eleven
Abby had been up before daybreak thousands of times in her life. Much like the plant life she tended, she was used to the sun warming her back and the crisp spring breeze riffling her hair. She knew how it felt to touch dew-kissed petals and cultivate soil for fresh seed to be sown. But rarely, if ever, had she been outdoors at this time of day without a task to manage on the grounds.
She rubbed at the thin fabric covering her arms and forged a trail through the wet grass to a tree she’d been keeping her distance from for the past hour. Griffin was right: She couldn’t avoid the truth forever.
The charred scars of the Y branch that split off from the main trunk, along with the giant slabs of bark scattered across the ground, had been visible even from the other side of the property. But now, up close . . . she reached her hand out, brushing her fingertips along the bubbling, black blisters. A sign that all the gasses inside the sapwood and the heartwood had turned to liquid.
That lightning bolt had been a death strike.
Just like Griffin had told her.
Griffin. He hadn’t come after her. Hadn’t asked her more questions or debated her reasons for wanting to stay at the grounds. He’d simply opened the door and allowed her to walk away. Alone.
He’d driven off in the direction of town soon after, without a good-bye or an explanation of when he might return. He didn’t owe her one. Truth was, he didn’t owe her anything at all.
Another stiff breeze lifted her hair off her neck and across her cheek. She pinned it behind her ear and glanced over her shoulder at the memorial bench several yards out from the oak. She moved toward it as if it were the only answer she could locate for a problem far bigger than she could solve on her own. She tucked her legs under the cold stone seat meant to be a place of reflection, a spot to observe the beauty of the gardens and, of course, the Kissing Tree. But what purpose would this bench serve once this century-old tree disappeared from its sacred home forever?
Abby couldn’t even imagine the scarred ground that would be left in its absence. She hugged her arms around her chest, forming words in her mind she couldn’t yet speak out loud, when another voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Mind if I join you?” A question almost as surprising as the mouth who spoke it: Bradley Malone.
She shrugged and slid to the farthest side of the bench, watching him out of the corner of her eye as the toes of his polished dress shoes pointed at the massive ten-foot scar in the oak’s trunk.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke, yet she couldn’t help but wonder what he must be feeling in a moment like this. After all, he’d been the one pushing for the tree to go, pushing for financial relief at the cost of a premature death. Well, he’d won.
Only nothing about Bradley’s demeanor resembled that of a victor. Oddly enough, he looked deflated, maybe even a bit defeated.
“I know you must think I’m the enemy.” He bent forward, elbows to knees, and clasped his hands together. “And I suppose I haven’t given you much reason to believe otherwise . . . but this is not how I hoped things would end.”
Leery, she gave him another side glance, refusing to appease whatever guilt he was feeling now with platitudes she didn’t mean.
“My hope in starting the repeal process was to eventually settle on a compromise with the council—to transition at least half of the maintenance fees over to the Parks and Recreation Department and to share in the liability the oak’s location represents to the inn. I researched several counties up north of landowners caught in similar predicaments and was impressed by the agreements they reached.”
Startled by his unexpected proclamation, she broke her silence. “But you were the one petitioning for it to be removed so that you could expand and build on to the property—”
“I asked for it to be removed, yes, but only so they would hear my case in person. If I came only asking for money to help with the costs, without any leverage, my request would have been denied immediately. My father tried that approach years ago, back when the financials were half the cost of what they are now. I would like to expand our lodging options one day, but those plans were never the driver behind the repeal, nor were they dependent on the removal of this oak. The north lawn only represents a small fraction of our buildable acreage.”
Her expression was likely equal parts confused and curious. “So why didn’t you say something to us sooner? Why not tell us your real motive for the committee meeting?”
“I couldn’t risk it leaking out. We live in a very small town when it comes to the speed of information travel. Besides, the town’s involvement in wanting to keep it only helped my cause. It’s also why I hired Griff. I knew his bent would be to do everything in his power to keep it healthy.” And then his gaze drifted to a place beyond the charred remains and the fallen branches. To an unknown location she couldn’t see. “I have a lot of good memories in this spot. A few from when I was a boy, goofing off with you and Griff. But others, too.” He pinched his lips closed, breathing through his nose for several seconds. “And a few that are more painful than they are pleasant now.”
Abby thought back to when she’d attended his wedding, six or seven years ago. It had been right here, of course, at the inn. A beautiful catered affair with twinkle lights ribboning throughout the branches of this very tree. A ceremony that matched every perfected detail for two polished professionals. Only, their fairy tale had come crashing down without a happily ever after ending.
He shifted in his seat, straightening out the curve in his spine. “I don’t understand a lot of things about life, but I have learned a few lessons over the last year or so.” He rotated the shiny silver watch on his wrist and fingered the clasp. Abby recognized it as a gift Annette had given him on their first anniversary. “When things feel completely out of my control, my options become very simple: I can either tighten my grip and hang on no matter how much that hold might hurt myself or others, or I can open my fist and trust in a process much bigger than myself . . . and let go.” He unclasped the watch, studied it for several seconds, and then slipped it into his coat pocket, leaving the ghost of an outline on his wrist.
