Family Tree (14 page)

Annie loved strolling through town with him, hand in hand, savoring their ice cream as they wandered along the shady streets.

“I like these big old houses,” Fletcher said, admiring the stately homes of Henley Street.

“Me, too. If you could live in any one of these, which one would you pick?”

He looked up and down the block, then pointed. “That one, with the shutters and the porch that goes all the way around to the back.”

“It's called the Webster house,” Annie said. “And that's the one I'd pick, too. But not because of the back porch. I went inside once, to a 4-H meeting, so I know it has an awesome library with a fireplace.”

“If it had a swimming pool, it'd be perfect,” he said, finishing his ice cream. “Man, it's hot today.”

“I know something better than a swimming pool,” she said. “Switchback has a secret. Let's grab our suits and towels, and I'll show you.”

A short time later, they drove along a rural road, bordered by deep woods, to a spot where a few parked cars hugged the grassy verge. Several kids in dripping suits emerged from a nearly hidden trail.

The trail wound through a fern-carpeted forest, lush with the fecund odor of damp earth and trees fed by a network of small, burbling springs. The forest canopy opened up around a quarry formed by smooth rock terraces, spires, and cliffs surrounding a natural pool of the clearest, bluest water in the world, illuminated by the summer sun. At one end, a series of waterfalls fed the pool with a dramatic rush. Rapid flumes created natural water slides between narrow canyon walls. There were cliffs and outcroppings for jumping, and swirling pools hiding in the shadows. The pounding of the waterfall was punctuated by shrieks of glee from the jumpers plunging into the depths.

Fletcher stopped walking and shaded his eyes. “Awesome,” he murmured, taking in the scene. “What is this place?”

“It's called Moonlight Quarry. They say the pillars of the New York Public Library and the steps of the Supreme Court are made of marble quarried from right here,” Annie told him. “Do heights bother you?”

He grinned. “Depends on the landing.”

They dropped their towels on a smooth, sun-warmed rock ledge and climbed to a spot just below the falls. A curtain of cold, pounding water
poured over them as they reached a ledge ten feet above the deepest part of the pool.

“There's only one way down,” Annie shouted, her voice nearly drowned by the crashing water.

He took her hand. “Ready when you are.”

They stepped to the edge and jumped, letting go of each other as they hit the water. The plunge was long and deep. No one had ever touched bottom here; it was rumored to be five hundred feet deep. She could see Fletcher's shadow nearby, flickering in a swirling stream of bubbles. Scissoring her legs, she shot up to the surface, and he joined her a second later, his face shining with delight.

“Wow,” he said, treading water and grinning at her. “That was . . .
wow
.”

Of all the key moments Annie had experienced, this might be the sharpest and clearest of all. In that instant, she knew a sense of happiness so powerful it was almost frightening. She wanted to hold on to the feeling forever.

The water temperature was as variable as the light—ice cold in the deep, shadowed places, and warmed by the sun in others. They found slow streams flowing over half-submerged rock, chutes with swift currents, slicked by deep green moss to form a natural water slide. The sun-heated tiers, where the water flowed down step-by-step, created small cascades that felt like a pounding back massage.

“Let's come here every day,” Fletcher said.

“For the rest of our lives,” Annie said.

One breezy night as she helped her mom clean up after dinner, she decided to broach the topic that had been on her mind all summer long. Kyle was down working in the farm office, and Beth was giving Lucas a bath. Their easy laughter drifted down from the upstairs bathroom. In the living room, Gran was reading Winnie-the-Pooh to Dana. Annie
and Gran had made pan-fried brook trout and a salad from the garden—peas and pea shoots, mint and French breakfast radishes. Rhubarb crumble for dessert. There were no leftovers. With two kids and five adults in the house, there never were.

“I'm going to take a gap year,” Annie said. She watched her mother's face drain of all color.

Annie brought the last of the dishes from the table and set them on the counter.

Her mother glared at her as she loaded the dishwasher. “I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that.”

