Page 13 of The Two of Us

5

THEN (AGE 11)

“What’s it supposed to be?” I ask.

“Can’t you tell?”

The crunch of leaves beneath my boots signals the onset of fall and I delight in the sound. The massive tree in front of me has transformed into varying shades of burnt sienna—colors my mom would use generously on her landscape paintings.

I’ve always loved this tree. My dad said when he and my mom were looking for their first house in Speck Lake, they knew they needed to find one befitting for a child. Other homes boasted bigger backyards or beautiful docks that led straight out to the lakes, but this house had Old Maple. That’s what he named it. A maple tree so old that being called Old Maple seemed like a no-brainer. Old Maple’s branches spread out toward the sky like arms reaching out to grab the clouds. Its trunk so wide, I often pretend it’s my protector; my shield. I shift on both feet, avoiding the exasperated look on my dad’s face.

“Mara. It’s a tree house.”

I look from the tree to him and then back to the tree again, squinting. “Where?”

“Where? she asks,” he mutters in disappointment.

Solomon Makinen is a big, burly construction man, but unless he’s following an intricate floor plan, he can’t build anything to save his life. When I was five years old, I entrusted him to assemble my Barbie dream house after I accidentally threw away the manual. The result was him crushing Barbie’s elevator with his bare hands and me screaming in horror.

So that’s how I know this tree house is a product of desperation in its purest form. He’ll do anything to prevent me from holing up in the house like I did when Mom left. It’s not enough that I’ve made friends with Ambrose and Cat across the street, he wants me outside.

And if this sad excuse for a tree house isn’t proof of how deeply he loves me, all I need to do is look at his hands buried under blisters and Band-Aids. His love means more than any perfect tree house ever could. I take another look, forcing myself to view it in a positive light. The planks, I assume are supposed to be the stairs, are uneven, but I’ll take it as a fun challenge. At least it’s wide enough to fit a few kids if we all sit cross-legged.

“It’s perfect, Dad. Really. It’s unique. Actually, I know for a fact that no other kid in Speck has something like this,” I say, biting back a laugh.

His eyes narrow with doubt. “Really?”

I nod like a bobblehead. “Oh, yeah. Besides, who wants one of those big, over-the-top tree houses anyway? That’s what houses are for, and I’d much rather hang out with you than be in a tree house all day. Cat’s going to love it. Ambrose will probably ask if there were any bird nests when you—what?” I stop rambling, noticing the sheen in his eyes.

Is he about to cry?

He clears his throat. “Thanks, princessa,” he chokes out before gently clapping the back of my shoulder and retreating into the house.

I kick the pile of leaves near my shoe before I venture across the street to invite Ambrose and Cat over to my new wooden castle.

Okay, maybe “castle” is a little too generous.

***

A month passes and the citizens of Speck Lake begin pulling out the pumpkins and cable-knit sweaters. The crisp air whispers the promise of change, and for the first time, I welcome it. I turned eleven three days ago and this year, I feel different. Dad respected my wishes to keep the festivities small. We began the day by snagging my favorite glazed twists from Cheaper by The Dough-zen before picking up a few pumpkins from Nadine’s Nursery. Then, he graced me with his famous homemade Karelian pasties along with my favorite pastelles while we curled up on the couch watching one of my favorite movies, Jurassic Park. Golden hour was in full force when I heard the knock at the door. Failing to hide his grin, my dad jumped off the couch, returning a few minutes later with three bodies trailing behind him. The Kings stood there with dessert platters in their hands and I was annoyed until I devoured the tangy lemon bars Alima made. Surprisingly, having Alima there ended up soothing the pain of my mom forgetting to call.

It’s the weekend before Halloween when I invite Ambrose and Cat over to help make Old Maple look spooky. I rummage through the box of decorations my dad dragged out of the storage room, hearing multiple sets of footsteps approach.

“Boo!” Cat screams, jumping in front of my face.

I laugh. “Cat, you can’t scare someone if they see you walking up.”

“But you’d never expect it, so it’s even more scary. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

I glance at Ambrose by her side. My hands clam up and I wipe them on my jeans.

“Hi.” I smile.

“Hey.” He smirks. And what a smirk it is. I almost die right there on the spot. We continue staring at each other.

“Well this is awkward,” Cat says.

Ambrose pulls her into a playful headlock, and thankfully, it breaks the tension.

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