Like Sweet Potato Pie (36 page)

“What is it?” I squinted.

“A cardinal.”

I shielded my eyes and gazed at the shock of crimson on deep-green boughs, like an oversized holly berry. I’d seen pictures of them before, but never an actual, live cardinal.

Brooklyn claimed one kind of bird—pigeons. Flocks of them, everywhere, always underfoot. And the oversized Tokyo crows that swooped down on people with huge, outstretched wings, smart enough to break into color-coded trash? Don’t even get me started.

We watched as the cardinal preened and shook his feathers then flitted off with a dusting of snow. Soundless. Like the silent world around us, as if all noise had vanished with summer. We stood apart again, a cold wind rushing between us. Adam tipped his head back and looked up.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

I shivered and pulled my scarf tighter. “It looks kind of sad, if you ask me. All the leaves fallen. All the empty and barren places. So much gray. I guess I’m not much of a winter person.”

“Oh, I am. It’s my favorite season.”

“Winter? Really? I thought summer would be your favorite. It’s when you get the most work.”

“If you like sweating in the hot sun, it’s great. Winter is the only time I really get a break.” He smiled. “Not much demand for water gardens and tulips at ten below zero.”

“Good point.” I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets. “But I like leaves.”

“So do I, but there’s beauty even in the bareness of it all. See? Look at the branches.”

“I know. Empty.”

“Okay, yes, maybe. But look at the lines. The sharp contrast of light and dark, cutting across the sky like a knife. Their intersections and shapes. I think it’s beautiful.”

I watched as my breath puffed mist that dissipated into the cold branches overhead. “You sound like my mom,” I said softly, remembering her words.

“Me?”

“Yeah.” I shifted uncomfortably. “But I mean that in a good way.”

He didn’t ask, but I felt I owed him some sliver of explanation. “She changed a lot before she passed away. God did an amazing work in her heart. I think …” I pressed my lips together, wind stinging my face. “I think I would have loved her. Maybe I did. Maybe I do now.”

If I wasn’t careful, I could even say the same words about Adam.

A twinge of embarrassment crept up like a chill.
Why are we even out here anyway?
I shivered, knees knocking together.

“Come on. You’re cold. Let me show you your present.” He put his hand on my elbow and led the way.

“My present? I thought you gave me one.” I followed him, chattering. “The basket of flower-seed packets. Right?”

Odd but nice. A gardener’s gift: little dry flecks that would burst with color in the summer.

I’d sifted through them: a blue-and-white Japanese morning glory, a strange ivory flowering vine that trapped and released moths, a burgundy poppy, a sapphire-blue nasturtium, and several others. Some heirloom varieties.

And a short note about something all the seeds and I had in common.

Blue? No. The Japanese thing? No again. They all grew leaves …?

His riddle stumped me, but I thanked him anyway. Fortunately Vanna was ready with a pretty, and much less thought-provoking, ivory knit scarf that matched my wool dress coat, and I exchanged it for a tin of homemade chocolate chip oatmeal cookies with dried cherries.

Adam swung open the creaking door of a large, musty-smelling outbuilding, its interior dark and cave-like. It smelled of secrets, bound and stored for years upon years. I leaned forward and peeked inside, tiny snowflakes stinging my cheeks.

“A weed eater? You shouldn’t have.”

“Funny. Although you could use one around your shrubs.” He reached in to a shadowy shelf and produced what looked like an ugly potted stick studded with some gleaming red fruits. “Merry Christmas.”

Huh?
I took the pot, chilly through my gloves.
Is this some kind of a joke?

But Adam looked so excited that I studied the pot again, figuring one of us had a screw loose. Then … wait … that familiar knobby trunk, the corkscrew turns and twiggy branches.

“Is this a bonsai?” My voice raised in shock. I held the pot up to eye level and inspected it in bewilderment, brushing stray snowflakes off the winter-gray twigs.

“Yeah. Sorry it doesn’t look much like one right now because it’s dormant. But it’ll bloom in the spring.”

“A bonsai?” I repeated. “A real bonsai?”

“It’s a crab-apple tree. I’m keeping it out in the toolshed to maintain a cool temperature without freezing. It should sprout buds around March or April if you bring it inside.”

I looked from the pot to Adam in disbelief. “A crab apple? Those gnarly trees you see on farms? Does it have flowers?”

“Pink ones. They’ll come out before the leaves if you raise the ambient temperature.”

I opened my mouth and closed it, not even teasing him about his garden-ese. “I’ve always wanted a bonsai! And even in Tokyo, I never, ever had one. How did you know?”

“Just a guess.”

I turned the pot around, heart pounding so fast I could hardly look at him. The form curved meticulously, as if it had popped off the pages of a Japanese magazine. “Did you trim it yourself?”

“Yeah, but I’ve only had a few months. I started it … well, awhile ago.” In fact, Adam had only known me a few months. Still. Impressive, to say the least.

“But how? How did you learn how to do it?”

“Internet. You can learn to build a spaceship on the Internet if you want to.”

I circled the little tree with my hand as if protecting it from the cold. He’d even studded the soil with moss and tiny white Japanese-style stones.

“Did you know that you could sell these and make tons of money, Adam? You’re really good. And Asian stuff is all over the design magazines now.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets as snow shivered off an overhead branch like fine mist. “Maybe. But that’s not what I’m interested in at the moment.”

“What are you interested in, then?” I fingered the cold twigs.

“Giving you something to remember Japan.”

