The Shade of My Own Tree

by Sheila Williams

  “Thanks!” I told him. This was the second time that he had mentioned Miss Xavier to me. Somehow, though, I just couldn’t see the old coot and stately Miss Caroline Xavier sipping mint juleps together on the porch.

  The Stars and Bars fluttered in a brief hot summer breeze.

  “You want a beer?” He held a can up high in the air.

  “No, thanks!” I yelled back.

  “All righty!” he said amiably, popping the top. “You change your mind, you know where to come!”

  “Yes, I do,” I said to myself. Friendliest Confederate I ever knew. Only Confederate I ever knew.

  The Colonel passed me as I turned the corner. He smiled politely and tipped his white ten-gallon hat, but he didn’t say anything. He was too busy surveying the back forty.

  I kept moving, letting my mind wander as my feet moved one in front of the other. Sometimes I drop into a time warp on these walks. The homes are so old that it is easy to imagine that you have stepped across a dimension and back to days of horse-drawn wagons, derby hats, and long skirts. So many things in Prestonn are out of time, like the Colonel, like the old Rebel, and the ancient river keeps its own time. But sometimes, I’m jerked forward, not to the present day, but into the 1960s, when I pass a man whom I call Woodstock.

  He wears flared jeans, a denim jacket, heeled boots, and a hat pulled down onto his head like the top of a toadstool. He looks like a time traveler from the sixties snatched up from the muddy mess of Woodstock right after Richie Havens finished singing. He is one character in the layers of this river town and, aside from me, no one else around here ever gives him a second look.

  As Jack would say, “River people are different.”

  Finally, I reach the old bridge that has spanned the river for seventy-five years or more. It doesn’t take much traffic anymore, since it only has two lanes across and the newer bridges carry the freeway headed north. I stand there at the entrance and look out at the boats and the barges, some of them city blocks long, watching them until they round the bend either downriver to the Mississippi or east to the coalfields of West Virginia. I stand on the top of the levee and watch and think.

  Over six months ago, I was Opal Hearn, wife of Ted, mother of Imani, contracts supervisor, and living in Shadeside Heights on the east side of town. I had a car payment, half of a mortgage payment, impatiens in my flower beds, and a Sears charge card. Oh, and a library card. I had my period once a month, went to church twice a month, and got beaten up, punched, slapped, hit, kicked, or cussed out once a week or so whether I needed it or not.

  Things were different now.

  I am Opal Sullivan, mother of Imani, still working as a contracts supervisor. But now I live in Prestonn in a house that is over one hundred years old. I have two dogs, a few cats, an alleged vampire in my coach house. I have a historic mural in my dining room. I have a car payment, a mortgage payment, and roses in my yard. And a library card. The Sears bill went with Ted. I paint. I still had my period once a month, but, lately, I had noticed that it is beginning to slip away.

  Both my period and Ted are making an exit. I don’t think that I’ll miss either of them. But I was going to miss that Sears charge card.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I walked home by way of downtown Prestonn, going the back way, as I call it, down the alley and through the back gate. The cobblestone path took me through the rose garden that had flourished under Gloria’s loving care. I caught a flash of calico out of the corner of my eye, and CW strolled by giving me her usual “Oh, it’s you” glance. I walked up the steps and opened the screen door. Becca was fixing dinner. Her cat, a sleek Siamese named Cayenne, was curled up at her feet. Becca was a writer and my newest guest.

  “Hi, Becca! Did Imani call?” I still hadn’t heard from my daughter and I was starting to get worried.

  Becca stopped chopping for a moment and looked at me, a solemn expression on her face.

  “Nope, no calls. But some guy stopped by to see you. He wouldn’t give his name, so I didn’t let him in the house. The dogs and Cayenne don’t like him, though, whoever he is. The dogs wouldn’t stop barking. I almost broke my arm trying to hold Bear back!”

