Beneath the Night Tree

by Nicole Baart

  “Don’t tag along anymore.”

  I held my breath, knowing that my answer couldn’t be lightly given. Deep down, I understood that Michael’s request was wholly justified. If the situation were reversed, I’d loathe any woman who spent time with my fiancé. But I was reluctant to give up my outings, my fun with the boys.

  “Okay,” I finally agreed, though I worried my promise didn’t carry much conviction. “Parker can hang out with the boys. I’ll stay out of their way.”

  “Thank you,” Michael said, though he still sounded peeved. “And there’s something else you need to do too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “By this time next week, I need you to figure out how this is going to work. How we’re going to work.”

  I could have played dumb, but I knew exactly what he meant.

  It was time to make some very tough decisions.

  We said the requisite I love yous, but they sounded forced and rote instead of heartfelt. Michael and I rarely, if ever, fought, and as I snapped my phone shut and dropped it into the pocket of my hoodie, I felt a wave of nausea roll through me like a tide. Mrs. Walker had assured me months ago that every bride-to-be went through this. That prewedding jitters were simply a part of the marital equation. She even admitted that on the morning she was supposed to marry Mr. Walker, she had been gripped by the almost-overwhelming urge to get in her car and drive. Just drive away like some girl in a movie instead of the strong woman of God I knew she was. Of course, she hadn’t driven away. She had stepped into her gown, sat quietly while the hairdresser swooped her pretty waves into something that resembled a beehive, and walked down the aisle on her father’s arm. In nearly thirty years of marriage, she had never looked back.

  Differences and spats notwithstanding, I would do the same. Though instead of my dad, Grandma would walk me down the center aisle of Fellowship Community. Or I’d walk her. A smile split my tight-pressed lips at the thought of Grandma and me clinging to each other as we made our way down a petal-strewn path.

  “Good talk with Michael?” Grandma asked, coming up behind me. She had been wandering the yard in her slow, dawdling way, pausing to admire the buds on the trees and the evidence of new life as she went. I had watched her when she set out after supper, marveling at the way her strength grew every day but unable to suppress a surge of disappointment at the fact that she was still, and forever, changed. Gone were the days of dropping to her knees so she could give the flower beds a quick weeding.

  “Yeah,” I managed, though it was apparent from the way her eyes narrowed slightly that my attempt at blithe deception had no effect on her.

  “Wedding jitters?”

  “No,” I told my perceptive grandmother, at once dismayed and comforted that she knew me so well. “No cold feet here.”

  “I have cold feet,” she laughed.

  “I didn’t realize this was a discussion about circulation.”

  “It’s not.” She linked her arm in mine and leaned into me. We were so used to walking like this that it felt only natural to have her hand tucked in the crook of my elbow. Matching our steps was effortless, and when Grandma tugged a little in the direction of the grove, I was already angling my steps that way. “And it’s pretty typical that you and Michael aren’t seeing eye to eye right now,” she continued.

  “Our disagreement is less about the wedding and more about . . .” I trailed off, wondering if I wanted to admit that Parker was the linchpin in our uncharacteristic quarrel. It made me shy somehow to admit it, to say his name out loud and paired with Michael’s as if they carried the same weight. They didn’t. Michael was going to be my husband. Parker was just the guy who played daddy to my boys.

  My heart lurched inside my chest at that thought. Was that really how I felt about Patrick Holt? I didn’t think so, but I knew instinctively that he would be devastated to learn that I considered his interactions with my boys merely a game—even if it was only for an instant.

  “I don’t know,” I said finally. “There’s just a lot to think about.”

  “Simon,” Grandma said, ticking off his name on her finger.

  I nodded.

  “Me.”

  I kissed her forehead to let her know exactly how I felt about her.

  “And . . . Parker?”

  “Him, too,” I agreed. “Michael actually thinks that Parker is spending too much time with us.”

  “With the boys?”

  “With me.”

  Grandma’s sideways glance was multilayered and unfathomable.

  “You think I spend too much time with Parker?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then what was the look for?”

