I started digging, too, but my shovel only got in the way of his. The girls argued over which tree should be planted first, then what the tree should be named. “Belle” was finally settled into the soil, and Matt and I—okay, mostly Matt—scooped dirt back around it. Matt placed a hand on top of the tree. “Belle, I hereby beseech thee to live long and prosper.”
The ritual was repeated eight more times, with the girls taking over each tree’s blessing. The words grew more and more mangled as we proceeded, like a game of telephone. The last tree’s solemn injunction, muttered by Sophie, sounded something like, “Jasmine, I hear ’bout bee’s itchy to live large and posture.”
Matt and I grinned over their heads. Once again, I felt a zing of heat pass between us. The girls played tag on the way back, and Matt and I joined in. We were all laughing as we joined the other volunteers at the truck thirty minutes later.
The forestry officer gathered up the shovels. “Great job! Thanks a million.”
I waved good-bye to Matt and the girls, and piled back into the van with the women. “Husband and wife tree,” Jen said as we passed it. “That’s so beautiful—the thought of those two trees grafted and growing together.”
“After a while they’re just holding each other up,” Clarabel said.
“That’s beautiful, too,” said Jen.
Everyone laughed, but we all murmured sounds of agreement. I twisted in my seat to gaze at the tree until it was no longer in sight.
20
adelaide
Isneaked out to the backyard while Nadine the aide was in the bathroom. I thought that if I went outside, it might trigger something. I didn’t expect a memory, exactly—how could I remember something I hadn’t known in the first place?—but I figured that I might get some kind of notion where to look.
The Meyer lemon tree against the far fence was in bloom. The scent was dizzyingly sweet. The tulips were still bursting with color, as dazzling and warm as new love. And the azaleas—oh, what colors! In the last few days they’d opened wide, their petals of fuchsia and pink blazing so brightly they practically burned my eyes. My fingers twitched, longing to connect with a camera button. It was one of my favorite times of the year, when God seemed to just burst through the leaves in a sudden, overflowing abundance of beauty. I felt sorry for people who rushed right by, never seeing the colors, never acknowledging the love the creator poured into making such an opulent display, just to gladden our hearts and assure us of his glory.
But I needed to think about how the yard had looked back then. Goodness, that would have been sixty-some-odd years ago! The yard had changed a lot over time. It still has the big oaks, some magnolias, and a couple of birch trees, but a giant elm, some pines,and a pecan tree have since died or been toppled in a hurricane. The vegetable garden is still on the right side, but it’s much smaller than it was back then, and I didn’t have the flower beds encircling the trees. The only place I’m pretty sure I can rule out was the center of the lawn. Charlie couldn’t have buried anything there, or I would have seen it.
Or would I? It had been fall, and the ground was covered with leaves. Maybe right out in plain sight would have been the best hiding place of all.
I leaned heavily on my walker. The truth is, at the time, I hadn’t wanted to see anything. I’d even asked Charlie if I should skip planting vegetables or flowers that spring, and he’d replied, “No reason not to.” Still, I’d only planted a few tomatoes and peppers and squash plants, no root vegetables or anything deep, and I’d felt uneasy in the backyard all that summer, and most of the summer after. There’s a possibility, I suppose, that he actually left our property that night to bury that suitcase somewhere else, but the gate squeaked, and opening it wide made it bang against the house, and I think I would have heard it.
Funny how you can fear something so much that you just can’t bear to think about it, but the more you push it to the back of your thoughts, the stronger the dread of it grows. All these years, this fear had been festering in its dark corner. Waiting. Lurking. Spreading in the dark, like a fungus.
Now that I’m finally bringing it forward, it’s shocking, how much it tortures me. Shame is so corrosive. How could I have left it unaddressed for all these years? How had I lived with it? How had Charlie?
Ah, well. What is done in secret will be brought into the light. That’s what it says in the good book, and I guess that’s the way it is.
“Gran?”
I turned to see Hope and the aide standing behind me.
“What are you doing out here?” Hope asked.
“Enjoying the azaleas.” The lie felt bitter on my tongue.Time for the truth, old girl.“And... trying to remember something.”
“You shouldn’t be out of the house without someone,” the aide scolded.
I smiled at her. “No offense, dearie, but now and then, I need some time alone. At my age, I think I’ve earned that right.”
The aide put her hand on hip, as if she was about to give me a lecture, but Hope spoke first. “Of course you have. Be careful not to get too tired.”
She motioned the aide back inside and followed her. I could feel Hope, though, watching me through the kitchen window.
She was worried. And it was no wonder; the fact was, I was frail and old and feeble. Standing out here wasn’t helping anyway. I shuffled back to the kitchen, surprised and chagrined at how arduous a trek it was.
“Would you like some tea?” Hope asked.
“Yes, dear. Pour some for yourself as well, and then let’s take it into my bedroom and tell the aide not to disturb us.”
I slowly scuffled into my room and settled in the rocking chair. Hope brought in two steaming mugs, set them both on coasters on my side table, and looked at me expectantly.
