Memory Tree (5 page)

And so here she was, in Linden Corners.

In fact, at this very moment she'd entered the downtown area, much more visible in the bright sunshine than it had been three nights ago when she had snuck out for a quick reprieve at the bar. She saw it down the road but knew such a place could hardly be her destination now. It might be five o'clock somewhere else in the world, but here in Linden Corners it was barely eleven in the morning. So instead she made her way toward the ironically named Five O'Clock Diner, but not before coming upon an old Victorian-style house, a sign on the front lawn announcing this was a place of business: A D
OLL'S
A
TTIC,
it read. A curious name, Trina thought, contemplating going inside for a look-see but opting for that anticipated cup of coffee at the diner. Also, it would be nice to have a conversation with someone she knew other than her father.

She opened the front door, the fresh-brewed smell of coffee drawing her inside, like she was under some kind of spell. Taking a round, cushioned seat at the counter, she gazed around and saw that the place was half-filled. Several of the booths against the wall were occupied with young families or with older men who were leisurely sipping away at coffee while enjoying the day off from whatever business they had. Two other men, who seemed not to be together, based on their lack of communication, sat farther down the counter. She also saw two women at a back table engaged in conversation, so much so that they looked lost in their own world. Just then, the door that led to the kitchen swung out, a woman Trina guessed as being between fifty and sixty emerging.

“Morning, hon,” she said to Trina. “Coffee?”

“If it tastes as good as it smells, please,” she said, realizing her remark sounded a bit like that customer at the motel this morning. “I mean, yes, and keep it coming.”

The woman grabbed a ceramic mug, placed it in front of Trina, then poured.

“You new in town?”

“Oh, uh, sort of. I'm, really, I'm just passing through.”

“Hmph, seems I've heard that before. Guy who said that ended up living here.”

Trina didn't know how to respond, so she took a sip of coffee. Warmth spread to her insides as caffeine rushed through her bloodstream. She felt instantly awake, alive. “Wow, I don't know how you do it, but that's maybe the best cup of coffee I've ever tasted. Sara was right.”

“Sara? You're just passing through but yet you know one of my girls?”

“Oh, she's my . . . I suppose you'd say she's my cousin-in-law. I'm Trina.”

“Oh sure, Richie's girl. Name's Martha Martinson, honey, and this is my establishment. Your father and I help each other out a lot. I serve visitors a meal, he gives them a pillow to place their heads, and we both benefit. Sorry to hear about his accident, but that's real nice of you to come and help him out. Truth be told, I never knew Richie had a kid and I've known him a lot of years . . . Oh, I suppose that wasn't so good of me to say.”

“It's fine, Martha. I'm well aware of the strained relationship my father and I have.”

“Yup, guess you would be. So can I get you anything else?”

“Right now, this is perfect. Is Sara around?”

“She was here earlier but I sent her home, despite her protests. She's plumb tired and that baby's ready to burst. Well, nice to meet you, Trina, but I gotta get my butt back to the kitchen. I'm short staffed and the lunch rush is coming. Gotta get my chili ready.”

“Need help?”

“Excuse me, hon?”

Trina found herself surprised by her own offer. Maybe it was the coffee fueling her, but she felt right now like she could walk several miles and not suffer any ill effects. “Richie's not expecting me back until three at best, and I've got nothing else to do. So I could do refills, take some orders. You don't have to pay me.”

“Ever waitress before?”

“College. The local pub. Frat guys pinching my butt.”

“Well, don't imagine that happening here, though you may want to avoid Chet's table.”

She pointed to the booth where the two older men were chatting. One of the men lifted his empty coffee cup, beckoned to Martha for a refill. “I think I can handle him,” Trina said, and that was that. Martha brought her around the counter, handed her an apron and a pad, and set her off with a fresh pot of coffee, telling her any tips she made were hers to keep. So she poured refills for the man named Chet and his friend, and then she emptied a table of dirty dishes while Martha handled the young family's bill, served a couple of omelets to a couple who'd just arrived and who couldn't wait till lunch. As Trina zoomed about the busy diner, she felt her adrenaline pulsing through her body and a constant smile present on her lips, and she realized she was having the most fun she'd had in . . . well, a while.

