by Carr, Suzie
“Are you ready for some lunch?” The lady asked them.
“Of course. We’re starved,” the man said, sneaking past me with his hand draped across his lady’s petite back.
“Why don’t you join us for lunch?” she asked us. “Then, you can have a look around.”
My mouth watered at the memory of a table filled with pretty casserole dishes overflowing with bacon, creamed sauces, loaf bread, pastries, and juices. “We’d love to.”
“Do you still have that old, double-barrel woodstove in the basement?” Grampa asked.
“Oh yes. In fact, my beagle, Molly, loves it so much that she spends her nights down underneath it. Sometimes, she comes upstairs glowing.” She giggled. “Would you like to see it while I’m cooking lunch?”
“You bet,” he said, lighting up like a kid seeing his first airplane in the sky again.
“I have a better idea,” I said. “Why don’t we help start the lunch, and you two can go check out the stove?”
The lady looked from me to Grampa and shrugged. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
We whipped up bowtie pasta, marinara sauce, garlic bread, and salad while listening to James Taylor tunes on the old record player still working in the kitchen pantry. The kitchen smelled like a slice of heaven. This kitchen had always been the perfect one to cook in. The pans all hung from the ceiling right above a freestanding island. The lady had the best knives. They could cut through tin cans, I would guess.
The lady kept popping her head into the kitchen to see how she could help, and I kept brushing her away, waving my spatula in the air at her, and telling her to go keep my grampa engaged and happy.
The two of them laughed and chatted with each other in the living room in front of a roaring fire. A few other guests joined them, and they recommended great trails for hiking and great lakes for fishing. Then, my grampa told his famous story about the time he and I were on a hike and came across a cow giving birth. All that blood, the sac, and the mother licking the gooey slime were the grossest things I’d ever seen. Then, I saw that little calf stand up not more than five minutes later and wobble. It looked at its mother and walked to go stand by her side. My grampa hugged me, and I cried. I’d never witnessed anything as beautiful as that.
His voice rose higher. “I told her, sweetheart, you just witnessed a miracle.” The guests oohed and ahhed, and this just kept Grampa going, telling more tales about fishing with sticks when no poles were around, about the time we got lost for nearly three hours in the back woods, and about the time a bear stood not more than fifteen feet in front of us and watched as we inched away. At one point, his voice animated so out of normality that I peeked in on him. I didn’t need him passing out on us.
He sat on a chair waving his arms around telling the guests a story about the time we had a blizzard. It snowed for three days straight, and he had to shovel us out through a window.
My grampa went from a frail eighty-five year old man to a young, vigorous, jubilant man about twenty years younger. His face glowed, his eyes sparkled, his posture straightened. These people loved him. They smiled, nodded, and expressed pure joy from his excitement. I was fifteen years younger looking in on my grampa again, marveling at how he could stir a crowd.
I returned to the salad I had chopped and poured dressing over it. I wondered what kind of person he would be today if he hadn’t sold out on himself.
A few minutes later, we called everyone to the dining table and enjoyed their compliments on the delicious-smelling lunch. We dug in and ate together, laughing and passing each other golden brown garlic bread and dressings and pasta dripping in tomato sauce. Being around people who were rested, peaceful, and excited to spend their day enjoying nature just did something to me that no neck rubbing, no beautiful ocean view, no wind-in-the-hair ride in my Camaro had ever been able to do. I belonged at this table. It grounded me in something beautiful. When I looked over at my grampa and saw him flirting with the pretty old lady with silver hair and laugh lines earned by a full life of smiling, my heart leapt. I was home. The peace and joy of my younger years returned like I had just gone out for a mail check and walked right back in. I tasted the pasta and its tangy flavor. I savored the garlic. I devoured the crisp salad and waited in fruitful anticipation for the tomatoes to squirt their flavor in me and fill me with that delicious homey warmth.
