Page 38 of Mornings By the Linden Tree
We both glanced at the foyer as the front door creaked open, then closed. Percy taking his leave. I felt saddened that he felt he needed to sneak away like some sort of unwanted vermin caught rifling through the garbage can.
“I feel really shitty.” Lennon sighed, then slid from the pullout to the floor. I pulled him closer, so he could kneel between my legs. He placed his cheek on my belly. Our fingers slipped apart, slowly, and I let my hands fall to his hair. Soft as a kitten’s belly, his hair was, and so I stroked it as the rain clouds continued to dump bucketfuls on Nantucket. “I was beyond rude to that man. A man I don’t know from Adam, yet I wanted to kick him back out into the rain, which…yeah, I guess I just did.”
Headlights swept the cottage as a taxi or Uber pulled in to pick up their fare.
“No, that was not on you,” I rushed to say, my fingers now buried in his hair, my fingertips rubbing his scalp. “That was me. One hundred percent. The blame for his arrival and the unpleasantness afterward is fully my burden to carry. He’s enamored of me. I think he has been for a long time, but I was so rigidly set in my ways he felt he had to pretend to be as cold as I am.”
“You’re not cold.” He placed a kiss on my stomach. I bent my head to return the favor but to his hair. I inhaled lime and felt something settle into my breast. A coming home, perhaps. Likewhat a homing pigeon might feel when he finally returns to his cote.
“Oh, but I am. I am chilled internally. Did you know when I first heard about Valeria, I thought to just turn her over to foster care?” He said nothing, just slid his arms around my middle to hold me close. “I did. And I held that belief for far longer than any decent person should. I was safe in my world. Secure in the knowledge I had erected barriers high enough no one could scale them. My heart was at the top of Mount Everest, hidden in a cold metal box, where only the bravest of the brave would dare to climb.”
“Thousands of people scale Mount Everest every year,” he murmured into my shirt.
“Hush now with your facts. I’m trying to sway the jury.”
His chuckles were short puffs of warm, moist air that moved through my shirt to tickle the dark hairs on my chest. “My point was that I’ve been hiding. The small boy who was left to fend for himself is still in charge, his fears culminated in what took place here tonight.”
“To be fair, I think I may have pushed your friend into leaving just as much as you did,” he said as his hair fell through my fingers. “It was obvious you two knew each other. Like knew each other in the biblical sense. And I hated that so much because I wanted to know you on that level as well. I was petty and jealous. He saw it. And then you dismissed what I thought we were building with that ‘only the nanny’ comment. Damn but that really hurt.”
“I am so sorry.” I moved his head gently, lifting it up so I could see the pain in his sapphire eyes. “That was the child in me pushing anything that might be caring for another human being away with vehemence. I wish I could promise I won’t do anything like that again, but this is new ground for me. Uneven,rocky, nearly impassable difficult terrain that my Ferragamo oxfords are terribly unsuited for.”
“I can probably loan you some hiking boots.”
I snorted. “Imagine me in hiking boots.”
“I think you would rock hiking boots. And just in case you fall down while crossing that difficult terrain, I’ll be right there at your side to catch you.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him to promise, but I didn’t. Little Wesley had asked far too many adults to promise they would stay and none of them did, even his parents. I could only imagine what Dr. Bajaj would have to say about that if I—when I—shared it with him. For now, though, I wanted nothing more than to hold this man close and let the rain wash away some of the hurts I had caused. Nothing short of a typhoon would fully cleanse me, but this night was a start on a long journey back so I could move ahead.
***
Most people who were up at six in the morning on a holiday Sunday were either parents or pastors readying a sermon. In my little cottage, we were neither, not legally on the parental side nor spiritually on the man of the cloth side. We were awake, though, the sun burning off the lingering clouds to promise a sunny day. Perfect for celebrating this country’s independence from Britain. As I stood along the sea, barefoot, the surf rolling over my nude feet to dampen the hems of my rolled-up dark khaki slacks, I cradled a film container in my hands. The wind was gentle, yet a soft, balmy breeze lifted the summery dress Valeria had chosen to wear. She and Lennon were gathering seashells to lay on the sand in lieu of flowers. The silver urn sat on the back porch so Aida could see her memorial. It was sillyto have brought the urn, but it felt right to include her. Was that morbid? I didn’t feel so, nor did Lennon.
