Memory Tree (12 page)

“Cheers,” she said, raising her glass.

Brian lifted the glass and let it clink against hers, and then set it against his lips. He took a small sip before setting it down. “Okay, Ms. Trina Winter, tell me your life story.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What do you want to tell me?”

“Brian, we'll get nowhere if all we do is banter around questions,” she said, spinning in her chair as she took another drink. He'd have to watch her alcohol intake; he wasn't sure if she had driven over, thinking it unlikely since she seemed to enjoy midnight walks. Which meant he might have to drive her home.

“What's that?” she asked, pointing to the gift on the pool table. “You're getting ready for Secret Santa already?”

“More like the other way around,” Brian said.

“I thought names were going to be picked on Sunday.”

He explained the strange gifts and how this had been going on since the night they'd met, and how the arrival of the second gift had inspired Cynthia to come up with a town-wide Secret Santa. “It was actually Janey who made the suggestion.”

“Janey, she's adorable.”

Brian had lifted his glass to take a drink, happy for the diversion. “You met her?”

“Not officially,” she said. “She stopped by Nora's store the other day and I happened to be there.”

“Janey was there, why?”

“From what I heard, a Christmas surprise,” Trina said. “I didn't stay to find out what.”

Brian had no idea why Janey would be turning to Nora for something. Unless it was her way to move beyond her dependency on Cynthia. Which just reinforced the idea that both of his friends had—that Janey needed a woman in her life. The questions was, did Brian too? He stole a look at Trina, busy knocking back her scotch.

“Barkeep, how about a refill?”

He paused, looked at her empty glass, his full one. She was up two to none. “Last one.”

“Brian Duncan, you are too good to be true,” she suddenly said.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Do you ever get tired of looking out for people?”

He shrugged. “Guess it's in my nature. The people of this town have been good to me, so I like to return the favor.”

Ignoring the fresh pour sitting before her, Trina hopped off the stool and came around the bar. Brian wasn't sure what she was doing, but he didn't have long to wait to find out. Like the other night at the river's edge, she leaned in and kissed him, this time wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him toward her. Her lips pressed deep against his before releasing them.

“Maybe it's time you do something for yourself, Brian Duncan.”

He paused to find his voice. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

He blushed again, and this time the color went deep on his face. “Uh, you do realize that Mark and Sara live upstairs?”

She slid her hand into his and smiled. “Brian, you do realize I run a motel.”

Whether her remark inspired him or perhaps just set fear afire inside him, Brian Duncan reached for his beer, and he drank.

 

 

Snow had begun to drift down onto Linden Corners in the last half hour, a heavy wet snow that was sticking to darkened roads and sidewalks. Conditions were deteriorating fast, making it less than ideal for walking and worse for driving, but Brian figured it was only a half mile to the Solemn Nights Motel and less than two miles the other way back to the farmhouse.

Inside the truck, the heat was blasting but he still felt a chill rip through him.

It wasn't the outside cold affecting him but a rushing mixture of fear, apprehension, and something he hadn't felt in too long, desire. As a result, he felt that every move he made, every word that popped into his mind, would just add to his nervousness. So he just stared forward, flicked on the wipers, and concentrated on turning out of the parking lot. He went left, driving toward the Solemn Nights.

Trina was at his side.

Neither said much of importance during the short ride, thankfully the arrival of winter's first storm of the season distracting them. Trina admitted that the sight of snowflakes as they caught the beam of headlights was what had been missing from her Linden Corners experience, and Brian stole a look sideways, seeing the wide smile on her face. She'd grown up in Florida, and so the classic image of Christmas was just that, an iconic portrait she'd seen only in pictures and television shows. Branches of the surrounding trees were quick to grab the falling flakes, almost as though they were craving them, holding them tight and asking where they had been all season. Nature spoke its own language, both outside among the trees and here, inside the confines of the cab, where two people silently anticipated the complex clutches of warmth.

Brian pulled into the parking lot of the motel, dousing the engine just outside the office. Turning off the headlights, he was blinded by the blinking, teasing neon of the VACANCY sign. Taking a quick survey of the lot, he saw only two other cars parked in front of doors.

“Number seven and number ten,” she said, answering his question before he'd voiced it.

“Oh, uh, oh,” he said.

Yeah, better to keep quiet.

She took hold of his hand again and squeezed it, and he felt the warm touch of her skin. With her key already out, he realized this was the point of no return. Should he make his excuses and return home? But return home to . . . what? An empty series of rooms? Or he could follow the intent of that key, giving entry into a new room, a new world. Hesitation finally losing out, he got out of the truck, watching around him as she quickly slid the key into the lock and turned the knob. The door swung open and she waited for him to step in first.

“See, now I get to invite you in,” she said.

Brian had been inside the rooms at the Solemn Nights only once before, three years earlier, when he'd first come to Linden Corners. After just a few nights' staying here, he'd secured more permanent lodging at the apartment above the tavern, now rented out to Mark and Sara. In an odd twist of fate, Brian entered a building owned by his tenant's family. The room, he saw, was sparse, with the expected furnishings and little else that spoke of Trina's individuality. Hadn't she been here for a few weeks? It didn't look very cozy at all, not in a way that would make her feel like it was home.