The room filled with laughter and chatter and buzzed with life. These were the good old days. I had forgotten all about this luxury of sitting in one spot for hours enjoying the stories of people from Great Britain and Germany and Colombia. I drank five cups of iced tea in that sitting, and even though I had to pee like no one’s business, I stayed put in that seat because I didn’t want to miss a syllable.
And then suddenly, the room quieted after the German couple finished telling their story about how they lived an entire year traveling in Japan, staying in bedrooms no bigger than broom closets.
The little old lady flirting with my grampa broke the stillness. “Why did you ever sell this place?”
My grampa dropped his smile and fiddled with his napkin a few too many times. I jumped to his rescue. “He wanted someone else to have some fun.”
He looked to me. “That’s right, sweetheart. I chose best.” He turned back to the lady. “You’ve done a great job keeping up this place.”
“It’s a lot. My son-in-law and daughter help me out. And my granddaughter, Eloise, is a God-send.”
“Yeah,” my grampa said shaking his head side to side. “I get it. It’s a lot of work. That’s the reason I sold it. Isn’t that right, dear?” He asked me.
I reassured him with a hand to his wrist. “Absolutely.”
We broke into more idle chatter about farmlands in Colombia and how beautiful the mountains were during their summer seasons and how gigantic the insects grew in all of that open, undeveloped land.
Later that afternoon, Eloise arrived. She was a petite girl who looked about twelve, though we were told was twenty-three. She needed help getting some groceries out of the car. Shawna jumped to her rescue.
When they returned, Shawna popped into the living room. “I’m going to help Eloise with dinner. What do you say you girls go and get us some wine to go with it?”
It didn’t take us long to agree to this marvelous idea. “On our way, I want to show you the apple orchard down the road. It’s breathtaking.” I handed Nadia her coat.
* *
Nadia and I enjoyed the fall afternoon strolling the open paths of the local apple orchard. We walked down a wide path, brushing hands every few feet each holding a basket for the apples. The trees reminded me of cranky old people when they first climbed out of bed in the morning, before they straightened their spines. The branches, knotty and crooked, stood against the backdrop of the perfect blue October sky. Big, red, shiny apples hung on the branches bringing beauty to the worn and battered-looking trees.
Nadia ran ahead of me to a tree. She dropped her basket and started to climb it, bracing her left foot in the crook of a branch and the tree trunk. She lifted herself up and onto the first branch.
A few people dotted the horizon, and a few more scampered around the main building paying us no mind. “I love it. A crazy girl just like me,” I yelled up to her. “You’ll probably get us kicked out before we can pick one of them.”
She climbed up another branch and balanced her feet against two branches that didn’t look strong enough to support her. “Stand right below me, and I’ll toss some to you.” She reached up, and her t-shirt scrunched up with her arms, exposing her tight tummy and her belly button. She picked an apple and tossed it to me. It landed by my foot.
“You’re supposed to catch it,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me.
“Try again,” I said, readying myself for her pitch. She lobbed it down to me, and I hinged my eye on that apple not letting it bypass me this time. I caught it and leapt in the air.
“Good girl.” Nadia winked at me, and we stared at each other, bl
ocking out the rest of the orchard. She tossed apple after apple, and I caught them like a Gold Glove ballplayer each time.
Once my basket was filled, she climbed down and landed in my arms. Her hair hung wildly and blew around her face.
I couldn’t help myself. I kissed her.
Our lips and tongues danced together under the apple tree, catapulting me to levels that opened up the gates to freedom, love, and beauty. “I shouldn’t be kissing you, huh?”
Nadia placed her finger up to my lips. “Words get in the way.”
I looked up at the tree. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
“She sure is sweet.”
“Let’s call her Sweet Tree.”
“Sweet Tree.” Nadia eased into a smile. “What do you say we leave our baskets under Sweet Tree and just walk?” She reached for my hand. “Come on.”
