Message of Love (32 page)

“If you’ll have me.” He offered a bashful smile.

“Are we… Are you?”

“Well, we can’t get married, so I’m not proposing, exactly.”

“But you’re–”

“Think of it as a reward for time served, for all the miles you’ve put in with me.”

“Aw, Ev.”

“Now, don’t get all squidly on me.”

“No, I’m going to!”

The clotting feeling in my throat, the little blip of tears on my cheek, softened at the sight of his goofy smirk.

“Well, put it on.”

I did, then took out the other ring and took his hand in mine.

“These must have cost a few bucks.”

“First thing I’ll pay off once the trust fund comes through,” he said, proudly holding up his hand.

“And what’s next on your list?”

“I reserved us a room at The Four Seasons. They just opened, and they have room service, and a few other amenities, or so Mother said. She already booked a room for my graduation in May.”

After an elegantly served meal, and a scenic drive out of the park, his words proved true as we arrived at the hotel. From the bellhops to the desk clerks, even a few maids in the hallways; no one dared a curious glance.

“So, where are we going to waste your inheritance this summer?” I asked as I stood at the window to admire the view of Logan Circle, its fountain, and the library and museums beyond.

We had agreed to not go anywhere other than our respective homes for Spring Break, what with our previous vacation and encounter with Nick having become so surprisingly eventful.

Everett shrugged, yanked off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt. “I kind of have an idea.”

“Rainbow eucalyptus,” I blurted.

“What?”

“
Eucalyptus deglupta
. The bark sheds in the most amazing colors. It’s found in New Guinea, Tasmania, and even Hawaii.”

“That sounds… exotically gay. Actually–”

“We could do Hawaii, but summer’s really not the best time to go.”

“Actually,” Everett repeated, a bit more strongly. “I was thinking in that direction, just not as far.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you look in my bag?”

“What, you got more jewelry?” I joked.

“Not exactly.”

I foraged in his duffel bag. Under his extra clothes, I found a large wrapped square-shaped present covered in shiny emerald paper.

“Fancy. Is this it?”

He nodded, a wary look on his face. “It’s kind of an early birthday present.”

“Oh.”

“Well, open it.”

Under the green wrapping, I saw more green; a burst of color in a photo of redwood trees.

“‘California’s State Parks.’” I fanned the pages, each an expansive series of photos showcasing wildflowers, mountains, oceanside cliffs, lighthouses.

“It’s great. Thanks.” I leaned toward him, offered a kiss, which he accepted, yet somewhat cautiously.

“Wait; inside.” He took the book, shook out a letter. “Read it.”

Under the letterhead of The University of California Berkeley, I read, ‘Dear Mr. Forrester, On behalf of the Graduate Program, we are happy to inform you that…’

“You got in.”

He nodded.

“But…”

“I haven’t accepted it yet.”

“But I–” ‘have a job offer here,’ I wanted to say. I felt a little dizzy. Was he leaving? Without me?

“Part of why I was moping, it wasn’t just Wesley. I… I couldn’t decide without asking you. I don’t know what I want to do, but I can’t… I know maybe you want to stay here, and make a difference, but there’s so many opportunities out there. You could go to school, too, or get a job at a park there…”

“I…”

‘We can have that here,’ a voice inside me said.

“But if you don’t, if you… decide to not come with me, just know, you can go off and chase your dreams, but you’ll always have someone to come back to.”

But I didn’t want to need to come back. I couldn’t leave him. “Yeah, sure. Fuck it. They can pick up beer cans without me.”

And it was as simple as that, I told myself.

“Are you sure?”

I hesitated. “Well, no, I’m not sure. Let me let this sink in.”

I found myself fingering the new ring, and what it really meant; not just him thanking me for the miles already shared, but asking me, almost obligating me to put in even more. Leaving my parents would be the hardest part, but Greensburg and Philly? What did it matter, if I could be with him, when I couldn’t be without him?

“But how would we–”

“Don’t worry about that now. Let’s just look at the pretty pictures.” He handed me back the book. “Think about it, and we can talk later.”

I stood away, began undressing, taking it all in. “How would we get there? Do we ship our stuff?”

“Or drive.” He shrugged.

“How about we start with getting a new van first?” I countered. “That thing got two parking tickets last week.”

Everett sidled his chair next to the bed, hopped up on it. “How about we start with a few new positions first?”

“How about we start in that shower!” I whistled, pleased as well that a plastic seat had already been provided. “That bathroom’s almost bigger than the one at your Dad’s.”

As our later aquatic amusements commenced, Everett made a ribald joke about my excited state with a comparison to redwoods.