I’d spent a few hours in the dead of the night last night writing down a few words. Generally, I was quite eloquent, but I had struggled over what to say for this. Seemed it was easier to paint a rosy picture of a philanderer to a bored judge than it was to dig deep into the chasm of a rocky childhood.
Pipers poked along the wet sand. The ever-present gulls banked and wheeled overhead. I dug my toes into the sand as I watched the two most important people in my life—this new life I was fumbling through like a drunken capybara—slowly make their way back to me. Lennon was wearing shorts, a tank, and a rakish little cap. He’d not slept well either or long enough. His flight left at ten, so we wanted to see to this, then eat the chocolate chip pancakes he had promised to make before he had to go. Valeria and I would stay until Tuesday.
“I has a basketful,” Valeria announced as she trotted up to me, her long hair in a thick braid that hung down her back. It was the only hairstyle I knew how to create. Add that to the incredibly long list of uncle-of-a-little-girl things I needed to learn. “Can we still talk to Mama at the mirror tower if we drops her ash into the ocean here?”
“Yes, we can. We’ll visit the mirror tower every time we go to see Dr. Bajaj so your chats will float to Heaven,” I assured her. “This is just a little ceremony to remember her. Are you ready?”
“I am ready.” She walked forward and dumped her entire bucket of shells into the foam. “I will always remember you, Mama. These are seashells that one time had lobsters in them.” I smiled down at the child as she poked at the shells with her big toe. “They are for you. And the mermaids. I think if you finds them, you will be a mermaid too.”
A moment went by. “Do you want to say anything else?” I asked her and got a shake of her head. “Very well.” I stepped outfurther into the surf, the boats in the marina bobbing silently. I turned away from the wind, removed the cap from the old film canister I’d found in a desk drawer back home, and closed my eyes. In my mind, I saw Aida as a little girl, the spitting image of her daughter, who was clinging to my belt with one hand and Lennon with the other. She was chasing me around our yard, chubby legs propelling her after me as Dad cooked burgers on the grill and Mom was busy watering her beloved roses. A picture-perfect day captured in my memories. If only life could stay as photographically pristine as our cherished recollections. “Aida, may the soft rocking of the sea comfort you. May the ebb and flow of the ocean bring you the peace you could never find on land. You are loved. You are missed. You will live on forever in our hearts.”
I dumped the teaspoonful of ash into the air. The winds carried it upward and out from the shore until they disappeared from sight. My chest felt tight. The tears broke free in a gasping sob that nearly sent me to my knees. I’d not cried for years. Decades. Lennon stepped close to wrap me in his arms. Valeria began crying softly, upset over my upset. I lifted her up, placed her on my hip, and we three stood there as saltwater rolled in and back over our naked feet.
“That was lovely,” Lennon whispered. Valeria patted my wet cheeks. “Are we ready to go back inside to have pancakes?”
“I think Uncle Wes needs more time with Mama,” Valeria said, wise beyond her years.
When our toes were wrinkled, we made our way back to the cottage. The pancakes were divine. Saying goodbye to Lennon was not divine at all. A long, sweet kiss at the front door from me as Valeria ensured he took her yellow bunny along for when the plane hit bad potholes in the sky. We waved at Lennon as he climbed into the back seat of a yellow cab.
When the taxi was out of sight, I looked down at my niece. “What do you want to do now?”
“I want you to make Lennon your boyfriend.” I nearly choked on my spit. “It is easy, Uncle Wes. I seen a show on it. Lulu the two-can just walked up to Preston the jagger and gived him a flower, and they was together. She said they was boyfriend and so it was. If you give Lennon a flower, then he will be your boyfriend to live with us so he don’t have to go back to work for the shitty boss.”
Right. Well, that was a lot to unpack. “Why don’t we go have a cuddle on the couch and talk about Preston the jaguar, Lulu the toucan, boyfriends and girlfriends, and words little girls should not use in polite company.”
