Beneath the Night Tree (30 page)

“Julia, do you realize that we’re getting married in eight weeks?”

“Just over,” I whispered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just that it’s not eight weeks; it’s a little more than that. . . .”

“Do you want it to be more?”

“No.”

Michael sighed, and the weight of the world seemed conveyed in his tired voice. “You can’t have it both ways.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“Me and Parker. Parker and me. We’re not a packaged pair.”

“Excuse me? You were the one who told me that Daniel should have his father in his life. This whole arrangement was practically your idea.”

“I thought he was going to be a part of Daniel’s life. Not yours.”

My life? I was speechless.

“Are you planning on taking Parker to Iowa City with you?” Michael grumbled.

“No. Of course not.” I threw down the dish towel I was holding and glanced out the window over the sink to where the boys were playing in the grass near our untamed grove. The sun was setting between the treetops, and the leaves were infused with an outpouring of gold as if the sun had split open and was leaking its iridescent glow in a sudden, bright baptism. Simon and Daniel were bathed in light, their skin burnished bronze and their eyes almost savage with delight. They looked so happy, so at peace with themselves and the world, that Michael’s envy seemed small and inconsequential in comparison. Parker was good for them. I was looking at the evidence of his unexpected grace.

I stifled my own sigh. “Don’t be like this,” I said, more to myself than to him.

“Don’t be like what, Julia?”

The anger in Michael’s voice was so unfamiliar, I almost didn’t know how to respond. “Look,” I began after a moment, “I know you love the boys.”

“I do.”

“Of course you do. But you’re so busy with school, and so focused when you’re here, that they haven’t had much of a chance to bond with you.”

“You’re blaming me for that?”

“No,” I sputtered. “It’s not your fault. But Daniel and Simon need a man in their lives on a more . . . consistent basis.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and I knew it the moment the words were out of my mouth.

“You’re saying I’m inconsistent? that I’m not enough of a man for Daniel and Simon?”

“No,” I groaned, gripping the edge of the sink and hanging my head. “That’s not it at all. It’s just that you’re so far away. Things will change after we’re married. We won’t be separated anymore.”

“Is that what you want? Because the last I heard, we didn’t even have set plans for after the wedding. What are we doing? Is Simon moving in with us? What about Nellie? The apartment I’m renting has two bedrooms, Julia.
Two.
”

“We’ll rent a bigger apartment . . . ,” I said weakly.

“You’re being impossible.”

“This isn’t easy for me,” I shot back, feeling my hackles rise.

“Marrying me isn’t easy?”

“There’s more to it than that, and you know it. Besides, where is all of this coming from? We’ve been fine up until now. We’re working it out.”

There was silence on the other end for a long time. It was so still, I wondered if Michael had hung up on me. But then he gave a little hiss, a noise that was both furious and sad, and said, “My mom saw the four of you at the park last week.”

My mind rewound the days like reels of film. There it was, a day nearly a week ago, when I had hopped into Parker’s car at the last minute and joined the boys at the park. Grandma was on her way to tea at a friend’s house, and the thought of a couple of hours’ playing with Daniel and Simon had sounded like bliss. Innocent. But as I remembered, the image came into sharper focus and I saw the four of us as Mrs. Vermeer must have seen us: a laughing, tight-knit family unit.

There was Parker, teaching the boys the fine art of the wrist flick when it came to throwing a Frisbee. Then Daniel and Simon, laughing as they bumbled their earnest attempts. And me, watching from the sidelines until my son grabbed me by the hand and pulled me into their impromptu game, a spirited round of catch that turned into a sort of truncated ultimate Frisbee. I had gotten grass stains on my jeans.

Parker never touched me. Never even got close. It was about the boys. It was all for them; everything always was. But how could I expect my fiancé’s mother to know that? To her, every smile was probably laced with desire.

“We were playing Frisbee,” I said quietly.

“I heard.”

A retort bubbled inside my chest and popped out before I could stop it. “Does your mother always spy on us?”

“I had to wrench it out of her,” he spat back. “She told me an hour ago because I made her. I knew there was something wrong when we talked on the phone.”

I could just imagine how hard Michael had to wrench. He probably said, “What’s up?” and Diane spewed the whole story without further provocation. But I was being unfair and I knew it. I pushed myself away from the counter and walked into the mudroom, where I slipped into my worn clogs. The house felt too close for this kind of conversation, too confining.

“I’m sorry,” I said when I had descended the porch steps and the expanse of ginger sky was above me. He deserved that at the very least. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But you have to believe me that there is absolutely nothing going on between Parker and me. He wants to be involved in Daniel’s life, and Simon is just part of the bargain. I only tag along because I’m bored.”

“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 you
s, 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.