“Think of all those giant California trees,” he teased.

“Yeah, but it’s got earthquakes, and wildfires…”

“And hippies; oh, my!”

He shut off the shower, and took me in a wet embrace. “So, Scarecrow; to Oz?”

Chapter 39

March 1983

Strapped at opposing sides to four thin wooden poles, the little trees still looked frail, vulnerable.

While our own saplings from Horticulture class remained small and nestled in their planters back at the Ambler campus, we had the honor of planting the previous year’s much taller progeny along a wide sidewalk on Temple’s main campus.

“But what if there’s a cold snap, a late frost?” asked Marco, one of nearly a dozen of my classmates. He held on to one tree, as if afraid to let go, despite the fact that the straps and poles held it securely. The stick-like branches had already sprouted tiny lime green buds.

“It should be fine,” assured our professor, a sturdy older man with a handsome beard.

“I guess we’ll have to come back in a few years and find out,” said Debra, another classmate. Like her, my clothes had become a bit muddy from our shoveling, watering and packing as we planted the trees. Even though I knew I could wash it off, I wore gloves, more to protect my new ring than my hands. I didn’t know if I would ever return to see these sprouts grow tall. Other forms of flora were calling.

As the last tree was secured, we all stood back and surveyed our work. Another classmate suggested we celebrate over cheesesteaks and beer. We spent a few hours discussing our future plans after graduation, until I realized what time it was, that I had forgotten to go shopping and was expected to make dinner that night.

My arms full of two bags of groceries from the nearby Thriftway, I almost bumped into a small hatchback parked in the driveway. Then I turned, realizing that I’d passed Everett’s van parked down the street.

“Where the hell were you?” he shouted from somewhere in the house the moment the door closed.

“Planting trees,” I said as I entered the kitchen. “I told you. I got some groceries, if you hadn’t noticed.”

I set the bags down on the kitchen counter, befuddled by Everett’s anger. He wheeled impatiently toward then away from me.

“You should have called.”

“What is wrong?”

“Mrs. Kukka had an accident.”

“What?”

“I heard this thumping noise, and I called upstairs and all I heard was this pounding on the floor,” he unleashed in a flurry. “So I had to crawl up the stairs and she was lying on the floor holding her arm, and then I had to grab the phone in her room and she’s at the hospital and Rosita called her daughter–”

“Why did Rosita call her daughter?”

“No, Mrs. Kukka’s daughter.”

“Where is she?”

“Driving up from Maryland.” Everett fidgeted in his chair, pumping himself up and down.

“Jeez.”

“I wish I knew where you were. She broke her arm and maybe her hip and I had to move the van so the ambulance could get in, and one of the EMT guys just wouldn’t wait, so I gave him the keys. Did you see where he parked it?”

“Down the street.”

“I felt so…dammit, Reid.”

“I’m sorry.” I leaned down to hug him, but he pushed me away.

“I felt so fucking useless.”

“You called 9-1-1.”

“Yes!”

“So, you did the right thing.”

“Fuck.” He wheeled away from me, into the dining room, then shouted something I couldn’t hear.

Footsteps descending the stairs drew our attention, then we saw Rosita carrying a small suitcase. “I bring this to the hospital; some of Missus’ clothes and things.”

“Hi, Rosita.”

She had a worried yet determined look.

“The daughter, she be here soon.”

“Okay.”

After Rosita left, the house was silent. Everett brooded in the living room as I fumbled with dinner. Despite the traumatic events, or perhaps because if them, I was really hungry.

I finally convinced Everett to have some spaghetti and salad, which he wolfed down impatiently before scuttling off outside to sit on the porch. After finishing the dishes, I met him outside. The distant streetlights gave his face a dark glow.

“Is she going to be okay?”

“Hopefully.”

I sat, didn’t know what to say.

“She couldn’t move. It was strange, the way she tried to wave at me with her other arm.”

The next day, a different car was parked in the driveway, while the van was still down the street.

I warily entered the house and saw a woman, perhaps in her early thirties, standing in the living room. She turned.

“You must be the tenant.”

The woman who must have been Mrs. Kukka’s daughter offered a cold appraisal. Her features slightly resembled her mother.

“Yes, one of them.”

“The other one’s the wheelchair fellow.”

“Uh, yes. Everett. I’m Reid.” I offered a hand.

“Elsa.” She took it, barely holding on for a moment. “I’m sorry. This is… She should have moved in with us years ago. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if she’d only…”

Elsa looked around the house, as if surveying an enormous burden. “I kept begging her to move in with us, but this was our house. My god, it’s just full of him.”

