduced to a twelve-foot totem pole. One thick branch remains, like a Statue of Liberty arm reaching toward the sky. The trunk is spotted with white circles where branches have been lopped off. The guy on the ground continues to feed the chipper. As the machine chokes and sputters, Elinor wonders aloud, “Is a tree too much to ask for?”
Noah doesn’t hear her.
The chain saw slows to a moan, the man in the tree shimmying down to the last branch. Across the street, three slim birches do a flirtatious hula in the breeze, fluttering their leaves, taunting Warren with their limber beauty. Elinor turns to Noah. His salt-and-pepper mustache is thick and remarkably even at the ends. She has the urge to touch it.
Warren’s remaining thick arm is stubborn. The man in the tree struggles to cut through it. Finally, the branch snaps and plunges to the ground. Elinor feels vindicated when the chipper guy has to leap out of the way as it rolls toward his feet.
The men heave the saw and their weight into the remaining pillar of tree, working to fell it. Circles of sweat stain the underarms of their T-shirts. Sawdust arcs into the air behind them. Finally, Warren tips, teeters, and hits the street with a hollow smack. The man with the saw loses control for a moment, his arms flying into the air as though he’s following through on a clumsy golf swing. He falls to his knees and switches off the saw. Finally, the noise stops completely, like a headache going away. Still, Elinor’s ears buzz with tinnitus. A crow caws overhead.
Kat returns with coffee. Noah nods with appreciation and the three of them sit and sip, watching the men roll the last wedge of trunk to the truck, count to three, then hoist it into the bed. Next they toss in the orange cones, sweep the street, wave to Noah, climb into the cab, and pull away, towing the chipper behind them.
The yard is too bright without the oak, like an overexposed photo. Elinor starts across the lawn, the grass moist and sticky under her bare feet. Noah and Kat follow. Warren is now a flat stump, like a table. Elinor plucks up a stray leaf. It’s bumpy and eaten away in places. As she drops it, twirling, to the ground, she notices that the hair on her arms is coated with fine yellow sawdust. It smells healthy, like something newly built.
“Can she plant something well established that will provide shade right away?” Kat asks Noah.
“The city will only pay for seedlings,” Noah explains, “but residents can pay the difference for more established trees. I have a book in my truck. I could show you some pictures if you like.”
“A book!” Kat exclaims, as though Noah said he had a thousand dollars. “Well, I’ve got to run and make appointments with the orthodontist. Can you believe it? Already? But wow, that would be great if you’d help Elinor pick out a new tree.” She shakes Noah’s hand and bounds off toward her house.
“Maybe I’ll see the forest for the trees now,” Elinor tells Noah.
Noah cocks his head, smiles. “It’s nice that you appreciate trees. Most people don’t even notice them.”
Suddenly Elinor feels shy. “Mammals were letting me down.”
“You don’t want the liquidambar,” Noah says, leaning over his tree book at Elinor’s kitchen table. “They have round sticker cones that are a menace when you step on them. Oh!” His eyes brighten with an idea. “You should get a Ginkgo biloba—a maidenhair. Look.” He points to a picture of a bright green fan-shaped leaf with a scalloped edge. “In the fall, these turn yellow. When the sun hits them, they’re gorgeous. And they’re on the list of city-approved trees.”
“Wow.” Elinor tries to share Noah’s enthusiasm for the picture of the golden leaves. But suddenly the starting-over aspect of choosing a tree depresses her. How many other new things will she need in the coming months? “I may not even stay in this house,” she says to the hot pink flowers of a jacaranda pictured in the book. If she and Ted don’t get back together, she won’t need this big place for herself. She meant to fill it up with a husband and kids. “I’ve been sitting under the oak every morning because I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”
“One thing at a time,” Noah says. “Either way, you’re going to need a new tree, and planting a nice one improves the value of your home.”
“Right.” Elinor tries to focus on the book. “Who knew there were so many types of trees?” Before sitting
down with Noah to look at the book, she ducked into the bathroom to pee, change into a T-shirt, brush her teeth, and put on a little lip gloss. While she was in there she squirted perfume under her arms, in lieu of a shower, and now she’s afraid she smells like a magazine insert.
Noah rattles on about acacias. They’re pretty, but reseed easily, which isn’t necessarily a good thing. “Suddenly you’ve got roots and branches where you don’t want them . . .”
No wedding band today either, Elinor observes.
“. . . A pink jacaranda really stands out against the landscape . . .”
Trees, trees, trees. “You married?” Elinor blurts.
“. . . Deciduous—What?” Noah looks at his tree book as though he wishes it could help him answer. He shakes his head. “Divorced.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. How long?” Elinor hopes she’s not being too nosy, but she wants to know more about why people get divorced.
“Eight months. I thought my wife and I got along great. We both loved the outdoors . . . But one day she said I was boring, and she needed more. I thought she was going to tell me what she needed—that it would be something I could provide or change. But she had already found it—the VP of sales at her software company. Tell me that isn’t boring.” He flips a page.
“I’m sorry,” Elinor repeats, closing the tree book. Noah is unusually chatty for a man. But she doesn’t want to hear any more about trees.
“This guy makes a ton of money,” Noah continues. “They got married like that.” He snaps his fingers. “I guess you could say money isn’t boring. They went mountain climbing in Tibet on their honeymoon.” He flips the tree book back open to a random page on root rot. “But she fell, and had to be flown home in a body cast. Turns out Money Bags was a shitty Sherpa. I visited her in the hospital once when he wasn’t there. I was trying to help her eat dinner and I accidentally dropped a pea down inside her body cast. She started screaming at me. ‘This is a metaphor for everything!’” He turns to Elinor in disbelief. “One pea summed it all up for her.”
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