“Hi, ladies. Can I get you refills?” Trina asked as she approached the two women at the back table.

“You're a godsend,” one of them said. “Poor Martha's been run ragged all morning.”

“I'm happy to help her out, and Sara.”

The other woman looked up at her. “How do you know Sara?”

“She's my cousin . . . er, cousin-in-law. Mark Ravens and I are first cousins.”

“Well, Mark and Sara are good friends of ours. I'm Nora; this is Cynthia.”

“Hi, nice to meet you. Trina.”

“You just moved to town?”

“Yes, about a week ago.”

“Just you?”

Trina wasn't sure what they meant by that. “Excuse me?”

“Husband, boyfriend . . . kids?”

If this was a multiple-choice quiz, she'd go with answer D. “None of the above.”

“Well, Trina,” Cynthia said, “you may think we're crazy, but you seem like the kind of woman who rises to a challenge—I mean, you came in for a cup of coffee and next thing you know you're serving it to all of us customers. Seeing what happened here just now, we couldn't help but be reminded about a friend of ours having had a similar thing happen to him—walked into a business as a customer, emerged an employee not an hour later. You broke his record.”

“I'm not sure what you're getting at,” Trina said.

“Would you like to meet him?” Nora asked.

“Meet him? Are you asking me if I want to go out on a date?”

Both women exchanged conspiratorial looks with each other before gazing back up at a visibly surprised Trina. The one named Cynthia then said, “As a matter of fact, yes.”

C
HAPTER
4

B
RIAN

 

 

 

I
t was nearly the end of a warm November, a Sunday morning that found Brian Duncan mixing a bowl of pancake batter—his and Janey's usual weekend breakfast treat—the sizzle of bacon coming off the pan filling the kitchen with mouth-watering, run-down-the-stairs smells. Usually Janey was at his side by now, wanting to flip the shriveling slices of bacon before they got too crisp, but she was nowhere to be seen. He hadn't even heard her stirring upstairs. He'd better make sure she was awake before he set the batter on the grill; cold pancakes did not reheat well. So he put down the whisk and turned off the burner where the bacon crackled and made his way to the bottom of the staircase.

“Janey, breakfast is nearly ready. Sweetie, are you awake?”

“Be down soon,” he heard, though the sound was slightly muffled. He heard the creak of her bedroom door, then, more clearly, “Don't overcook the bacon.”

He smiled, not just at the sound of her voice but at the fact that he knew her so well.

“Already turned off. I'm about to put the pancakes on the griddle.”

Her happy acknowledgment was cut short by the ringing of the telephone. Nine o'clock in the morning; who would be calling this early, and why? He hoped nothing was wrong. Back to the kitchen, he grabbed the receiver on the third ring, said hello.

“Brian, it's your mother.”

This was the second time she'd phoned in the last four days, might be a record since he'd come to call Linden Corners home. The ever-proper Didi Duncan hadn't exactly approved—nor made her disapproval a secret—of her son's new pastoral lifestyle, throwing away a promising career in New York to care for some woman's child she claimed Brian hardly knew, all in some rinky-dink town that even time forgot existed. Not that Didi knew anything about Linden Corners. Neither of his parents had yet to visit, not in two-plus years of invitations. Yet her announcement on Thanksgiving evening had unexpectedly set the clock ticking to reverse that truth. The idea of their visit instilled more than a hint of fear in Brian, though he hoped on this morning it wasn't evident in his voice.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Brian, dear, I know we kind of surprised you the other day, with our announcement.”

“It's okay, Mom. The holidays can be emotional. It's okay if you're reconsidering.”

There was hesitation on the other end and Brian had to guess he'd hit the nail on the head with his assertion. The very idea of Kevin and Didi Duncan, perpetual world travelers during the holidays, forgoing their usual cruise with their friends the Hendersons for a country Christmas had been a crazy one from the start. Though a small part of him was disappointed, he felt relief settle his nerves. Phone up to his ear, he turned toward the batter to resume stirring, and that's when he saw a still-bathrobe-clad Janey turn the corner and pad her way into the kitchen. He smiled over at her as his mother said something, and as a result he thought he misheard his mother's reply.

