Memory Tree

by Pittman, Joseph

  “Hmm,” she replied.

  “Not quite a word, but I suppose any sound is progress,” he said.

  Since returning to the motel a couple of hours ago, she’d unpacked the groceries, checked on Richie, and then retreated to her room, where, lying on the bed, she relived the exchange at the Trading Post, her thoughts landing squarely on the idea of a date with this Brian guy. She was aware of him—well, she was after talking with Cynthia and Nora that morning at the Five-O, learning he was the uptight proprietor of George’s Tavern, not that she let on that she’d met him or even shared banter with him. No sense encouraging something that wasn’t going to happen. She’d barely given him, or this supposed blind date, a thought since then. She’d come to Linden Corners to help her father’s recovery and maybe begin to repair their relationship; finding a new relationship, and a romantic one at that, was not in the cards. After dismissing the entire afternoon, she’d returned to the kitchen, made dinner, and was sitting quietly at the table while she pushed around the food enough to make it seem like she’d eaten.

  “Waste of food, that’s what that is.”

  “What? I’ve eaten.”

  “You’d have had to open your mouth to do that,” Richie remarked. “Something bugging you, kid?”

  Trina looked up at the man who’d given her life, his sudden use of the word kid taking her back to her early years, when he was still around. He had called her kid almost from the moment she’d been born. She’d once learned it was her pet name while in utero. As far as she could recall, she hadn’t heard it again since, not even this past week. Richie Ravens and Trina Winter had kept a respectful distance when it came to their feelings, leaving any lingering hurts to the past, but not forging any new feelings to make them disappear.

  Setting down her fork, she gazed at her father and said, “I remember you used to call me that. I was Kid Ravens.”

  “Like a boxer,” he said with a laugh. “Your mother said you had a good kick.”

  “Let’s not talk about Mom.”

  He nodded. “I can remember when you called me Dad.”

  “Richie . . . let’s not get into this.”

  “People make mistakes, Trina. Maybe there are second chances. Like you being here.”

  “Someone had to come and help you. I mean, look at you, Richie. You can barely walk beyond the front desk.” She stared at her plate, wondering why she’d made Brussels sprouts. She’d never liked them, and then she noticed not only was his plate empty, but so was the dish she used to serve the vegetable. Did she remember him liking them? “Besides, my being here is not a big deal. End of the year at my job, things were slow, and a leave of absence was no problem. I had a lot of vacation time saved up.”

  “You put your life on hold for me. I can’t ignore that.”

  “You first have to have a life to put it on hold.”

  “You know what I remember most about you?”

  “What’s that?”

  “How you used to run . . . like your little legs were the wheels of a steam engine, powering you to wherever you wanted to go. We had that big backyard and you would run circles around us, with Summer bouncing after you.”

  “Oh wow, I’d forgotten about Summer. He was a good dog.”

  “That dog sure followed you around like a lost . . . well, like a lost puppy.” Richie allowed himself a rare smile, which brought a hint of redness to his sunken cheeks. “There were a few good times, with you and your mother. But not everything can last.”

  “Why didn’t you ever remarry?”

  “Didn’t ever happen,” he said with an aimless shrug. “Guy like me, unlike most people who make the same mistakes over and over again and never seem to learn from them, when I try something and fail, well, I accept those failures and move on. I go the opposite way of others, and instead of looking for answers I go in search of different challenges. One day I found myself stumbling upon Linden Corners and I liked it. It had this innocent charm to it . . . but darned if back then I couldn’t find a place to crash. Thankfully it was summertime and I set up a tent in the woods just beyond the old windmill; used to watch that thing turn for hours.” He paused, his eyes glazing over as though transporting him back to those years. “The cold weather came soon enough, as it does in this neck of the woods. So I needed warmer lodgings.”

  “So that’s why you bought the Solemn Nights? So you had a place to stay?”

  “Bought it? Why, I built it,” he said, the first sign of pride she’d seen in him.