  She smiled at me and patted my hand where it rested against her own fingers. “You have a lot to think about, Julia.”

  I threw back my head. Gave a sour, abrupt laugh. “Tell me about it. What are we going to do?”

  “It’ll come to you,” Grandma said, still smiling in an impossible, self-satisfied way. “The answers are just around the corner.”

  I wanted to bite back, to tell her that her tidy solutions seemed light-years away. But just as I was about to say something caustic, we did indeed round a corner and stumbled upon a sight that wiped any thoughts of Michael and weddings or Parker and fatherhood from my mind.

  At the edge of the clearing where our night tree still stood sentinel, Simon and Daniel had found their way into the Adirondack chairs. They were sprawled across the curving wood, long limbs wrapped in torn jeans and arms bare beneath the ragged lines of faded T-shirt sleeves. Simon’s dark head was tilted toward Daniel’s blond one, and as Grandma and I watched, Simon pointed out something at the top of a nearby tree. Daniel spotted it. His profile reflected the sunset blush of fascination, and his lips parted in an exuberant grin when the woodpecker we couldn’t see began his furious rat-a-tat-tat high in one of our oaks.

  “They’re such a pair,” Grandma murmured, tightening her grip on my hand.

  “They are,” I agreed. “Brothers.”

  At least that was one decision that no one had to make. Some things just fell on you. Like light. And love.

  And apparently, brotherhood.

  Balance

  When Parker came on Saturday, he was cheerfully ignorant of my conversation with Michael and the repercussions it would have for our evolving relationship. We had lived the past several months in a comfortable and predictable routine of platonic interaction, and when he walked in the door just after breakfast without knocking, it struck me that we had indeed taken liberties with each other. He greeted my grandmother with a kiss and wordlessly teased me about my two-inch ponytail by giving it a friendly tug.

  “Where’re the boys?” he asked, craning his neck so he could see into the living room. It was empty.

  “Outside.” I moved around the table in one discreet motion, putting a little distance between us so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch me again. Even if it was only the razored edge of my hair.

  Grandma had advised me to be honest with Parker, to tell him that our interactions made my fiancé uncomfortable. But I opted for a more hold-your-tongue-and-delicately-disengage approach. All I had to do was convince him that I was busy whenever he was around. Of course, he could still hang out with the boys. At least until we made the move to Iowa City.

  And we would all be making the move. Somewhere around 2 a.m. I had determined that once and for all. Michael and I would just have to make do in a two-bedroom apartment until we could find something bigger. Maybe we could rent out the farm and use the income to pay for the mortgage on an actual house. I didn’t know how Grandma would feel about my master plan, as I hadn’t yet informed her. But her inevitable protestations were a moot point. We had switched roles. It was now my job to care for her, right? She couldn’t make it here on her own, and there was no way I was sending her off to some old folks’ home. No way, nohow. I refused to separate the boys who had become brothers, and I wasn’t about to allow my
grandmother to spend her twilight years without a family.

  All that was left to do was convince everyone in my life—Michael, Grandma, Daniel, and Simon—that my decision was the right one. Parker’s reaction to our imminent departure never even factored into my thinking.

  “The boys are outside?” Parker parroted, oblivious to the inner dialogue that made it hard for me to concentrate.

  “It’s supposed to be in the low seventies today.” I was only repeating what the meteorologist had predicted on the radio a half hour before, but Parker grinned at me like I had personally orchestrated the gorgeous weather with a casual flip of my fingers. It was hard not to smile back. “They weren’t going to miss a moment of sunshine.”

  “Me, either,” he enthused. “I didn’t see them when I drove up, so let’s go find them and take off. We can get our fishing in before lunch, and if the sunshine holds, we could head down to the state park and walk a few trails when we’re done.”

  “You’re feeling ambitious today,” Grandma commented, a sparkle in her eye.

  “Maybe I could start a fire,” Parker continued. “Show the boys how to roast the fish we catch.”

  I couldn’t stop the snort that escaped my lips. “You do that? Seriously, Parker. Who does that?”