  I frowned. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and Becca knew Jack and even knew about Rodney. But Rodney would have said who he was.

  “What did he say?” I asked, picking up a carrot stick from the vegetable medley that she was making.

  “He asked if you lived here, then if you were home. I didn’t like all of the questions, so I asked for his name. Which he refused to give. Then the dogs started barking. I got tangled up with Bear, and he left.”

  “What time was this? I’ve only been gone an hour.”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “About a half hour, forty-five minutes ago.”

  “Did he say anything else?” I asked.

  Becca handed me a celery stick. Her dark eyes were serious behind the lenses of her wire-rimmed eyeglasses.

  “Only that he would be back.”

  I chewed on the carrot stick and on what Becca had told me as I walked toward the front of the house. It was hot out and I was sweaty and smelly from my walk, but I just didn’t feel like scaling the stairs yet to the third floor to take a shower, so I strolled out onto the front porch. I told CW to scram and unfolded the morning newspaper that we had all forgotten to bring in. I was getting settled on the settee when I heard the dogs barking in the house and Bear galloping toward the front door, with the yaps of Wells behind him. Darn! Just when I was getting comfortable.

  “Bear! Wells! What is the matter with y’all?”

  I stood up and went to the door, looking through the screen at the dogs approaching, Becca following on their heels. Wells stopped just short of the door and continued barking, his tail rigid. Behind him, Bear loomed like a mountain of fur, his deep woofs almost drowning out the barks of the pug.

  “What set them off?” I asked Becca, reaching for the doorknob to let the dogs out. She had reached for Bear’s collar to pull him back before he tore up the screen when I noticed that she was looking past me.

  “You have company,” Becca said in a low voice.

  I looked over my shoulder.

  Ted stood on the sidewalk just beyond the front gate.

  “Is that your ex-husband?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “I thought so. Do you want me to call the police?” she asked.

  “No.” I looked down at Bear, whom Becca was holding by the collar. Then I smiled. “But I’ll take the dogs with me.”

  She grinned back and opened the door.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen. If you need me, just yell.”

  I took a deep breath and turned around.

  “What do you want, Ted?” I asked.

  He watched as I tied up both dogs on the porch. Neither of them stopped barking until I shushed them, which I took my time doing. Wells continued to stand at attention with his tail rigid. His little smushed-in nose sniffed the air. Bear growled every few moments just to put the interloper on notice. Ted didn’t open the gate until the animals were tied up.

  “Somebody might call Animal Control on you about those dogs, Opal,” Ted said, trying to sound calm. Ted doesn’t like dogs. Just the sound of Bear’s bark had probably cleaned out his bowels. “They’re vicious.”

  “Did you come here to lecture me on pet control?” I asked.

  Ted started to move up the front walk, but Bear let out such a loud woof that he stopped in his tracks. I smiled.

  “My attorney tells me that we’re divorced,” he said.

  I patted Bear’s huge head.

  “You came over here to tell me that?”

  “He went over the divorce decree with me and I don’t agree with any of it. That cocksucker of a judge must be insane.”

  At the sound of agitation in Ted’s voice, both dogs started barking again. Ted took a hal
f step back.

  “Then you should have been there. You knew when the hearing was,” I told him.

  “It’s not final. I’m having my attorney file a motion to throw it out. I’m not paying you a goddamn dime. And I’m not paying back the money to the university, either. You paid it. Tough shit.”

  I looked at the man I used to be married to. In that split second, I decided not to refer to him as “my” anything ever again, not “my ex-husband,” not “my former husband.” I did not want to have any possession, past or present, of this hateful person. How in the world had I let myself stay tied up to such a piece of manure for so long?

  “Whatever, Ted. There’s a restraining order on you, and right now you’re in violation. So why don’t you get the hell out of here?”

  His eyes narrowed. I could tell that a tongue-lashing was imminent.

  “I don’t give a shit about that goddamn restraining order! If I want to get to you, I can.”

