“Very well, all things considered, but that head injury really took a toll on her.”
Clarabel looked at me sympathetically. “On her mind?”
“Well, on her short-term memory, for sure. She’ll forget something that was said five minutes ago, but she remembers a lot about the past. At least, Ithinkshe’s remembering it.”
“Dementia’s so common in someone her age,” Marie murmured.
“I don’t think it’s that,” I said. “Some of her stories are pretty far out, but I think they really happened. What worries me is that sometimes I find her all alone, talking out loud.”
“Oh, I do that,” Clarabel said. “I talk to myself all the time. And sometimes I talk to Saint Anthony to help me find stuff. Why, just the other day, I lost my car at the grocery store, and...”
She told a funny tale about getting into the wrong car, which inspired Freret to tell about getting lost in the French Quarter, which led to other stories and confessions. My stomach hurt from laughing by the time we’d piled out of the van and joined a group of about a dozen more people.
To my surprise, Matt, Zoey, and Sophie were among them. I spotted the children first—then Matt turned around, and my stomach somersaulted.
Sophie gave a squeal and ran toward me. “Hey, Hope! Look—Zoey lost her tooth!”
I bent and looked into her widely opened mouth. “That’s wonderful, sweetie! I can see your big-girl tooth already coming in.”
“Yeah! And the tooth fairy came and gave me a dollar!”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Are you going to come work on our room tonight?” Sophie asked.
“If it’s okay with your father.”
Matt had been friendly, but largely invisible for the last few evenings. The girls were in and out of the bedroom while I sketched on the walls, chattering about their day, the sleepover birthday they were both going to the following weekend, how caterpillars turn into butterflies, and a million other things, but Matt mostly stayed downstairs. He seemed to want to keep his distance—and who could blame him? I did something weird every time he saw me.
My exchange with Sophie was cut off when a man in a green uniform with a Louisiana Agriculture and Forestry Service badge motioned for everyone to gather around a white pickup with the department logo on the door. “Thanks for coming out today. As you know, we’re planting trees to help stop erosion of the wetlands.” He opened the bed of the pickup to reveal neat piles of what looked like twelve-inch twigs, along with a stack of shovels. “Our mission is pretty simple. We’ll plant these trees beyond the orange ropes. Today we’ve got Leyland cypress, and they need to be planted about eight to ten feet apart. I’ve cut these strings the right distance, so you don’t have to guess.”
A woman wearing a big straw hat raised her hand. “My gardening guide says cypress should be planted about twenty feet apart.”
“If you’re planting them as ornamental trees at your home, that’s right. But we’re hoping to form a wind break, so we want them close enough together to support each other.”
“Don’t you worry about the roots growing together?”
“Yeah. Or the branches, like the Wedding Tree?” Clarabel pointed behind me. I turned and saw an arch joining two massive live oak trees. I looked closer, and saw that two branches had grown together, forming an arbor.
This was the town’s namesake, I realized. Gran had brought me here to see it when I was a child, and I’d seen numerous photos she’d shot of it—at dawn and dusk, summer and winter, with and without couples under it—but seeing it in person as an adult was something else.
“That’s a pretty rare occurrence, called inosculation,” theforestry officer said. “It sometimes happens that two branches of separate trees, usually of the same species, form a graft of the branches or roots. A tree like that is actually called a husband and wife tree, or a marriage tree. Local lore has it that anyone who kisses under that tree will be together for life.”
Murmurs of “Oh, how sweet!” and “How romantic!” arose from some of the volunteers.
The forestry guide gave further instructions, answered a couple more questions, and handed out shovels. “You can work alone, or in groups of two or three.”
“Hope—come with us!” Sophie said, grabbing my shovel-free hand.
“No, Sophie. That would make four,” Zoey corrected.
Kirsten grinned at her. “The two of you make up less than one adult, so I’m pretty sure you’d still be within the guidelines.” She looked at me. “We’ve got the perfect number for two groups, and I’m sure Matt can use the help. Right, Matt?”
From the way he’d been avoiding me when I worked on the mural, I was pretty sure he didn’t want to be stuck with me. “Oh, I don’t want...”
“Great.” Kirsten smiled as if it were all settled before I could finish my thought or Matt could utter a word. “We’ll see you back here when we’re finished.” With that, she turned and marched off. Clarabel gave me a broad wink and followed Kirsten.
Once again, I wished the ground would open up and swallow me. Why did every encounter with Matt end up being awkward?