“Wait, Mom, what was that?”

“I said, on the contrary. Your father and I are very much looking forward to seeing you. Your . . . farmhouse, do you call it? We think it needs something more than you and Jane, a shot of family.” She paused. “And speaking of Jane, my goodness, she must be growing so.”

“Yeah, that she is,” he said, quickly noting his mother's continual refusal to call Janey by the name she preferred. Like it was Didi Duncan's decision what a young girl she barely knew should be called. “In fact, Janey's right here with me, getting ready for breakfast. Oh, I forgot to heat the grill . . . wait, Mom . . . hang on . . . ,” he said, turning back around to flip the switch on the grill while batter congealed like a blob on the griddle's surface. He scraped it off, stirring the pancake batter again, nearly dropping the phone. “Oh, crap . . . I mean, darn . . .”

He heard a giggle escape Janey's lips. Yes, he'd said a bad word. He shrugged her way.

“Brian, I can hear you're very busy. We can talk later. But I wanted to let you know to expect us around the fifteenth of the month. Is that okay? I assume you have room for us at your, uh, what do you call it?”

“It's a farmhouse, Mom. But usually we just call it home.”

He was amazed he could get such a dig in at her, still reeling from the fact that they were arriving on the fifteenth. That meant they would be staying here under the same roof for at least ten days, more if they stayed through New Year's. He hadn't spent that much time with his parents in years, probably not since he was still in high school—half his life ago. An odd concept, he thought; they were his parents but he wondered how much he really knew them as people, how much they knew him. He supposed he was going to find out. “Uh, sure, Mom, you'll arrive just in time for some of our big traditions—like cutting down the Christmas tree up at Green's Tree Farm and of course the annual tavern Christmas party that I throw in George's honor, the Christmas Eve pageant . . . you'll get more than your share of Linden Corners' cheer.”

She paused, as though taking it all in. “We look forward to it.”

You do?
He was glad his surprised mind kept those words trapped and didn't filter them down to his loose tongue, lest his mother believe she and his father were not welcome. They were; he'd been extending an invite since two Thanksgivings ago, and they had yet to take him up on his offer. Until now, strangely. And if truth were known, he didn't recall extending a specific invite for this Christmas, having given up on them after this past Fourth of July. What was different now?

“Can you put Dad on? I just want to make sure he's not being blackmailed or something,” he said, his tone light.

There was hesitation on the other end before his mother said, “He's resting.”

Brian felt an unsettled feeling sweep over him. “Hey, Mom, is everything all right?”

“Of course, dear,” she said in her usual toneless way. “Why would you think otherwise?”

Because Dad was resting this early in the morning; hadn't he just woken? Kevin Duncan was a big man, in both size and personality, and he wasn't known for his “napping” at any point in the day. But Brian decided not to return her volley. He figured he'd find out soon enough what was going on, just two weeks to prepare the house, and even more so, prepare himself mentally. “Okay, so it's settled. Janey and I will see you both on the fifteenth. We can't wait to show you around town,” he said. “And just think, you two will finally get to see the windmill up close.”

Didi Duncan had already hung up, leaving Brian wondering if he'd heard her good-bye while he'd been speaking of his beloved windmill. He knew his mother had never understood his decision to forge a new life in Linden Corners, even before the tragedy that had taken Annie from their lives. It was the ever-present spinning sails of the windmill that kept her spirit alive and, as such, kept Janey's and his bond as tight as could be. As he replaced the receiver, he stole a look out the kitchen window and caught sight of the old mill, its sails gently turning. For a moment he thought back to the secret surprise Christmas gift he'd received last week, hidden away inside the windmill until December twenty-fifth, as the card dictated. Looked like that unforeseen gift wasn't the only surprise this holiday.

“What do you think of that, Janey, my parents staying with us for two weeks?”

He realized he was speaking to an empty kitchen, as Janey was nowhere to be found.

Pancakes were bubbling up on the griddle and the bacon was now soggy with grease.

“Janey . . . ? Hey, Janey . . .”

He turned off the sizzling griddle and went into the living room, it, too, empty. Had she gone back upstairs, maybe to shower? But why not tell him? He took the stairs two at a time, feeling like his feet barely touched the creaky wood. He found the door to her bedroom closed, so he knocked, waited patiently for an answer. There wasn't one, so he tried again. And again, no response.