  “Yes, you can,” I admitted to myself as well as to him. “But not today.”

  Bear growled and lunged. Good thing for Ted that the leash held.

  Ted stopped, his eyes widening for a second.

  “It’s a good thing you have those dogs.”

  “Don’t play hard-ass with me, Ted. I just plain don’t give a rat’s behind. I don’t care if you pay the money, I don’t even care if you try to get the divorce decree thrown out,” I said, dragging Bear back from the edge of the porch. “I am never coming back to you. Never.”

  “I was a good husband to you,” he said soberly, changing direction. Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde. “I was trying to make you a good wife.” Make me a good wife. By God, he believed that garbage, too.

  I was starting to “see red” again.

  “How? By blacking out my eyes? Kicking me? You’re full of shit, Ted.”

  His eyes widened. I am not usually so explicit. And I think that Ted expected me to be more demure if he accosted me in person. He was wrong.

  “You always overreact—”

  Whenever someone tells me that I am “overreacting,” he is trying to push me off course.

  I was not fooled and I was tired of this conversation. It wasn’t going anywhere and I had an iced tea to drink.

  “Get the hell out of here, Ted. Before I turn the dogs loose on you.”

  I let out Bear’s leash a little more so that he could gallop down the front steps.

  “Someone should call Animal Control on you!” Ted yelled over his shoulder. “I’ll be back!”

  I watched him walk quickly down the sidewalk and sprint to his car. The tires squealed as he raced away. I am ashamed to say that my knees were shaking. My palms were sweaty and it had nothing to do with the heat.

  “I’ll be back!” Ted had said. “I’ll be back!” He meant it, too. He would be back. Again and again, he would be back. Over and over like rewinding tape, we would play out this scene, using the same words, filled with the same emotions and motivations: Power, fear, control, resistance, manipulation. Rage. I knew that, just as surely as I was standing there, one day Ted would catch me alone, without other people around, without the dogs. And I might get a twisted arm, bruised neck, or black eye.

  Or I might get killed.

  For just a flash of a moment, I doubted myself. Why did I leave Ted again? Look at the mess I had created! Look at the risks I’d taken! Was I any better off? I was still looking over my shoulder. It would never be over.

  How do you move forward when you are always looking back?

  Ted’s visit put me in a “blue” mood that spilled over into my date with Jack. I was so down that I tried to cancel it. Jack wouldn’t let me. I am grateful for that.

  He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, only that it was a surprise. I was a nervous wreck. I didn’t know what to wear, whether to wear perfume or not wear perfume, heels or no heels. Bette, of course, was filled with advice.

  “Poison perfume and a lace thong,” she’d said, her voice dripping with exasperation. “Opal, do I have to teach you how to get in touch with your sensual side?”

  “Noooo,” I told her, laughing.

  Yes, I said to myself soberly as I looked in the mirror for the last time before Jack picked me up. Yes.

  When had I last been sensual?

  As far back as I could remember, I had not had an experience with Ted that could be classified as “sensual.” I was berated. Then we had sex. He twisted my arm. Then we had sex. I remember one notable occasion when we had sex first and then I went to the hospital to have my broken ribs taped.

  It would have been comical if it hadn’t been so tragic. I had rarely ever had sex with my husband without being hit first. The violence aroused him. And sedated me.

  How could such a broken woman have a normal relationship with a man?

  What was normal, anyway?

  I came out of my reverie long enough to notice that none of the scenery looked familiar.

  “Jack, where are you taking me?”

  Jack beamed with a huge Kool-Aid grin from beneath reflective sunglasses on a head as round as a basketball. It was comical.

  “To dinner.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “We have been driving for twenty minutes. There aren’t any restaurants out here. Are there?” I looked around me at the river on my left and the rolling hills on my right. I hadn’t been this far east on Route 10 before.

  “This place is new,” Jack replied turning his attention back to the road, which had two lanes and curved around the steep foothills. “It just opened up.”