  “I do.” He rapped his chest with his fist proudly. “You don’t even have to fillet them. Just gut ’em, jab ’em on a stick, and roast ’em over the fire.”

  “That’s gross.”

  “You’re going to love it,” he taunted. “I can even teach you how. Just a little slit from the tail to the—”

  “Stop it!” I screeched before he could go into specifics. “I don’t want to hear about your penchant for mutilating fish.”

  Parker laughed and reached across the table for the cuff of my corduroy jacket. “Let’s go. We’re going to have to stop at the gas station and pick up a bundle of wood. And maybe some Gatorade or water bottles for the cooler. Snacks? For those of us who have an aversion to food the way God intended it to be eaten . . .”

  He jerked on my sleeve, waiting for me to come around the piece of furniture I had so intentionally placed between us, and follow him out the door like I usually did.

  Usually. The word stung a little because it was true. I had given Michael the impression that I sometimes went with Parker and the boys on their excursions. But the truth was, I usually went. The evidence was written all over Parker’s face. He was waiting for me to fall in step behind him. To pick out bottles of Gatorade and packages of Little Debbie snacks while he gassed up the car and filled his trunk with firewood.

  “I’m not coming.” Even to my own ears my declaration was laced with disappointment.

  “Why not?” Parker looked stricken.

  “I have lots to do today.” My eyes shot to Grandma, but she turned away when I caught her gaze. No help there. “The boys are really looking forward to some time alone with you.”

  “Oh.” Parker let go of my jacket and brought his hand to his face. “Is it the fish? Because I promise I won’t make you touch them.”

  “No, it has nothing to do with the fish.”

  Though I didn’t mean for my comment to be rude, Parker seemed taken aback. He rubbed his chin, scratching the stubble that he had neglected to shave off this morning and then running his fingers through his sandy hair. His disappointment was almost palpable.

  I was shocked. Since when had I become a part of the equation? Maybe Michael was right—spending time with Parker wasn’t such a good idea.

  But that didn’t negate the fact that a part of me still longed to go. “It’ll be good for them,” I said to solidify my stance. “Some time away from their boring mom is just what the doctor ordered. You know, guy time. Man-to-man.”

  “Sounds great,” Parker agreed, but his voice told me it sounded anything but. He was a good sport, though, so he conjured up a smile and gave Grandma’s shoulder a parting squeeze. “I guess I’m off, then. But you’d better help me track them down, Julia. I have no idea where they could be hiding on this farm.”

  He had a point; our rambling farm could be a labyrinth if you weren’t familiar with the landmarks, so I waved good-bye to Grandma and went into the mudroom to lace up my tennis shoes. Maybe when they left, I would take a nice, long walk around our parcel. The air would undoubtedly clear my head.

  Though the forecaster had predicted a warm day, the spring morning was still brisk when Parker and I stepped outside. I was grateful for my stylish little jacket and turned up the collar against the light breeze. Parker was in a T-shirt, and I nearly said something about his being too cold, but when I glanced at his arm, I could almost see the warmth of his skin. His forearm was thick and corded, muscular in an easy, natural sort of way. This was a man who didn’t need a membership at a gym—his everyday life was workout enough. Suddenly the sight of his bare arm—the light smattering of freckles from the sun and the way his wrist bones stood at the arch to his strong hand—made me shy. I veered away from him slightly.

  “They’re not in the grove?” I asked, clearing my throat.

  “I had a pretty good view of the trees as I came down the driveway, and I didn’t see them.”

  “I told them to stick around,” I muttered. Then, cupping my mouth with my hands, I shouted, “Simon! Daniel!” Their names echoed over our property, reverberating off the slumping buildings and careening into the trees.

  No answer.

  “The garage door is closed,” I said, taking mental stock of the nearest possible hiding place. There was only one way into the shedlike garage, and that was through the heavy hung door. I wasn’t entirely sure that they could even lift it by themselves.

  “They’re on a grand adventure.” Parker chuckled. “Maybe I should have stayed home today.”