  This man sitting before her, with his leg broken in three places and with a cast signed by few, who lived alone and seemed happy with that, was a sudden surprise to Trina, and she felt remorse wash over her. Perhaps she’d let her mother’s opinion of her ex influence her too much, hearing her refer to Richie as a “crazy old coot who wouldn’t lift a finger for you.”

  “Trina, this is real nice, us talking. I’m glad you’ve opened up a bit, because you’ve been, well, tightlipped since coming to stay with me. More nurse than daughter . . . and . . . No, no, before you protest, just know that I understand. We’re strangers, you and I. And while I’m sure as heck curious about why you took me up on my offer to come to Linden Corners and help me, I’m not going to push the issue. You’ve got decisions to make about your life. I can see that. No one goes on a leave and takes vacation; it’s one or the other, and I’m thinking you’re here because you don’t have that job anymore—which you don’t need to confirm or deny, not now or not ever.” He paused, reaching out a hand to where it lay atop hers. “Whether you’re running to something or just plain running from someone, let me give you a piece of advice.”

  Trina picked at her food, taking a bite of the chicken and deciding she’d used too much lemon pepper seasoning. It had a tartness to it that made the back of her mouth pucker. Or was that because of what Richie had on offer tonight? Fatherly advice, a rare thing indeed.

  “People spend their entire lives looking for their personal grail.”

  “Many people aren’t satisfied.”

  “That’s my point,” he said. “I arrived in Linden Corners, and the strange thing of it is, I, Richie Ravens, found satisfaction. And while this crumbling old motel might not be much, for more than twenty-five years it’s served me well. I meet strangers who need a bed for a night or two, and when they leave, they’re still strangers, and that’s just how I like it. Guess that makes me a loner of sorts, but when I feel the need, there’s this whole crazy village nearby. There are times when I’ll partake of some of the events in town, but always at my choosing. No one asks why, and if I show, I show. My life on my terms.” He paused again, this time staring down at his leg. “Until this. Darn reminder of my own mortality.”

  “Is there a point to this life lesson . . . ?” she asked, stopping the word that nearly emerged from between her lips. Dad. Too soon for her to come around, if at all. He’d always been Richie to her from the moment they’d reconnected after she’d graduated from college. She remembered the card he’d sent her, now thinking it was actually a postcard—of a windmill—and right now she laughed at the idea of his having bought it down at the Trading Post. “Look, I appreciate learning about the World According to Richie Ravens, but I’m not getting the correlation.”

  “It’s Wednesday night, good stuff on the television,” he said.

  “No, thanks.”

  “I wasn’t inviting you. That was my way of giving you the night off.”

  “And what do you propose that I do with my time?”

  “Girl like you, pretty and all, if a bit reserved, if you’re going to hang around town, you might as well make some friends your own age. It’s not the Ravens way, but of course, you’re more Winter than Ravens— your mother and Charles made darn sure of that. And I’m not saying that to make you feel bad or to speak ill of the folks who raised you. . . . It’s just fact.”

  Trina was still questioning where this conversation was leading, and rather than prompt it she opted for silence ag
ain.

  “There’s a nice tavern across from the Five-O. You’d probably meet some people your age.”

  “You too?” she blurted out, unable to hold back her words or her thoughts.

  “Aha, so she does speak,” he said. “Even a recluse like Richie Ravens has his network in this village, and word travels fast in a place like this. Let me tell you something about this Brian Duncan fellow. He is a lucky son of a you know what because he lives in the shadow of that old windmill, and to this day I still can’t imagine a more poetic spot in this mixed-up world. Ask him to show you, Trina, and I think you’ll start to feel some of the magic of Linden Corners.”

  If nothing else, a return visit to George’s Tavern would allow her a chance to relax a bit, knock back a shot like she’d done last week, and as a side benefit she’d be able to have a quick conversation with this Brian guy and tell him that despite his efforts to get the entire town to do his handiwork in asking her out, she could bring about a fast resolution to this rumored date. So she quickly cleaned up the remnants of their dinner, helped get Richie settled down for a couple of hours, telling him to call her cell phone without hesitation.