It struck me suddenly that a crab-apple bonsai was as east-south as the deep-fried sushi I’d joked about with Becky. A farm tree turned Japanese artwork. I let out a silvery breath, feeling something tender rise in my chest.

“And maybe see you smile again, the way you do when you remember your life back in Japan.”

My mouth stuck shut. It was too much, all the thought Adam had put into my little tree. The months and weeks of trimming and pruning without saying a word. The research and shaping and careful arrangement of stones.

Molding his ways to mine in the smallest of details. My heart flickered like the Christmas candle, and I wondered, ever so briefly, if I could do the same.

I was still thinking about my little bonsai, so bare and beautiful and full of promise, when Adam surprised me one sunny afternoon by appearing in Barnes & Noble toward the end of January while I shelved and organized books.

“Do you have a free evening this weekend, Shiloh?”

“What?” I asked, nearly dropping a heavy motorcycle encyclopedia. I stepped down off the step stool and smoothed my hair behind my ear.

“An evening to go somewhere. I’ve found a place I think you’ll like.”

“In Staunton?”

“In Charlottesville.” Adam’s dark khaki coat, which fit him surprisingly well compared to his bulky work stuff, nearly matched his hair.

“Where’s that?”

“A city big enough to have what I wanted.”

The air glinted with cool Brazilian guitar music and the scent of espresso. “Sure.” I smiled, turning my eyes down in sudden self-consciousness. “Who else is going?”

“Tim and Becky, and I’ve asked Faye, too.” Adam cocked his head. “Hey, is she seeing Earl or something?”

“Earl? No. We tried that already.” I scooted some books together on the shelf. “It didn’t work. Just like most other things in my life. Why do you ask?”

“Well, she said the funniest thing. She said we might think of inviting Earl, since she feels sad he has to be alone this time of year.”

My heart skipped a beat. “She said that?”

“Ask her yourself.” Adam shrugged. “Should I invite him?”

“Definitely.” I took a book from the cart, imagining our triple date. Or since Adam was arranging it, triple nondate. Or whatever I was supposed to call it.

“Where are we going?” I pressed my nose to Adam’s truck window like a kid, eyes searching unfamiliar six-lane roads and restaurants. Charlottesville lights and bigger-city traffic sprawling for blocks. “And where did Tim and everybody go? I thought they were following us!” I checked the rearview mirror again.

“They’ll be here,” said Adam, flicking on his turn signal and veering off the crowded street. “Tim had to stop for gas.”

“What’s this place? Aren’t we going to …?”

My voice failed me. I broke off, staring at a building with a dark, Asian-style slanted roof. Tips turned up like bells on a jester’s shoes. Low, sculpted pines. Bare Japanese maples. A Japanese-style stone lantern arching over a wooden footbridge.

“You didn’t.” I let out my breath.

K
ATO
J
APANESE
S
TEAKHOUSE
read the sign.

“You did!” I grabbed Adam’s arm in delight, scrambling out of the truck before he could even help me out. “It’s a Japanese place!”

“Probably not the fancy stuff you’re used to, but it’s as close as I could find to good Japanese food.” Adam slammed my truck door and leaned against it, bracing his coat against the winter cold.

“You’re serious? They have sushi here?” I felt tears burning in the corners of my eyes, and not just from the harsh wind.

“I can’t guarantee the quality. But they’re supposed to. Yes.”

“Real sushi?”

“I hope so.” Adam smiled. “You hungry?”

I didn’t even answer him, my mind so busy sifting through beautiful Japanese memories like handfuls of pearls: salty
miso
soup, deep-green-circled sushi rolls, pink shrimp perched on rice, cups of steaming tea. Earthy, briny, brown soy sauce and pungent ginger slices. Slender chopsticks. The things I had come to love as my own.

“You want to go back to Japan, don’t you?”

“Of course. It’ll always be part of me. But …” I stuck my hands in my pockets. “I guess I can wait to go back.”

“Why?”

We stood in silence, watching the cars go by and wind rustle the fawn-colored winter grasses that grew along the edge of the parking lot. Little winter juncos pecked at something by a red Camry.

“Well, my goals are different than last year,” I finally replied, playing with the ends of my scarf.

“How?”

“I don’t want to live for myself anymore. I’m God’s now.” Beulah’s verse tingled in my ears.
“Behold! I make all things new!”
I dropped my scarf back in place. “And at the same time I have to keep in mind that—” I broke off, looking away.

“That what?” he prodded gently.

“Well, things are probably going to change pretty drastically if Mom’s house doesn’t sell.” I swallowed hard and glanced at the Japanese restaurant, each stone lantern and sculpted juniper tree catching in my throat.

“Right. The whole house without soul thing.”

“Oh, it’s got soul, all right. Lowell said the last three people loved it. Said it shined from the inside. But they didn’t make good offers, so I’m still in the same place I started.” I sighed, eyes smarting in the late afternoon sun. “I don’t know what I’ll do or where I’ll go. But I’m starting to realize it probably won’t be Japan.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Maybe. But I have to do … something. I can’t keep waiting tables at The Green Tree forever. You know that.” I scuffed the heel of my boot on the smooth asphalt. “How about you, Adam? What do you want to do with your life?”

Adam stuck his hands in his pockets and looked away, the slight gesture sending a whisper of something lonely through me. As if my future and his forked, irrevocably, into different horizons.

“Well, there’s always my business, which keeps expanding. I need to move out and find more space for my tools and things. Hire some new people. If I could, I’d even set up an office. I can thank you for all the ringing phones and new contracts.” He nudged me with his elbow.