  “No, they’re excited to see you. They’re just also easily distracted.”

  This time Parker raised his hands to his mouth and roared, “Daniel! Simon!”

  We stood in the dewy grass and waited, but the only response we received was the chirping of a hundred birds in the trees.

  I sighed. “Sorry about this.”

  Parker shrugged to show me how little the boys’ disappearance bothered him. He cocked his head in the direction of the stable and raised his eyebrows in question. “Shall we start there?”

  “Oh, the boys aren’t allowed to play in the outbuildings. They’re around here somewhere.”

  “Aren’t allowed to play in the buildings?” Parker gave me a wide-eyed look. “Are you kidding me?”

  “It’s not safe,” I defended.

  “But it’s what boys do,” he protested. “They explore; they hunt and gather; they discover. . . . They’re in one of the buildings, Julia.”

  “No, they’re not.”

  “Yes, they are. I’m sure of it.”

  “They listen to me.” Parker was starting to make me angry. I had banned the boys from the outbuildings and I believed that they obeyed my instructions.

  “I’m sure they do,” he soothed. “But this is just too good to pass up. Come on, you can hardly blame them for investigating the great unknown.”

  “You’re wrong,” I snarled through clenched teeth.

  Parker smirked. “I’m right. In fact, I’m so sure I’m right that I’ll make you a deal.”

  “What kind of a deal?”

  “If you’re right and the boys are innocently strolling around the property, I’ll send you and Nellie for manicures while we’re fishing. Girls like that, don’t they?”

  I laughed in spite of myself. “Sure, Parker, girls like that.” I studied my hands for a moment, taking stock of the dry knuckles, the dirt beneath my short nails. “I could use a little pampering. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  I stuck out my hand so Parker could shake it, but he batted it away. “You haven’t heard the second half of the bet.”

  “That’s because I know you’re not going to win.”

  “Humor me.”

  Smiling, I put m
y hands on my hips and regarded Parker with a cool gaze. “Fine.”

  “If I’m right and Simon and Daniel have been constructing some incredible fort out of old boards they found in one of these buildings, you have to come fishing with us today.”

  I opened my mouth to object, but the truth was, it felt like a win-win situation for me. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “I don’t have to be your indentured servant or wear some T-shirt declaring your eternal superiority?”

  “Nope.”

  “And I don’t have to gut fish?”

  “You don’t even have to touch them.”

  Tapping my fingers against my lips, I pretended to think long and hard about Parker’s deal. “Okay, fine,” I groaned after a long pause. “I’ll take you up on your ridiculous bet.”

  “You’re so gracious.” He rolled his eyes at me, but the next instant he pulled my hand into his own and held it. For a heartbeat we just stood there, hand in hand, and then he gave me an arm-jiggling shake to seal the deal.“I hope you prove handy with a knife. By the way, do you have any lemons? They take the smell of fish guts right off your skin. Well, kind of . . .”

  “You promised!” I yanked my hand away and aimed a punch at his shoulder, but he took off at an easy lope toward the stable and I had no choice but to follow.

  Like I had hoped, the musty horse building was utterly untouched. The metal-latch door still held the rusty wire that I had twisted through the handle to secure it. And once we pried back the stiff pieces and opened the creaky door, the inch of dust that covered the floor gave evidence enough that no one had stepped foot over the threshold in a very long time.

  “Cats!” Parker said in a mock whisper, pointing at a set of delicate footprints that led from a hole in one boarded-up window to the first stall.

  “Fiends,” I growled. “I told them the outbuildings were dangerous too.”

  After we shut the door and retied the fine wire, we zigzagged our way toward the chicken coop. It was in much better shape than the abandoned stable, and I wondered as we walked up the short stone steps if I should go through it with a fine-tooth comb this summer and then let the boys have this one space as their own. It wouldn’t take much. A few broken windows had scattered fragments of antique glass across the floor, and there was a handful of loose planks that sported crooked nails. I shivered at the thought of tetanus, but Parker was right: boys would be boys. Maybe I was expecting too much of them. Being too strict.