“I spend most of my waking hours at Richie's apartment,” she explained, again before he'd asked the question.

“Oh, uh, oh,” he replied.

She slid up before him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You're nervous.”

“Trina, I haven't been with anyone since . . . since Annie.”

She kissed him, and he returned the kiss. He enjoyed her touch, realizing it had been so long—too long—since he'd been in the arms of a woman. Sure, he had his friends and he had Janey, whose hugs filled his heart in other ways, but Trina was different. She was an enigma, one minute seemingly annoyed at the world, the next ready to tackle it. He wondered which one he was getting now. Gazing into her soft eyes, he detected someone else entirely, a hint of the person he'd met on the banks of the river. He recognized in her sweetness, softness, and a warm, welcoming light that drew him close to her.

“Someone once told me that you're not living unless you have something to look forward to,” she said. “Looking back only causes pain, but living beyond today has its share of dangers too. No one knows how long they have on this earth, but yet so many still put off today thinking they'll wait for another time. Not me. I subscribe to living life in the here and now. It's a good place to be. Here is a good place to be, with you, Brian.”

He took hold of her hand and led her to the bed. As he bent down, a flash of light flickered in his eye, momentarily distracting him. He noticed that an open slit in the curtains was allowing in the glow coming from the parking lot. Trina had seen it too, and she got up from the bed and peered out. Brian then heard the unmistakable sound of car doors opening, then closing.

Trina couldn't help but laugh. “I do believe I have some late-night arrivals.”

“Hourly?”

“Not from the looks of them,” she said with a laugh. “It's an older couple. Brian, I'm sorry, but Richie is asleep and this is why I'm staying here. Let me get them checked in and then I'll be right back. Fear not, I'll give them room nine, far away from us.”

Trina grabbed her keys and made a fast exit, closing the door behind her. Brian sat down on the bed, stretching out his body, surprised at how comfortable the mattress was. As he stared up at the ceiling, he couldn't believe this scenario, nor could he have expected it. But had the stars not aligned on this night? Janey was taken care of, his customers had left him alone early, and his nosy friends had pushed him and Trina together, to the point where he accepted that they enjoyed each other's company. And now he was here in her bed, as if it was meant to be.

He thought it was also too soon.

The door opened a few minutes later and Trina returned, her face as white as a sheet.

“Something wrong?”

“Uh, Brian, are you expecting company?”

“Here, at the Solemn Nights . . . ?” he asked, confusion on his face. “I don't understand . . .”

“The people who just checked in—they gave their names as Kevin and Didi Duncan.”

Janey knew this was a test of faith, not just of Annie, not of Brian, but of herself.
Trust in yourself,
she thought, and moments later she was magically transported to the second level of the windmill, her eyes immediately glancing over at the closet, the door closed. Despite its being a place known for hiding Christmas gifts, temptation just a turn of the knob away, Janey knew not to look. This was another test, one of truth. So she turned her back to the door, and that's when she saw a flickering light coming from outside the window. A sail passed by, then a second, a third, a fourth, and with each revolution that beckoning light flickered more, drawing her to its flame.

From a square box that suddenly appeared in his hands, Brian withdrew an ornament of shiny blue glass with silver lettering on one side of it. She could not make out what it said, but she didn't need her eyes; her memory knew it spelled out his name. This was Brian's
's
precious name ball, a family heirloom, and she watched as he hung it securely on a high branch. His mother, dressed in a cardigan sweater, with a string of pearls around her neck, took hold of another of the ornaments, hers golden in color and the name “Didi” written across it. She chose a branch and seemed very satisfied with it. At last came Brian's father, a man seemingly as large as the tree itself. He pulled out a red ball that read “Kevin,” and it reflected off the flame in the fireplace. The glare caught Janey's eye and she blinked away glittering spots and missed where he placed it; either that or her gaze didn't reach that high. When she refocused, she saw the three of them each taking a turn with another ball, this one blue, and as Brian's mother placed it on the branch nearest hers, she clutched at her pearls and allowed her husband to embrace her.

Yes, almost, Janey thought, nearly screaming those words inside her mind.
Me, I'm not there, even though you called out for me.
Why hadn't she joined them, and where was her name ornament? If this was indeed the Christmas of now, where was Janey Sullivan and where were last year's gifts that she would hang on the tree? Ornaments that sealed two families as one?

 

 

Pulling back the covers, Janey padded her way to the window. Snow was everywhere, on the tree branches and all across the wide stretch of land.
No school today,
she thought, and then remembered it was Saturday. And not just any Saturday, but Green's Tree Farm Saturday, where she and Brian would go to chop down the tree that would make their home glow for the season. They would take it home and they would decorate it and they would adorn its thick branches with the ornaments that made their past two Christmases so special.