It had been years since she and Bradley had engaged in any kind of interaction beyond the boundaries of an employer-employee relationship, and even in those years, their conversations had often revolved around their differing life goals regarding future plans. But the Bradley sharing with her now was neither an arrogant teenager nor an aloof boss. He was simply a man who had been broken by pain and scarred by loss. Two things her own heart could relate to well. Two things that bonded even the most opposite of personality types.
“I’m sorry, Bradley. For everything you’ve gone through this last year with Annette.” It was the first time she’d spoken those words to him since his divorce had finalized, though she realized now, she should have said them much sooner. Hurt didn’t discriminate in heartbreak. It just . . . hurt.
He glanced at the toe of his shoe and gave a stiff nod in reply. “I’m sorry, too. About the storm. And the tree.” He pointed at the dying oak. “I’m sure this brings up some difficult memories for you. It makes me wonder what Arnie would have done.”
Bradley and his family had known her father for decades—he’d been a man loved by a small circle of friends, and the Malone clan had filled many places in that circle.
She lifted her eyes to the tree once again, letting his thoughtful statement wrap around her heart until it provided a response. “He would say a blessing, for all the years this tree has served our town and for all the years to come without it, and then he would say good-bye in that calm yet heartfelt way of his . . . and then he’d let it go.” Her bottom lip quivered as she thought of her father’s commitment to honor the nature God had created for His children to enjoy.
In her father’s time on this earth, he had planted many seeds. He’d nurtured, tended, and pruned many maturing plants and trees. And he’d reaped a harvest hundreds of times over fr
om the land he’d dedicated his life to. He never questioned the rhythm or cycle of the seasons, nor did he doubt the master plan behind it all. He’d simply accepted life and death as they came—in their due season and in their due time. The very thing she’d struggled to accept for the past two years. A thought struck her then, one that burrowed deep inside her. “I think my dad would want everyone who loved this tree to have the chance to do the same—to say good-bye and look ahead to a new beginning.”
Bradley looked at her, seeming to turn her words over in his own head. “Then I think I should probably make a few phone calls.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes as his meaning became clear. “I’d be happy to make some, too.”
He gave her a single squeeze on the shoulder before he stood and faced the path back to the inn.
“Bradley?”
He twisted back, waited.
“Thank you,” she said. “For this . . . but also for all the decades your family invested in my father’s vision for these grounds.”
“You’re welcome.” He scrutinized her face for a moment more. “Why do I get the sense there might be something more you need to say?”
“Because there is.” On her next exhale, she spoke the words she never thought she’d find the courage to believe. “I think it’s time for me to let go, too. I need to find a vision of my own.”
twelve
Will you meet me at the creek? texted Bee.
Even after several days of living a stone’s throw away from the woman he loved, reading her name light up his phone screen caused his gut to seize. Just like it had when he’d watched her walk out her front door this morning. But if Griffin had learned anything since coming back to Oak Springs, it was that he couldn’t manufacture closure. He couldn’t will it into existence just because it would be easier not to feel the pain.
True closure, it seemed, was a daily walk, the same one Abby had taken for the last twenty-three months, two weeks, and four days.
He watched her now, her elbows pressed against the railing of the ten-foot cedar bridge, while she peered into the water below . . . the same place they’d released her father’s ashes only a month after his funeral. Griffin was close enough to see her lips moving, yet too far to hear the prayer she whispered. A bucket of rocks and debris was propped beside her right boot, evidence of the time she must have spent combing the bank before he’d arrived.
Careful not to startle her, he slipped out of the grouping of juniper trees he’d been stationed near for longer than he realized, and started toward her.
Though he knew Abby tracked him out of the corner of her eye, it wasn’t until he reached her on the bridge that she acknowledged him fully, sliding her open palm toward him on the railing. Both a peace offering and a gift. He wouldn’t take either for granted.
The soundtrack of spring played in the background as his hand enveloped hers. “Abby, I’m sor—”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Griff. For everything I said—for everything I chose to believe about my dad’s treatment decisions. I wasn’t brave enough to ask the harder questions back then, because I was too afraid to hear the answers. I wanted something else—someone else—to blame for my pain.” She interlocked their fingers. “But that’s the risk in loving people. The depth of heartache often matches the depth of the love.”
A profound statement, and yet one he’d done everything in his power to avoid since Arnie’s death. He leaned on the railing beside her, her hand tucked firmly in his. “I convinced myself there were better opportunities for you and me outside of this town. That I’d have a better return on Arnie’s investment in my business while helping you explore your talents in a bigger city . . . but the truth is, I wasn’t strong enough to stay. I wasn’t strong enough to face the grief of a life here without your dad. He was the best man I’ve ever known, Bee. And I’m a better man for having loved him.” And for having been loved by him.