Uh-oh,
he thought.

If he knew one thing about Janey Sullivan, it was this: if something was bothering her, she closed up tighter than an alligator's mouth. Her bite could be something fierce too. But he'd also learned not to let these infrequent bouts of withdrawal linger, so he turned the knob of her door and entered her bedroom. Her room, but he was the parent. He found Janey lying on the bed, fisted hand giving her chin a place to rest. She was staring at the head of the bed, her eyes zoned in on her stuffed purple frog, which sat upright on her pillow. He eased himself down on the edge of her bed, resting his hand against her back.

“You want to tell me why you ditched breakfast?”

“You were busy.”

“I was multitasking, yes.”

“You don't do that well,” she said, and while it was true, the comment wasn't meant to be funny.

“Are you okay with my parents visiting? You haven't said much about it since I got the call on Thanksgiving.”

“It's okay. I know you've been wanting them to come visit.”

“Yes, that's true. And I'm going to need your help.”

She paused, turned away from the frog, and looked up at him. “Why me?”

“Well, this is your home. You have to make them feel welcome.”

“You live here too.”

“Yeah, but you came first.”

Her eyes darted toward the far end of the room, Brian's eyes following them. Hung up on the wall were Christmas presents from last year, portraits of both Annie Sullivan, her mother, and Dan Sullivan, her father, the former of whom she remembered every day, the latter of whom she'd lost at such a young age she barely knew anything about. Brian had discovered the portraits inside the drawers of Annie's studio inside the windmill; Annie had of course been the artist behind them. The fact that Janey's gaze fell upon them was not unusual, especially since here was Brian, thirty-six, fortunate enough to still have his parents part of his life, while Janey did not. Sometimes life was unfair. Sometimes he was amazed at Janey's resilience. This moment wasn't one of them.

“Tell you what. I'll make a fresh batch of breakfast; then we'll eat,” he said. “And don't forget, today is Sunday, and that means we get to spend the entire day together. Mark's got the bar tonight.”

“Um, do you think we can change those plans?” she asked.

“I guess. Why? What's up?”

“I want to go see Cynthia and little Jake,” she said.

Brian nodded. If that was what she wanted, that was fine. The Knights' big announcement about moving hadn't received much play either in the last few days, Janey barely saying a word about it. Like she didn't believe it, and Brian didn't blame her; he wasn't sure he did either. A great new job for Bradley was on offer, a chance of a lifetime for them all. Those were all the pat words expressed Thanksgiving night, but with everyone around, Brian hadn't had a chance to get the real story. Cynthia Knight leaving Linden Corners was like the wind no longer coming to visit, rendered impossible by nature itself. But all that could wait. Janey could have her day with them and he could get some repairs done down at the tavern, recalling the creaky wood floor. But he told Janey that he expected her back for dinner and she easily agreed. Brian left, returning to their spoiled breakfast, doing what he could to rescue its charred remnants. Janey arrived at the table not five minutes later, her familiar purple frog dangling from her hand. She set it on one of the place mats before she went digging inside the cabinet, withdrawing a bottle of maple syrup.

“Let's have the real stuff today,” she said. “You know, the kind we bought in Vermont on my birthday weekend last month.”

He looked down at the fresh order of pancakes, turned one, satisfied with its brown coating but little else. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, his tone not unlike his mother's.

He'd gone cold with worry about Janey and ran through all that had happened already on this day. Portraits of her departed parents acknowledged, check. Stuffed purple frog she'd had forever clutched close to her, check. Mention of her recent birthday, check. Janey was sending out signals Brian could hardly miss, reminding him that while he was her guardian, her surname was indeed Sullivan, not Duncan.

Brian had learned a lot about little girls in the two-plus years in which Janey Sullivan had been in his care, and the most important one was when she needed the attention of a mother figure. So when she grew silent around him and then moments later passed up their usual day together and asked to see Cynthia, he didn't put up an argument, nor did he feel slighted. Brian Duncan knew the need would only grow exponentially as she stretched toward her teen years, and he realized he'd have to find a new role model for her.