Annie realized she probably should have planned this conversation better. On the other hand, there was no good time she could have picked, and at least they had the kitchen to themselves. The kitchen had always been her favorite room in the house. The cabinets and flooring were made of taphole maple with its distinctive markings. After maples were tapped out and no longer useful for syrup production, the trees were harvested for lumber. The patterns were created by the tapping and healing of each season's holes. Each board had a story, and was a reminder of the enterprise that had sustained the family for generations.

Granddad had made the countertops from old evaporator pans, polishing the stainless steel until it gleamed like the surfaces in a high-end restaurant. When she was too small to reach the counter, Annie would stand on a step stool next to Gran and help with the cooking, caught up in the art and energy of a master in the kitchen. The adjacent alcove encompassed a round table where Gran served the most amazing meals—sweet corn fresh off the stalk, chicken roasted with lemon and rosemary, big dishes of green beans, pies bubbling with fresh Saskatoon berries. The big scrubbed table was the scene of birthday celebrations, ordinary days, serious talks, homework struggles, happy news, the ebb and flow of her family's life.

“I need you to hear me, Mom.” Annie tried again. “I've already
checked with the office of admissions. They'll let me keep my spot and my grant if I elect to take a gap year.”

“And why on earth would you want to do that? You can't wait to leave Switchback.”

Annie knew there was no point in hiding the truth from her mother. “I can't handle the idea of leaving Fletcher.”

Her mother pursed her lips, but her eyes softened. “Oh, sweetie,” she said. “Everybody feels that way about their first love.”

Annie believed with all her heart that she and Fletcher were not everybody. Their connection was one of a kind, but she had no words to explain this to her mom. “I won't be able to focus on school if all I'm doing is missing Fletcher the whole time I'm away.”

“If he truly loves you, then he'll want you to go for your dreams.”

“Mom,
he
is my dream.”

“I'm not going to argue with you, because believe it or not, I understand what you're saying. I might even remember what it feels like to fall in love and never want to be apart. I just want to know . . . What will your life look like if you stay here? How will your days go? You get up in the morning, and . . . do what?”

“I'll work on my projects. Reading and studying. Cooking and developing recipes. Photography and videography. That's what got me into college in the first place.”

“What will happen at this time next year?” asked her mother. “Are you going to be any more willing to be apart next year?”

Annie bit her lip. Her eyes skated away from Mom's knowing look.

“I'm not trying to be mean,” said her mother. “I want to make sure you've thought this through.”

“I think about it all the time. Fletcher and college are not mutually exclusive.”

“Then go to college. Don't let someone else—even someone you love—pull you away from that.”

Annie stared at her mother, who looked almost panicked. “It's my life. My choice.”

“Blowing off college is a choice you can't take back.”

“I'm eighteen,” Annie protested.

“Exactly. Show me an eighteen-year-old who makes good choices.” Mom sighed. “Listen. When I was your age, I was in the same place you are.”

“With Dad.”

Mom nodded. “Don't you think I had dreams, too?”

“Sure, I guess. Like what?” Annie felt slightly guilty that she didn't really know what her mom's dreams were. She'd just assumed it was to marry Dad and raise a family on the farm.

“I was accepted to art school in New York. The Pratt Institute.”

It was one of the top art schools in the country. Maybe in the world. “Seriously? You never told me that.”

“Because I never pursued it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I was in love. I thought I'd found something I wanted more than art school. I couldn't bear the thought of us being apart.”

“You stayed in Switchback because of Dad.” Annie felt a tightness in her chest.

Her mother lined up the plates in the dishwasher. “My folks wanted us to live here to help out and grow a nest egg. They had plenty of room and we were broke, so the plan seemed to make perfect sense at the time. I put off my future. Temporary arrangements have a way of growing roots when a baby comes along. I had Kyle, and don't get me wrong—I wouldn't trade being a mom for anything. But it meant that for me, school and the big-city dream just got farther and farther away. With a new baby and husband, I couldn't put my life on hold to go to school.”