  Oh, great, I said to myself. I love food. My hips will attest to that. But I am a wimp when it comes to trying new things. And I don’t like to be a guinea pig for a new restaurant. I wait until they’ve trained the waiters and the chef before I try out a place. I said a little prayer and hoped for the best.

  I shouldn’t have worried.

  Jack stopped at a secluded spot off River Road. It looked like an abandoned rest stop, but the grass had been cut and there were stone picnic tables and a beautiful view of the river through the cluster of willow trees on the bank. The river was wide here and the opposite bank seemed really far away. There were fields on the other side, and in the distance I saw a farmhouse and a barn and what looked like people moving around. It reminded me of the mural on my dining room wall.

  Jack unfolded a chaise lounge and sat me down under a tree as he set the table. I was charmed.

  It was like dining in a French café, with checkered tablecloth, fine wine, crusty bread, and wonderful cheese. He unpacked cloth napkins, silverware, and a bud vase. The roses were compliments of Gloria. We ate Steak Diane (it didn’t matter where it came from; it was delicious), green beans with almonds, and new potatoes. Dessert was fruit and cheese and strawberries dipped in chocolate. Jack fed me the strawberries one by one. Talk about sensual.

  “Congratulations, Opal,” he said, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “Now you are really a free woman.”

  I smiled at him.

  “Thank you, but I know that it’s not over. I still have a few mountains to climb.”

  His expression was solemn for a moment. We had talked briefly about Ted’s threats on the drive over. Jack’s response had been curt.

  “Put the dogs on him. That will make him think twice about coming around.”

  The picture of Ted running for his life with Bear lumbering after him was a pleasant thought.

  But it reminded me of something else.

  “I’m not really a free woman, Jack,” I said, looking out across the river. “I won’t ever be rid of Ted. Ever. Despite the divorce, the restraining order, where I live, you …” My nerve was giving out. I hadn’t wanted to get serious. Hadn’t wanted to drop rain on such a lovely evening and a lovely man. But Jack had to understand what I was up against. Call it truth in advertising.

  A future with me was a futur
e with Ted. What man would want to live with that?

  Jack was quiet as I stammered through my tale of woe. He poured me a glass of water; he passed me a napkin to wipe away the melted chocolate. I finished my rant and waited for him to say, “Too much drama, Opal. I’ll catch you later.”

  Instead, he was silent. That was worse.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” I asked. Now I was frustrated out of nervousness.

  “What do you want me to say, Opal? Adios? See ya? Later? No chance, lady; you won’t get rid of me that easily—”

  “But Ted will always be there. He’s like the Terminator. He won’t stop—”

  “I’ve heard this story before. I’ve seen this story before. Maybe Ted won’t stop. But what are you going to do? Live like a hermit? Locked up in your spooky old house? What kind of life is that? Besides.” He passed me another chocolate-covered strawberry to distract me. It worked. “Moving targets are harder to catch. Keep moving through your life. Don’t stand still for him. Don’t do that.”

  “Don’t do what?” I was happily slurping chocolate off my fingers.

  His dark eyes danced with merriment and he smiled slightly.

  “Don’t lick the chocolate off your fingers like that.” He leaned over and kissed me gently on the back of my neck. I felt that kiss on the bottom of my feet. “Unless you want to do something that will frighten the squirrels.”

  “Quit it,” I threatened him. “We are too old for that stuff.”

  Jack shrugged.

  “OK, not on the picnic table then.” He grinned at me. “How about the backseat of the car?”

  I started laughing and almost couldn’t stop.

  For work, Jack drives the biggest gas-hogging SUV on the road. It is large enough to house a family of four plus a dog. It is black, has tinted windows, and uses diesel fuel, I think, because the air stinks whenever he starts that monster up.

  For pleasure and for tooling around town, Jack drives a vintage fire engine red Corvette. There is barely enough room in it for me to put my purse on the floor.