Memory Tree

by Pittman, Joseph

  “Wait, Mom, what was that?”

  “I said, on the contrary. Your father and I are very much looking forward to seeing you. Your . . . farmhouse, do you call it? We think it needs something more than you and Jane, a shot of family.” She paused. “And speaking of Jane, my goodness, she must be growing so.”

  “Yeah, that she is,” he said, quickly noting his mother’s continual refusal to call Janey by the name she preferred. Like it was Didi Duncan’s decision what a young girl she barely knew should be called. “In fact, Janey’s right here with me, getting ready for breakfast. Oh, I forgot to heat the grill . . . wait, Mom . . . hang on . . . ,” he said, turning back around to flip the switch on the grill while batter congealed like a blob on the griddle’s surface. He scraped it off, stirring the pancake batter again, nearly dropping the phone. “Oh, crap . . . I mean, darn . . .”

  He heard a giggle escape Janey’s lips. Yes, he’d said a bad word. He shrugged her way.

  “Brian, I can hear you’re very busy. We can talk later. But I wanted to let you know to expect us around the fifteenth of the month. Is that okay? I assume you have room for us at your, uh, what do you call it?”

  “It’s a farmhouse, Mom. But usually we just call it home.”

  He was amazed he could get such a dig in at her, still reeling from the fact that they were arriving on the fifteenth. That meant they would be staying here under the same roof for at least ten days, more if they stayed through New Year’s. He hadn’t spent that much time with his parents in years, probably not since he was still in high school—half his life ago. An odd concept, he thought; they were his parents but he wondered how much he really knew them as people, how much they knew him. He supposed he was going to find out. “Uh, sure, Mom, you’ll arrive just in time for some of our big traditions—like cutting down the Christmas tree up at Green’s Tree Farm and of course the annual tavern Christmas party that I throw in George’s honor, the Christmas Eve pageant . . . you’ll get more than your share of Linden Corners’ cheer.”

  She paused, as though taking it all in. “We look forward to it.”

  You do? He was glad his surprised mind kept those words trapped and didn’t filter them down to his loose tongue, lest his mother believe she and his father were not welcome. They were; he’d been extending an invite since two Thanksgivings ago, and they had yet to take him up on his offer. Until now, strangely. And if truth were known, he didn’t recall extending a specific invite for this Christmas, having given up on them after this past Fourth of July. What was different now?

  “Can you put Dad on? I just want to make sure he’s not being blackmailed or something,” he said, his tone light.

  There was hesitation on the other end before his mother said, “He’s resting.”

  Brian felt an unsettled feeling sweep over him. “Hey, Mom, is everything all right?”

  “Of course, dear,” she said in her usual toneless way. “Why would you think otherwise?”

  Because Dad was resting this early in the morning; hadn’t he just woken? Kevin Duncan was a big man, in both size and personality, and he wasn’t known for his “napping” at any point in the day. But Brian decided not to return her volley. He figured he’d find out soon enough what was going on, just two weeks to prepare the house, and even more so, prepare himself mentally. “Okay, so it’s settled. Janey and I will see you both on the fifteenth. We can’t wait to show you around town,” he said. “And just think, you two will finally get to see the windmill up close.”

  Didi Duncan had already hung up, leaving Brian wondering if he’d heard her good-bye while he’d been speaking of his beloved windmill. He knew his mother had never understood his decision to forge a new life in Linden Corners, even before the tragedy that had taken Annie from their lives. It was the ever-present spinning sails of the windmill that kept her spirit alive and, as such, kept Janey’s and his bond as tight as could be. As he replaced the receiver, he stole a look out the kitchen window and caught sight of the old mill, its sails gently turning. For a moment he thought back to the secret surprise Christmas gift he’d received last week, hidden away inside the windmill until December twenty-fifth, as the card dictated. Looked like that unforeseen gift wasn’t the only surprise this holiday.

  “What do you think of that, Janey, my parents staying with us for two weeks?”