Emotion crept up his throat and stung at his eyes. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel this—these tears, this absence, this overwhelming ache. But this was a part of the journey. He’d wanted to believe that if he wasn’t here, he could outrun it, outlive it somehow. “I was wrong to give you an ultimatum.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another one. “But I can understand why you did.”
“And I can understand why you stayed.”
She twisted to face him, to touch her palm to his damp cheek. “Thank you for coming back, Griff. I needed you to come back.”
“I needed it, too.” More than he could even say. He lifted their joined hands to kiss her knuckles before moving in to press a kiss to her mouth, when he stubbed the toe of his work boot on the mysterious bucket of rocks at her feet. “Mind if I move these?”
“Oh—I forgot those were there.” She bent to reach for the handle, but he beat her to it, waiting on her next instruction.
“Where would you like them? Are these for a new project you’re working on?” He peered into the random collection of rocks, sticks, moss, and sand, and when she didn’t answer him immediately, he glanced up to see her transformed by an emotion he wasn’t sure he could name.
“What . . . what’s that look about?”
“I did it.” She bit her lip as if trying to conceal a smile much too uncontainable to be controlled. “I called the agent and put in an offer on the Smithe Farm.” Her elation was contagious. “I’m ready, Griff. I’m ready to chase a new dream. You helped me see that.”
“You . . . you made an offer? Wow. When? This afternoon?” He could hardly believe it. Abby was many things, but spontaneous wasn’t usually one of them. Then again, she’d obviously been dreaming of that property for quite a while.
The laugh that escaped her made something in his chest pinch. “Yes. A cash offer, pending inspection, of course. Sheryl said if everything goes according to plan, it could close within thirty days.” She pointed to the rocks still suspended in his grip. “And those will be a housewarming gift to myself—I have plans to create a memorial garden with key pieces I find around the grounds where my dad worked.” She touched his arm and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Bradley gave me his blessing to take anything I wanted from the land, as long as I promised to come back and check in on the gardens from time to time.”
Another surprise Griffin hadn’t seen coming. She’d talked to Bradley? Just how many hours had he been away this afternoon? Although, he supposed he had a few things to update her about as well, starting with his offer from Winston. If all went well at his meeting tomorrow afternoon, he hoped it would end with a plan to transition back to Oak Springs permanently by summer.
“I’m so incredibly proud of you,” he said. “And I know Arnie would be, too.”
“Thank you.” She placed a hand to his shirtfront and seemed to consider her next words. “I know there’s a lot of work ahead with removing the old oak, Griff, and I’m prepared to help you in whatever way you need me to, but . . .”
His need to kiss her was growing by the millisecond. “Yeah?”
“I had an idea I’m hoping you might be willing to help me with first. It will likely delay your timeline by a week or so, but I think it’s important for our town to be given the chance to say good-bye to such a significant part of its history.”
The cramp in his bicep might have been reason enough to put the bucket down, but it was the ache to hold the woman he loved in his arms that convinced him to let it go. He drew her close and pressed a kiss to her mouth. “Your timeline is my timeline.”
thirteen
The weather couldn’t have been more ideal for an outdoor event—“a perfect day to shed happy tears,” Gladys had said to Abby when she’d rolled up in her van bearing donuts and to-go coffee for their busy crew. They didn’t have much time to set up between the back-to-back weddings hosted at the inn between Friday night and then again on Saturday afternoon, but Bradley and Annette had each agreed—which might have been a mini miracl
e in and of itself—that this event was too important to their town to decline.
Griff and Jason had worked tirelessly, carrying chairs, tables, speakers, and even creating a platform angled to fit the base of a tree she’d drawn dozens of times as a child from memory. And though today marked the ending of one era, perhaps it also marked the beginning of a new one. A chance for new history to be made, new memories to be penciled, colored, and stuck to refrigerator doors.
“You ready, Bee? The chairs are filling up quickly.” Griff’s voice at her bedroom door bolstered her courage and calmed her nerves. Though her part in the tree’s memorial service was minimal in comparison to Griffin’s, she’d never been a fan of public speaking.
She cracked her door open slowly, stepping out in a turquoise sundress she’d borrowed from Annette’s bountiful closet. It had taken nearly twenty minutes for the bobby pins she’d used to create something that looked less like a work-ready ponytail and more like something semi-elegant she’d done on purpose.
“Wow,” Griffin said, his winsome smile warming her cheeks. “You look gorgeous.”
“I figured a dress would be more appropriate for today than my faded jeans and gardening boots.”
As if that was the only invitation he needed to touch her, Griffin wrapped his flannel-clad arms around her and said, “I fell in love with the girl in the faded jeans and garden boots, so no matter what kind of fancy clothes she puts on for a day, I’ll always be partial to the former.”
She raised her chin to search his eyes, his declaration moving her in a way she hadn’t prepared for. It had been a long time since they’d used the word love in regard to their relationship, and while hearing it now had caused her heart to double in size, she had so many more thoughts than time to articulate them fully.
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