We strolled the orchard fields staring up at the blue sky and being present in the moment. Her hand softened in mine, warming my core, filling me with love and gratitude.
We circled the orchard three times, and I eventually led her back over to our Sweet Tree. We sat with our legs touching, our hands still entwined. “Something about fresh air brings back great childhood memories,” I said.
“Tell me about your childhood.” She scooted closer. “Tell me what excited little Ruby did when she was a young girl.”
I stared off to the horizon. Nadia’s eyes followed me. She feathered my hand. No one had ever asked me about my childhood. Up until that moment, I was happy about this. Now, I just wanted to tell her everything. She helped ease me into this state of safety that I didn’t fear. It was the most beautiful feeling.
A smile sprung on my face. “I loved the fall. We’d get guests traveling in from all over the world to see the foliage. Each morning, the guests would gather out on the patio and huddle around the fire pit to drink their morning coffee and talk about how rested they felt and how comfortable the mattresses were. I loved this small talk. I loved seeing strangers come together to share stories and laughter. I would sit and sip my hot cocoa with marshmallows and giggle to myself over how some just looked so shackled to their rigid lives, and in a matter of moments, as the north wind blew in across the fields, their whole personas shifted. They became softer, flexible, and unrestricted from the heavy weight that they carried in just a day before. My grampa would call this first coffee morning the ‘shedding period.’ The next morning he named the ‘bonding period.’ That’s when the same people came and picked up the same mug they used the day before and sat in the same spot they sat in the day before. They bonded by breaking the routine of the previous day by delving into questions. Before long, two hours passed, two or three cups of coffee were drunk, and these people were showing off photos of their kids, grandkids, dogs, neighbors, you name it.”
Nadia kissed my neck and lingered a moment. “You smell so pretty.”
“What are you doing?” I leaned into her.
Nadia pulled away and lay back on the grass, stretching her arms overhead, exposing her belly again. “Tell me the reason why you left this place.”
I lay down too and extended my hands overhead so one would lie close to hers. I swaddled my hair to my neck, to the same spot she had just been kissing, and curled up my lashes to her. “Let’s just enjoy this moment. We’ll talk about that some other time.”
“You’re just going to leave me hanging?” She tapped her finger to my nose.
“Yup.” I propped up on my knees and plucked an apple up from the basket and handed it to her. She bit into it and offered me a bite. We crunched into the juicy Macintosh until we bore down to its core. “I want more.”
I reached in and plucked up another. We took turns feeding each other the apple, enjoying the warm sun and the romance of leaves blowing around. The leaves were just starting to peak with their shades of burnt orange and red. The air smelled like an old fashioned penny candy store, earthy and delicious. I fed her another bite. She crunched down hard. Juices squirted every which way. I started to wipe them away with the tip of my finger when her cell rang.
Nadia ignored it. “It’s probably Jessica.”
“Get it. I’ll give you some privacy.”
“She’s not ruining this moment.”
It stopped ringing.
We continued chomping and then it rang again. “I know you want to answer it. So go ahead.”
She glanced at her cell. “It’s not Jessica. Not sure who it is.” She answered with a sigh. “Nadia Chase.”
“Nadia. This is Robby,” he said.
I could hear him, clear as day.
“Robby?” Nadia asked.
“I know. This is awkward.”
“Yeah. A little.”
“Listen, I’m calling about Jessica. She fell and twisted her ankle. She’s at the hospital getting x-rays.”
Nadia’s face turned white. “How do you know?”
“They tried to call you, but you didn’t pick up so they called me.”
“Why would they call you?”
“I’m the next one listed as her emergency contact.”
Nadia arched her face in pain. This tore at me too. My tongue swelled, and a series of prickles surfaced on my skin.
She paced in wide circles. “Have you been visiting her this whole time?”
“Yes. Of course I thought she might’ve told you by now.”
I cringed for Nadia. I bowed my head pretending I couldn’t hear a thing.