  He realized he was speaking to an empty kitchen, as Janey was nowhere to be found.

  Pancakes were bubbling up on the griddle and the bacon was now soggy with grease.

  “Janey . . . ? Hey, Janey . . .”

  He turned off the sizzling griddle and went into the living room, it, too, empty. Had she gone back upstairs, maybe to shower? But why not tell him? He took the stairs two at a time, feeling like his feet barely touched the creaky wood. He found the door to her bedroom closed, so he knocked, waited patiently for an answer. There wasn’t one, so he tried again. And again, no response.

  Uh-oh, he thought.

  If he knew one thing about Janey Sullivan, it was this: if something was bothering her, she closed up tighter than an alligator’s mouth. Her bite could be something fierce too. But he’d also learned not to let these infrequent bouts of withdrawal linger, so he turned the knob of her door and entered her bedroom. Her room, but he was the parent. He found Janey lying on the bed, fisted hand giving her chin a place to rest. She was staring at the head of the bed, her eyes zoned in on her stuffed purple frog, which sat upright on her pillow. He eased himself down on the edge of her bed, resting his hand against her back.

  “You want to tell me why you ditched breakfast?”

  “You were busy.”

  “I was multitasking, yes.”

  “You don’t do that well,” she said, and while it was true, the comment wasn’t meant to be funny.

  “Are you okay with my parents visiting? You haven’t said much about it since I got the call on Thanksgiving.”

  “It’s okay. I know you’ve been wanting them to come visit.”

  “Yes, that’s true. And I’m going to need your help.”

  She paused, turned away from the frog, and looked up at him. “Why me?”

  “Well, this is your home. You have to make them feel welcome.”

  “You live here too.”

  “Yeah, but you came first.”

  Her eyes darted toward the far end of the room, Brian’s eyes following them. Hung up on the wall were Christmas presents from last year, portraits of both Annie Sullivan, her mother, and Dan Sullivan, her father, the former of whom she remembered every day, the latter of whom she’d lost at such a young age she barely knew anything about. Brian had discovered the portraits inside the drawers of Annie’s studio inside the windmill; Annie had of course been the artist behind them. The fact that Janey’s gaze fell upon them was not unusual, especially since here was Brian, thirty-six, fortunate enough to still have his parents part of his life, while Janey did not. Sometimes life was unfair. Sometimes he was amazed at Janey’s resilience. This moment wasn’t one of them.

  “Tell you what. I’ll make a fresh batch of breakfast; then we’ll eat,” he said. “And don’t forget, today is Sunday, and that means we get to spend the entire day together. Mark’s got the bar tonight.”

  “Um, do you think we can change those plans?” she asked.

  “I guess. Why? What’s up?”

  “I want to go see Cynthia and little Jake,” she said.

  Brian nodded. If that was what she wanted, that was fine. The Knights’ big announcement about moving hadn’t received much play either in the last few days, Janey barely saying a word about it. Like she didn’t believe it, and Brian didn’t blame her; he wasn’t sure he did either. A great new job for Bradley was on offer, a chance of a lifetime for them all. Those were all the pat words expressed Thanksgiving night, but with everyone around, Brian hadn’t had a chance to get the real story. Cynthia Knight leaving Linden Corners was like the wind no longer coming to visit, rendered impossible by nature itself. But a
ll that could wait. Janey could have her day with them and he could get some repairs done down at the tavern, recalling the creaky wood floor. But he told Janey that he expected her back for dinner and she easily agreed. Brian left, returning to their spoiled breakfast, doing what he could to rescue its charred remnants. Janey arrived at the table not five minutes later, her familiar purple frog dangling from her hand. She set it on one of the place mats before she went digging inside the cabinet, withdrawing a bottle of maple syrup.

  “Let’s have the real stuff today,” she said. “You know, the kind we bought in Vermont on my birthday weekend last month.”

  He looked down at the fresh order of pancakes, turned one, satisfied with its brown coating but little else. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, his tone not unlike his mother’s.

