Memory Tree

by Pittman, Joseph

  “Yes, dear, your words are very impassioned, and your loyalty to your friends admirable,” she said, “and I appreciate your vehemence, your honesty, even if you feel the need to take it out on me. But let us finish this topic with one indisputable fact: Brian was engaged to each and every one of those women—Lucy, Maddie, and yes, Annie—but something happened with each relationship that made marriage impossible.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Duncan, but in Annie’s case, it wasn’t fear of living in the big city or not having enough homes, and it certainly wasn’t because she climbed the corporate ladder from the bedroom.” Cynthia paused, trying to catch her breath, her tone filled with an overriding sadness made more so by her recent epiphany in the shadow of the windmill. Then she said quietly, with reverence, “Annie died.”

  Didi nodded quietly, and then said with unflinching honesty, almost as if she hadn’t heard Cynthia, “And how will it end with Trina?”

  CHAPTER 16

  TRINA

  In a small town like Linden Corners, solitude had a way of finding you. Sitting at the front desk of the motel, Trina Winter was surrounded by silence, realizing for the first time since her arrival that she had the motel to herself. Midweek, there were no guests staying, and Richie was at his doctor’s appointment having his cast removed. She could have gone all the way up to Albany for the procedure and in fact had planned on it, when her cousin Mark showed up and offered her a choice: take Richie to the doctor or hold down the fort here.

  She chose the motel, and so Mark had taken his uncle the thirty-minute trek to the state’s capital. It wasn’t that Trina was shirking her responsibilities; she’d done all that was expected of her and more since her father had called with his reluctant request for the favor. On her downtime, during the time when there was a lack of customers and when Richie was found napping, she’d gotten to work, and the motel hadn’t looked more spotless in years. Even Richie had noticed, remarking the other day when a bright sun happened to be shining through the plate glass window of the office. In truth, Trina had been cleaning like a madwoman for the past several days, and she knew why. With the leg cast coming off, Richie was well on the road to recovery and thus would have more maneuverability, more flexibility, in not just getting around this motel but his schedule as well. His need for assistance was waning, reduced to physical therapy appointments and exercises back home, and that knowledge had begun to seep out of Trina’s subconscious. Watching Mark help Richie into the backseat of the car and drive off, Trina felt the bond she’d begun to establish with him slip back to the way it had been. Distance defined them, and not just in miles.

  Her days in Linden Corners were numbered; that was what she told herself.

  But then again, just what was she going home to? An empty apartment, the occasional dinner out with friends, or worse, an invitation from her mother to stay for the weekend in Coral Gables with her new husband? Did she even want to return to her job? Being an office manager was hardly inspiring. Another idea appealed more to her, one that allowed her to just hop into her car and cruise down the open highway, destination unknown, not unlike what had happened to Brian. Maybe there was some windmill of her own to discover, to conquer?

  Now, where had that scenario come from? she asked herself.

  The Sunday night lighting of the windmill and her subsequent non-date with Brian; that was where. For days she’d tried—and failed—to deny the obvious attraction developing between them, even as she knew there was something deeper. The ease with which he lived his life was enviable. He just accepted life as it came, never plotting in advance, never dreaming beyond the realistic . . . the achievable. Was that even in her? She always wanted things to be better, lacking only the resources, the resolve, to seek those changes. How wounded Brian must have been to leave behind his old life. Had he even known where he was going or what was in store for him? Probably not. All he knew was that he had to remove himself from the confines of New York and leave behind bitter memories.

  The difference was, Trina wasn’t bitter. She was just uninspired.

  Life in Florida—sunshine, heat, year-round, and at times so expected it grew boring.

  Which was why she’d come here, not just for her father but in search of winter too. When you watched the seasons change before your very eyes, it encouraged you to do the same. The frigid blast of wind, the falling snow that lined tree branches and buried the earth underneath a white blanket, the notion of fireplaces crackling; these things spoke to her more than she’d expected they would. Yet today it was neither sunshine nor snow that held her attention, but a steady drizzle outside, gray clouds hovering even as the afternoon stretched on quietly. Indeed, that was all she heard, the persistent patter of rain against the roof, droplets creating runaway streaks on the window. Like Linden Corners was mirroring her cries over leaving. This town had a way of embracing new people, taking them into its homespun hold. Like her day at the Five-O Diner, serving up coffee as a way to help Sara, Martha. Like the Secret Santa drawing . . .

  “Oh no, I forgot,” she said, this time her thoughts given voice.

  In the craziness of caring for Richie, she’d completely forgotten about having to buy the gift for the town’s Secret Santa game. Wait, slow down, she thought, you have time still. Christmas is six days away, the pageant and Secret Santa celebration in five. With Richie out of his cast, it would free up more of her time in the coming days, enabling her to complete her shopping. And not just hers, but clearly she’d have to buy Richie’s gift as well. He hadn’t exactly been thrilled with Trina when he woke to learn that she’d entered him in the village’s new tradition—the card with the person’s name on it remained ignored and was later found in the trash can. She’d retrieved it and stuffed it in her purse along with the one she’d chosen.