Nadia stood with her hand on her hip. “Is she okay?”
“She’ll be fine. I’ll have her call you when she knows for sure it’s just a twisted ankle.”
She hung up and held the cell to her chin. She turned to me. “She’s totally having an affair on me with her ex.”
“Well how do you know for sure?”
“Jessica never once mentioned that he visited or that he is her emergency contact after me. Who puts an ex as an emergency contact? And, I didn’t even know she still spoke with him. What a fool I am. This whole time I stayed true to her. Meanwhile her ex-boyfriend steps in like a freaking superhero for her. Her ex is the one who calls me to tell me my wife is hurt?”
I walked over to her. “Do you want to head back to Connecticut tonight?”
She tossed her half-eaten apple into the nearby woods. “She just twisted her ankle. Robby can ice it for her.”
We walked back to the checkout station carrying our baskets of apples. I should’ve consoled her by advising her not to jump to conclusions. Instead I joined the silence, seemingly consenting to the sentiment that her wife turned into a no-good cheater and she could do so much better without her.
“Don’t mention this to anyone. I just want to enjoy the peace of this paradise before I have to deal with my future.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
* *
We returned to The Rafters with several large bottles of wine. Shawna took them from me and raised her eyebrow in question. I rolled my eyes. “I was a perfect lady.”
“Me too,” Nadia said, winking and tilting her head over towards Eloise who stood before the big wash basin sink and scrubbed dishes.
“She’s shy,” Shawna said, “However, I’m getting her to open up a little.”
“Oh really?” Nadia nudged her.
Shawna flushed red and headed over to her.
Grampa then walked into the room. “Let’s take a walk you and I,” he said.
Nadia brushed us off. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine. I’ll do some reading.”
So, Grampa and I went for a walk to the top of our favorite hill. We sat together and picked at the dandelions.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked.
“Whatever you’d like, Grampa.”
“Something’s been bugging me since before we left on the trip. Something you said about your mother.”
I don’t want to talk about my mother right now.” I would not ruin this trip by talking about her.
“You’re angry with
her, and I want to understand why.”
I shifted and tore at a patch of weeds. I pulled out the roots and flung them down the hill. “There’s no reason to bring that up.”
“I’m bringing it up because I’ve never seen you so wound-up about her before. What happened?”
“Grampa, you loved her. I don’t want to tarnish that with my opinion of her.”
“You never talk to me about her. Never. Not even when you were little. Why? Why are you so hesitant to talk about her to me? Maybe I need to talk about her sometimes.”
I stared into his eyes and saw hurt and sadness. “Your opinion and mine are far different. You think of her as sunshine and happiness.” I hesitated. I figured I owed Grampa this conversation at some point. “I see rain and clouds. She feared her husband and allowed him to rule our world. She walked around with that spatula of hers singing folk songs, and then in the next breath, I’d catch her crying in the corner of the pantry. I could never understand why she didn’t just pack our bags and leave. She was so weak. So pathetically weak. This pissed me off. Then I came to you, and you always spoke so highly of her. How could I ruin that impression now that she’s dead?”
“Your mother was a wonderful person who ended up loving the wrong person.” His voice shook.
“My mother lived as a desperate, scared, weak fool.” I couldn’t help snapping. “You always painted this picture of her as a martyr. I never wanted to ruin that for you, but maybe it’s time I do. Maybe it’s time you learn the truth that she kept us imprisoned in that house with a man who abused her. She allowed this like we deserved nothing better. She clung to this stupid love, and for what?”
“Do you think I never knew that?”
“Did you?” How could he just sit idle?
“Ruby, dear, you’ve got it wrong about your mother. She didn’t cling like a desperate fool. She didn’t settle. She fought. She planned. She strategized.”
The air short-circuited between us. “How can you say that?”
“Your mother was just waiting for the right moment to safely exit. She planned your escape to The Rafters. She told me you were all excited about coming.”