  He’d gone cold with worry about Janey and ran through all that had happened already on this day. Portraits of her departed parents acknowledged, check. Stuffed purple frog she’d had forever clutched close to her, check. Mention of her recent birthday, check. Janey was sending out signals Brian could hardly miss, reminding him that while he was her guardian, her surname was indeed Sullivan, not Duncan.

  Brian had learned a lot about little girls in the two-plus years in which Janey Sullivan had been in his care, and the most important one was when she needed the attention of a mother figure. So when she grew silent around him and then moments later passed up their usual day together and asked to see Cynthia, he didn’t put up an argument, nor did he feel slighted. Brian Duncan knew the need would only grow exponentially as she stretched toward her teen years, and he realized he’d have to find a new role model for her.

  Cynthia Knight wouldn’t be around every day like she had been.

  Even without this supposed move, little Jake would grow up to be big Jake and he’d need Cynthia’s attention, and that was if they didn’t add to their family with another child. Perhaps it was a good thing his parents were coming to visit; perhaps Janey and his mother could establish a bond both could benefit from. Janey had a way of warming even the iciest of personalities, the thought leaving Brian with an image of Didi Duncan on one of the cruises she enjoyed. Iceberg, meet ocean liner. He laughed it off, knowing he was being too harsh.

  After dropping Janey off at Cynthia’s, he’d driven to downtown Linden Corners, done some needed shopping at Ackroyd’s Hardware Emporium, and then stopped at the Five-O for a tuna fish sandwich, wishing it was a BLT; he’d already had some bacon today, burned as it was. He forewent eating at the counter, not really in the mood for Martha’s twisted humor, and took his food to go, crossing the street and unlocking the front door to George’s Tavern, where, between bites, he screwed in the fresh lightbulbs he’d just bought. It was still an hour before the bar was set to open for the night, and even so, it was Mark’s shift at the bar, as Brian always spent Sunday with Janey. Except today, and so to fill the empty time he wiped down the bar and mopped the floor and got the beer taps gleaming underneath the new bulbs, deciding the wood floor required a major investment. A soft glow caught his eye and he suddenly found himself thinking about Christmas lights. He usually waited until the first of December—now just days away—to put up the holiday lights around the perimeter of the building. He had them in the back of the truck, along with the staple gun, leaving him to realize he could get started now.

  But he wasn’t feeling very full of holiday cheer, and besides, the afternoon had started to grow darker with each passing minute. By the time he got the ladder up and began the work, the sky would have embraced night. Last thing he needed was to fall off the ladder and end up like poor Richie Ravens down at the Solemn Nights. So instead, Brian did an unusual thing. He opened early by turning on the outside lights and flipping the CLOSED sign to OPEN. He grabbed one of his freshly laundered aprons and tied it around his waist. Might as well make some money; nothing else to do. Maybe he’d call Cynthia and see about having Janey stay for dinner after all. He could call Mark too, and tell him not to rush back from his waiter job down at the resort in Hudson.

  He was about to place both calls when the front door opened and in stepped an unlikely but welcome patron.

  “Nora, what are you doing here?”

  “I think I could ask the same of you. It’s Sunday, right?”

  “Yes. Which means I’m not supposed to be here. Let me guess—you come in when I’m off to drool over Mark like all the other girls in town.

  “Hardly. Things were super quiet at the store,” she said, “and I saw the light go on and thought a glass of red wine might be nice. Even the red wine you serve here.”

  “Always nice to be appreciated,” he said.

  He went around the bar, poured her a glass of merlot, set it before her while she sat on one of the round stools. She swiveled around on it, checking out the otherwise empty, silent bar. He’d forgotten to plug the jukebox in, and it stood quiet in the corner, ignored. He noticed her look back at him, her expression filled with judgment.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” she offered.

  “With tips like that, I think I need a new profession.”

  “You do anyway, Brian,” Nora said. “You need a whole new life, in fact.”