  Headlights suddenly caught her eye, and she watched as a car pulled into the lot.

  The rain had become a torrent from the sky, and so when the man came dashing from his car, he was soaked by the time he entered the office.

  “Afternoon, may I help you?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” he said, wiping droplets from his brow. “I was thinking I could make it all the way to the Massachusetts border, but this rain is picking up and I’m not a fan . . . So the outside sign says you’ve got rooms?”

  “We do indeed,” Trina said, happy for the distraction of work. “Just one night?”

  “I think that’s all I’ll need, yes. Truthfully, I got a little lost on all those county roads and just stumbled upon this place. It’s like I’ve arrived in the middle of someone else’s story.”

  “Motels all have their own stories, most of them short, like the stays.”

  He nodded appreciatively as Trina set the ledger before him, watching as the man, probably late thirties and nice looking, respectable in a business suit, jotted down his name. She asked for a credit card, “or will that be cash?” and he said, “No, that’s fine, credit it is,” and so she ran the card and had him sign the receipt. She watched the looping flair with which he signed his name: Jonathan Parker.

  “Mr. Parker, I hope you’ll enjoy your stay at the Solemn Nights,” she said, handing over the key to Room 10. “Free coffee early in the morning but otherwise if you’re feeling hungry I suggest the Five-O Diner just a half mile down the road. Great food and reasonable prices, you can’t beat it. There’s also a nice tavern across the street from the diner that will keep you occupied in the night hours, about the only thing in our town that will.”

  “Many thanks,” he said. “Ironic in the rain, but all I can think about is a shower.”

  She laughed, watching as he returned to his car and grabbed his lone suitcase, trying his best to protect himself from the rainfall. Then he was gone from sight, headed to his room for a respite from the demands of his regular life. She recalled what Richie had told her about the transient nature of the motel business—people checked in, they checked out a day or two later, and they were off on the remainder of life’s journey. Was th
at her too, with this motel just a stop in her life, a time-out from what she should be doing?

  Moving out from behind the counter, Trina secured the door open and allowed the mild air to sweep inside and clear the cobwebs from the corners of the motel’s office and from her mind. Christmas might be days away, but the rainstorm was doing too good a job of melting the snow, leaving the highway wet, the snowy drifts darkened with soot and the entrails of passing traffic. It was not very picturesque, and she had to hope that by the time Christmas Eve arrived a fresh batch of snow would have fallen over the region. Otherwise the storm from earlier this month served as nothing more than a tease of winter’s promise, and she wasn’t sure she could deal with such a thing.

  Another set of headlights caught the reflective glass of the office, almost blinding her.

  “Busy day for the Solemn Nights,” she said, but then she realized it wasn’t a new tenant but a familiar face. She recognized the truck, since just the other night she’d been inside it. Her heart thumped, nervousness and anticipation washing over her.

  “Trina, hi,” Brian said, dashing through raindrops but still getting wet during the quick jaunt to the protective covering over the office. He shook his head to release excess rain, producing a smile when he looked at her. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve come looking for a room. Need an escape from your parents?”

  His eyes darkened in the cloudy day. “Don’t joke—you’re not far off. And not parents.”

  “Ah, parent,” she said. “Let me guess, your mother.”

  “I don’t even want to get into it . . . ,” he said.

  “Okay, so you’re not here to complain.”

  “Actually, I was out running errands and was going to see if you were free for coffee at the Five-O. But from the looks of it, you’re here by yourself.”

  “Holding down the fort,” she said, using Mark’s words, and then explained the particulars of her day.

  “Well then, I won’t keep you. But while I’m here, I just want to double-check that you’re coming to the annual tavern Christmas party. This Saturday night, remember?” he asked.

  “You mentioned it the other night . . . in passing. What, no printed invitations?”

  “Just a personal one.”

  “Brian, you could have called.”

  “I could have,” he said.

  “But . . .”

  “But how about I didn’t want to call.”

  “You weren’t out running errands; you drove here right from the farmhouse.”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  He smiled. “Because Mark texted me about an hour ago and said he was running late for his shift at the tavern tonight. The doctor’s office was backed up and he wasn’t sure when they would return.”

  “So you came to town to open up for him?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Where’s Janey?”

  “With my parents. Having a night of getting-to-know-you.”

  Trina nodded. “Lucky them,” she said.

  “Not sure Janey feels that way,” he said. “My mother . . . she has a way of arming people.”

  “And you, Brian Duncan, you’re very disarming,” Trina said.

  “If we keep talking, the conversation is going to circle back to my mother again.”

  “So you don’t want to talk about her.”

  “No.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  He paused before saying, “Nothing.”

  She decided just a shake of her head was answer enough.

  That’s when Trina closed and locked the door of the office and took hold of Brian’s hand, leading him down the pathway in front of the motel, stopping before her room. She felt his eyes focused only on her, and they were glassy, perhaps wet, and not from the falling rain just inches away from them. Twisting the knob, she guided him inside, closing it quickly behind them.

  “Don’t you have to open soon?” she asked, her tone playful.