  “Those newfangled things work in Linden Corners?” he asked.

  “I’m serious, Richie. I’m here to take care of you, not the other way around.”

  He allowed another smile. “That so?”

  Trina rolled her eyes and retreated to her room. She left fifteen minutes later, just before nine o’clock, not bothering to comb her hair or put on a spot of makeup. There was no way she would even give this guy an inch of hope. What was the purpose anyway? It wasn’t like Linden Corners was any kind of permanent home for her. This was a mere visit, extended as it was, to help get Richie, literally, back up on his feet. Come the removal of his cast and the New Year, she’d have that silly windmill in her rearview mirror.

  As she made her way up to the front steps of the tavern, she took a quick gaze inside. There were about ten people there, some at tables and others on the stools in front of the bar, and, yup, behind the counter was the bartender from the other night. This Brian guy. She steeled herself for strength of character, then opened the door and made her entrance, her bit of drama managing to catch the attention of two men at the far end of the bar. One was that old guy, Chet, from the Five-O, and next to him was a sourpuss of a man, probably fortysomething. She was glad she hadn’t done herself up; she didn’t want to encourage anyone.

  “Trina!” she heard.

  Coming back from the jukebox was Sara, a friendly face if ever she needed one.

  “Hi, Sara. What are you doing here?”

  “Mark’s working down at the restaurant tonight and I was hanging out upstairs in our apartment, bored stiff. I mean, the baby was resting, and I really can’t do much around the house but sit around. So why not come down here and join the conversation? Besides, the baby likes the music, he—or she—has been kicking up a storm since I got here. But I could ask the same of you. Is Richie okay?”

  “Gave me the night off.”

  “Good, you need a night out,” she said. “Come on, let’s get you that drink. I’ll introduce you to Brian.”

  Trina paused, giving her cousin-in-law a suspicious look. “Why?”

  “Um, because he’s the bartender and that’s who you get drinks from.”

  Which made her wonder if Sara was not in on this date thing, hoping that was the case. It would be nice to have a friend in her corner within Linden Corners. As they headed toward the bar, Trina noticed Brian pulling at the tap, but when he saw her, his gaze locked to the point that the beer flowed over the top of the glass. The overflow caught him by surprise and he pulled his hand away, the glass slipping out of his hand and falling with a crash behind the bar. Having caught the attention of the entire bar, Brian turned away, Trina thinking he was embarrassed by his lack of focus. But he recovered quickly enough, getting Chet his refill without further incident and then reaching for the bottle of Dewar’s on the shelf behind him. By the time Trina had bellied up to the bar, he’d poured her shot.

  “You remembered,” she said.

  “A good bartender has special powers,” he replied.

  “And slippery hands,” she said.

  “Yes, that takes talent.” He paused and smiled at her, then said, “Welcome back.”

  “Wait, you two know each other?” Sara said.

  “Long story,” Trina said.

  “Long night,” Brian answered.

  Silence hovered inside the bar, nearly palpable between her and Brian. Even the jukebox knew to remain quiet, she surmised, when in reality it was merely changing songs. Some wise-ass customer had chosen Annie Lennox’s “Walking on Broken Glass,” which managed to garner big laughs from the rest of the patrons.

  As the laughter subsided, Trina found all eyes on her as though the gossip network had reached each and every one of them and they were waiting to see what was going to happen next. That was when this clumsy but charming guy named Brian Duncan said, apparently for all to hear, the strangest thing, a compromise.

  “I will if you will,” was what he said.

  CHAPTER 7

  BRIAN

  “Dad, who do you think left you those shiny presents?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Do you think it was this Trina woman?”

  Trying to stifle a laugh, Brian couldn’t help but let it out, wondering in what way Janey was going to work this first-ever date she’d known him to go on into their conversation. “Uh, I hardly think so. She doesn’t know me, and I don’t know her. It’s a bit early for gift giving.”