  Okay, that cut deep, he thought. “So glad you came by.”

  “Sorry. It’s just . . . well, Janey had other things to do today. But not you. You’re in a rut.”

  “You want to explain that one?”

  “Do I really need to?” she asked, her green eyes wide open.

  “I could say the same for you.”

  “Uh-uh, my issues are so last year. Travis and I came home to Linden Corners, even if it was the last place I wanted us to come to. But the transition has gone well enough—the business is fine, and Travis has adapted nicely to his new school. We’ve even managed to not put on any extra weight despite living with my mother.”

  “And you have a new relationship to boot,” Brian said.

  She drank deeper from her glass, the usual firewater he served in place of decent wine suddenly like top-shelf champagne. “I thought we were talking about your life, or lack thereof. Where’s Janey today anyway? Don’t you two usually spend the whole day together? I bet that big field of yours is littered with leaves.”

  “The raking can wait,” he said, “since there’s no snow in the forecast again. Tomorrow’s supposed to be a high of fifty.”

  “Happy holidays,” Nora said with a raise of her glass.

  “Anyway, Janey is with Cynthia.”

  “Not surprising, considering all that’s going on with the Knights,” she said. “You know, I spoke with Cynthia yesterday; we met for coffee across the street at Martha’s. And we were introduced to the most charming young woman, actually. You’d like her.”

  Brian was half listening while he poured a bucket of ice into the large sink before him, readying it for the case of warm beer at his feet. He stopped, bucket in midpour and some cubes missing their target, and looked up at his friend. “I’m sorry, what did you say? Wait a minute—is that what you meant by a new life? Nora, please tell me you didn’t . . . uh, initiate anything.”

  “Of course I didn’t,” she said.

  “Good. That’s the last thing I need . . .”

  “Cynthia did,” she said, an amused look crossing her face.

  He set the bucket down, leaned over the bar. His fingers toyed with the stem of her glass, the thought of polishing it off within easy reach. Yet, aside from one beer he’d had two summers ago, Brian Duncan hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since before his bout with hepatitis a few years back. It was an illness that had started him off on this journey, and while he was physically fine, its yellowing effects lingered long in the mind. He’d moved on from that life in New York, from Maddie Chasen, whom he’d once loved until her betrayal, and found a new life in Linden Corners. And now that carefully constructed foundation of his was seeing its first crack.

  “Cynthia did. How interesting,” he remarked. “Is that what the two of you do
when you get together? Talk about my love life?”

  “It would be a quick conversation if we did,” she said with an easy laugh. “And, no, Brian, what happened all came about innocently enough. We were simply talking about her and Bradley’s big announcement. I mean, this is a whopper, a whole new life change for them.”

  “One Cynthia really didn’t want to get into much after Bradley told us all.”

  “Maybe it hasn’t sunk in with her yet,” she said, “though we’re going to have to face facts, Brian. They are leaving, first of the year. Cynthia’s been a rock for Janey and someone’s going to have to pick up the slack. And you know that I’ll do what I can, and so will my mother, but Cynthia’s different; she knows her so well, and she also knew . . .”

  “Annie,” Brian said. “I know, Cynthia was Annie’s best friend, Janey’s last link to her past.”

  Nora emptied her glass, pushed it forward for a refill. Brian took care of her, then poured himself a glass of seltzer and splurged by dropping a slice of lime into the bubbles. “So you think the solution to this dilemma is to find me a new mother for Janey, and this supposedly charming young woman you met at the Five-O is the answer to my prayers?”

  “We’re certainly not planning a Christmas wedding—we did that last year,” she said. “Nor are we looking to replace Annie in Janey’s heart. But, Brian, when’s the last time you went on a date?”

  “When was the Truman administration?”

  “You’re hardly that old,” she remarked.

  “I know, that’s why I asked you.”

  “Ouch. Brian Duncan takes off the gloves,” she said, amusement in her voice.