  “I’m the boss. I can open when I want.”

  “What about your regulars?”

  “Chet Hardesty’s liver could do with a break.”

  She nodded, smiled. “Can I get you, uh, anything?”

  “Trina Winter, I think our window of opportunity is closing. Time is not our friend.”

  “So let’s make it stop,” she said.

  They came into each other’s arms in a burst of heated passion, kisses deep, forceful. She felt his lips kiss her neck, the scrape of whiskers sending fresh sensations washing over her. Hands in his hair, she pulled him tighter to her, leading him to the bed. This was crazy, her mind was screaming at her. Just a moment ago she was checking a complete stranger into one of the motel’s rooms, and now she was taking into her bed a virtual stranger, this man she knew as Brian, whom she liked and whose presence in her life was as unexpected as anything she’d experienced since coming to Linden Corners—impromptu shifts at the diner, a whiskey shot in the dark, and the brightest display of lights she’d ever seen, all atop an unlikely windmill that captured hearts, thoughts, and imaginations. But none of those were a match for what she felt now, what she wanted, desired, and in another moment’s time her world exploded with more lights than her eyes could take. She closed them, she felt, she touched, and she thrilled at the response of someone who made her body flush with heat.

  “Oh, Brian . . . ,” she said, her breath short, her voice soft.

  The afternoon segued into early evening all while the rain continued to pelt against the side of the motel. Gray clouds swept down ever closer and the clock inched ever forward, until just one world existed, the one inside a room where memories were as fleeting as its guests, and where strangers who had become friends now became something deeper than friends.

  “So does this mean you’ll be my date for the Christmas party?”

  In the enveloping darkness of the room, the two of them burrowed beneath an array of twisted blankets, the silence broken first by Brian’s question and second, and more loudly, by Trina’s laughter.

  “Oh, so now you’re asking me out on a proper date?”

  “Our first night was a real date,” Brian said, a smile highlighting his features.

  “Yes, just how a girl likes to be asked—‘I will if you will.’ Very romantic.”

  “It worked,” he said.

  “So did your poorly staged invitation today,” she said.

  “I was that obvious?”

  “You’ve got a bar to open,” she said. “You didn’t have time to dance around it.”

  “I still have a bar to open.”

  “Is that your exit strategy?”

  He pulled her tight against his body, kissing her. “I’ll stay all night if you want.”

  Trina returned the kiss and wondered if she would really want that. About what they had just shared, she had no regrets, and she was glad that Brian hadn’t asked her if she did. The glow of their lovemaking hadn’t even worn off; why spoil it with intrusive thoughts of the aftereffects? She rose from the bed, wrapping her body in a robe that hung on a hook on the bathroom door. As nice as the terry cloth felt against her skin in the stark coldness of the room, it was no match for the smooth, heated flesh of the man in her bed.

  “I’ll take that as a no?” Brian asked.

  She sat upon the mattress, facing him. “Brian Duncan, we both know you have to leave.”

  He stole a look at the clock on the bed stand, her eyes following his.

  “Yup, five thirty,” she said.

  “I’m late.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I guess that means I should go,” he said.

  “Brian, if you’re trying to spare my feelings, don’t. I’m fine . . . I’m great.”

  “Great?” he asked, a wide smile settling in across his face.

  She laughed. “Good.”

  “It’s been a while . . .”

  “Brian
Duncan, get out of that bed, get dressed, and get back to your life.”

  He did two of the three things she’d suggested, and as he stood in the center of the room finishing buttoning his shirt, he pulled Trina tight against his body. “How can I get back to my life when part of it is right here, in this room, in my arms?”

  She allowed another kiss but then pushed him away.

  “If Richie comes home and finds that I locked up the motel for a couple hours . . .”

  “And if he sees the truck parked here. Two plus two equals . . . us. Just like my mother deduced the night she and my father stayed at the motel.”

  “Okay, that seals it. You’re talking about Didi again. Time to go.”

  He laughed heartily as he departed, Trina watching from the door as the old truck pulled out of the lot and retreated back down the highway, disappearing even faster than a clear day would have allowed. The falling rain was still strong, and a shadowy mist had dropped low from the sky. She was glad for the cover of not just the night but also the swirling fog, hugging herself out of a natural sense of self-preservation. Down the parking lot, she saw that her guest, Mr. Parker, was not around, his car gone. Perhaps he’d gone for food at the Five-O, she thought, or was attempting to have a drink at the bar she had recommended, all while she was busy keeping the bartender from attending to his duties.

  She smiled at the thought of Brian. He was sweet, and today he had been hesitant at first, but he’d come around, almost as though he and she, so alike, were lost in that desired stoppage of time, with nothing beyond the knowing walls of her room mattering. Returning to the room, she quickly made the bed, running a hand over the covering as though trying to absorb the memories spun from it. Only the sound of a car pulling into the lot stirred her to action, and when she saw it was Mark’s car, she threw her clothes on as fast as she could, knowing while she fussed with the last buttons that Richie would know she’d not been in the office the entire time.