  He was standing before the floor-length mirror inside his rustic, country-style bedroom, staring first at the stranger he saw, then back at the little girl who watched him get ready. Brian could see a confused look upon Janey’s curious face. He waited patiently, almost expectantly, for the next jewel of wisdom to come from her, mostly because he’d lost patience with the tie he was attempting to wrap around his neck. Once upon a time he’d worn one every day, but after two years he was out of practice. Ties were not exactly standard uniform in the country.

  “If you don’t know her, why are you having dinner with her?”

  “To get to know her. That’s how it works.”

  “You mean dates?”

  “If you want to call it a date, sure.”

  “That’s what Cynthia called it.”

  Brian was hardly surprised by that admission, as an amused Cynthia continued to spread the news about his burgeoning relationship, all while ignoring the subject of her impending move halfway across the country. He had to wonder if this wasn’t part of some master plan concocted on her part to ensure that not only would Janey be well provided for after their departure, but Brian would be too. He had a feeling the Knights were also the ones behind the Secret Santa gifts; nothing else made sense. “Cynthia of all people should know. She’s the one responsible for . . . this night.”

  A newly arrived, cool December Friday night was here, three days since Brian and Trina had agreed to go out while the rest of the tavern patrons looked on, their reason for agreeing to it a common one—to get their friends and families off their backs. They’d spoken on the phone once since that night at the tavern, and they’d decided dinner was the ideal option, leaving Brian to confess to not having had any other ideas. Just where in Linden Corners did one even go on a date? Not the greasy counter at the Five-O, not the postcard rack at the Trading Post, and while Brian had been joking when he’d suggested the latter place, Trina, dead serious, replied, “Please, not Marla’s or Darla’s or whatever that store is called.” To escape prying eyes, out of town they would venture.

  “How about RiverFront?” she’d asked.

  The resort-slash-restaurant down in Hudson. “You sure? That’s where Mark works.”

  “Won’t he be tending bar at your tavern that night? Isn’t that why you’re free?”

  He liked the wily way Trina thought and instantly ag
reed.

  Turning now to Janey, he said, “So, you okay with Sara coming over again to babysit?”

  “I really don’t like that word.”

  Ah yes, independent Janey Sullivan, ten years old and no longer in need of a babysitter. He let it go, knowing a reply was the last thing she expected. Instead, she moved toward his bed, where he’d laid out his suit jacket. She looked at it, then back at him.

  “Too fancy,” she announced.

  “Really?”

  “I suggest blue jeans, a nice shirt, and this jacket. That’s what’s modern.”

  “And how do you know what’s in style these days?”

  “I’ve never seen Mark wear a suit and definitely not a tie, and look at him.”

  Interesting turn of dialogue, he thought, deciding to see where she went with this. Like she was done with Cynthia and was already turning to the young Ravens couple for insight into the world. “So I should take fashion advice from him?”

  “Not fashion advice, dating,” she said, obvious exasperation in her voice. “He won Sara’s heart and they got married and I’ve only ever seen him wearing jeans. Oh, and he doesn’t shave often but that’s okay for him; you look better without whiskers.”

  “Janey, not everyone who goes on a date gets married.”

  She pondered this before quickly adding, “Then why go on it?”

  They’d gone far enough, he thought, and thankfully the ringing of the doorbell saved him from having to explain the rites and rituals of the complex world of dating. As Janey dashed out of the room to see to the person at the door, Brian stared back at himself, reflecting both on his appearance and on his romantic life. It was just two years ago when Janey had heard stories of two of Brian’s previous relationships, both of which had led to engagements, though neither had led to actual marriage. Thirty-six years old now, still unattached, now an unlikely single father going out on his first date in . . . he wasn’t even sure how long. Certainly Trina Winter was his first since Annie, but his relationship with Annie hadn’t really been traditional—dates in the old sense hadn’t really occurred between them, their time together more as friends who quickly slipped into deep commitment. A dangerous word, commitment, and one far from his mind right now. He just wanted to get through this night with the right outfit, one that would allow him to relax and signal to Trina that this was just as they’d agreed upon, casual, no strings, a night out meant to appease their friends more than them.