“So you're saying Dad held you back?”

“Yes. No. Everything held me back. I just don't want to see that happen to you.”

“It doesn't have to be that way. I'm not going to get married and have a kid, like—” Annie stopped herself.

“Like I did?”

Annie felt bad for her mother. “You still did your art,” she pointed out, gesturing around the kitchen. “Dad and Granddad made the loft over the garage into a studio for you. And your pictures are everywhere.”

Her mom thumped the dishwasher shut and hit power scrub. “They are. But where's my husband?”

“I won't survive without you,” she told Fletcher in despair as summer slid toward fall, and the start of school loomed.

He gathered her gently in his arms, his wordless affection so sweet it felt like pain.

“I don't want to go,” she whispered.

“I don't want you to go,” he said.

“I can't stand the idea of missing a single day with you. I'll stay. Who cares what my mom says? I'll get work, same as you, and we can both do night school and online classes.”

“That sounds awesome,” he said. “I think you should just turn your back on your amazing scholarship to one of the best colleges in the country, and get a crappy hourly job here in town.”

“You know it wouldn't be like that.”

“Shh.” He touched his finger to her lips. “No way you're doing that.”

“Fletcher—”

“Shut up. Don't be stupid.”

Much to her mother's relief, Annie started her freshman year as planned. It was the opportunity of a lifetime and he wouldn't let her pass it up. But he was the love of a lifetime, and she didn't want to ruin it.

The owner of a busy Piaggio works in Brooklyn had offered Fletcher a room over the shop, and he was going to work on the scooters there. The place was in Brooklyn, just a bridge across from NYU.

Annie counted the days until Fletcher made his move. She fantasized about how they would walk around the city hand in hand, eat at sidewalk cafés, get takeout to share on a sunny park bench, and talk about everything in the world. The city was so busy and vibrant, its energy irresistible. She felt swept up in a storm of excitement, and the only thing missing was Fletcher.

Classes started, and Fletcher was still in Vermont. The garage was busy. He couldn't just ditch his dad. Annie tried to be patient. She tried to focus on school.

She already knew her favorite class this fall would be her photography and imaging class. One of the first assignments was to capture light and shadow in black and white. One afternoon, she went to Washington Square Park, right near campus, and took pictures of the wrought-iron railing with a tangle of locked bikes, a dog walker surrounded by his furry charges, kids playing on a climbing frame. Her best shot was of a food cart, where a guy in faded jeans and a chef's apron was making Cuban sandwiches. A bloom of steam filled the work area, and a tree branch arched over him in a natural frame, echoing the shape of his long, muscular arms. Perfect.

Annie bought a sandwich from him, even though she couldn't afford to eat outside the dining hall. He handed her the sandwich wrapped in parchment, giving her a smile so arresting that she dropped all her change in the tip jar. Then she hurried back to her dorm, a suite she shared with three other women who were impossibly messy and artistic,
and called Fletcher to tell him about her day. “I can't wait for you to get here. When can you come?” she asked.

“I'm working on it.”

“The when? Or the how?”

He laughed. “Both. We'll figure this out,” he said.

“And once we do,” she said, full of hope, “we'll get to be together forever.”

Their
forever
lasted less than two weeks.

Her mobile phone rang as she was finishing a day of lectures and a photo critique. She was walking to a restaurant where she hoped to get part-time work. “Everything's so incredible,” she said. “I don't even know where to start exploring. Little Italy, I suppose, would be logical. I already found a family market where they get daily deliveries from Naples. And then—”

“Annie, hey, slow down.”

There was a note in his voice. Serious. Strange. She stopped walking in front of a corner fruit stand. Bees buzzed over a display of early-harvest apples.

“Something's wrong,” she said, feeling a sting of worry.

“My dad had an accident. He's in the hospital. He—I'm here with him now.”

“Where? What happened? Is he going to be all right?”