“Who?”

“My father; their life.”

“She told me about the redbud tree she planted.”

“Oh!” she gasped, a sigh of resignation. “We all wanted him to be buried like normal, but no, she had to bury his ashes there. So damn sentimental.”

“She was very independent.”

“Well, I think those days are gone.”

“Will she be coming back?”

Another cold stare. “No.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t–”

“When she recovers, it’ll be either with us or nearby. I don’t even know if there’s a senior home nearby, or one that we can afford.”

“I understand.”

“We should have prepared for this. You’re not going to like hearing this, but I’m probably going to sell the house.”

“When?”

“You’re both graduating this semester, yes?”

I nodded.

Elsa corrected herself. “Well, of course, you can stay until then, maybe a month or so afterward.”

“You mean…we have to leave?”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t manage the property from Maryland, plus I have to decide what to do with her things.” She surveyed the room, sizing up its contents. “Even if we don’t sell, and rent it, I’ll have to hire some movers, and my kids have so many… I suppose Rosita could do some cleaning when we finish. Jesus, my husband’s right in the middle of a huge… This just could not have happened at a worse time.”

Understandably overwhelmed, she paced across the room, stopped to pick up a small wooden sculpture.

“My father got this in New Guinea. I was twelve. He was always going on another adventure.”

Elsa sighed, placed it back on a shelf.

“One thing I learned with Everett.”

“Yes?”

“Accidents never happen at the right time.”

She sort of crumpled, her shoulders sank and a shudder came over her. She sniffled, held it back.

“She was always so…so pleased with her tenants. Ever since Dad died, we’d be at dinner for the holidays, and she would go on about one grad student or another, his or her accomplishments.”

“That’s nice.”

“But you two.” She looked at me, a strange sudden admiration, as if she was seeing me for the first time. “She called you ‘the boys.’ The last two years, it was, ‘The boys are so sweet,’ and ‘One of the boys won a speech tournament and the other one’s cleaning up the park.’”

I smiled.

“I feel like I know you. She really liked you two.”

“Likes. She likes us.”

“Yes, of course.”

That was the moment when I should have grabbed her, hugged her tightly, offered some sort of sympathy. But she stepped further away to survey all the books and primitive knick-knacks.

“There’s so much to do.”

“If there’s anything we can help you with...”

“Oh no. We just... If you could mail the rent checks for now, that would be good. I’ll give you the address.” She hesitated, overwhelmed.

That night, Elsa stayed upstairs. We overheard her long, almost argumentative phone conversations with her husband, and nervous pacing through the ceiling. She told us her mother only had a few days before she would be transferred to Maryland.

The next morning, Everett waited in the driveway by the van’s door as I uprooted a few flowers from the garden.

“You think her daughter will notice?”

“Not sure.” I packed the soil into a planter around a few daffodils. “But I know I don’t care.”

At the side of the house, I washed off my hands under the spurt of the garden hose, sprinkled a bit of water into the planter, then returned to the van and handed the planter to Everett, who nestled it between the folds of a blanket in the back.

As we drove off, he smiled, “You always know the perfect Get Well gift.”

I’d only had one morning class on campus, and Everett ducked out of his afternoon senior seminar. The Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania was only a few blocks away, but we didn’t want to risk dropping our hastily potted present.

Everett navigated the halls of the building with ease, with me following. As we entered her room, Mrs. Kukka’s hoot of surprise roused a sleeping woman in the adjoining bed.

“My boys! Come here!”

She appeared pale and fatigued but in relatively good spirits. I offered a cautious hug, careful of the cast on her right arm. Everett wheeled around the left side of the bed, and they merely clasped hands.

“It’s so nice to see you. And what’s this?”

“A little bit of home.” I set the planter on a nearby table.

“Our daffodils!” She grinned. “So thoughtful.”

“How are you?”

“Well, aside from having a few of my brittle bones cracked here and there,” she cautiously waved her arm in its sling, “pretty good, thanks to our little hero here.” She offered an admiring glance to Everett.

“So, your daughter said she wants to move you to her home?” Everett said.

“Towson,” she scowled. “No, it’s not bad, a nice town. I visit every year. She’s finally won her battle against my independence.”

“But they’ll take care of you there, right?” Everett asked.

“Oh, I suppose so. You’ll have to give me some pointers,” she glanced at Everett’s chair. “It might be a while before I’m up and about.”

The wistful look in her eye, shared with Everett, made me wonder if she would ever fully recuperate.

“And it seems I’ll be missing your graduation. You are graduating, aren’t you?” She offered a mocking stern glance.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Everett nodded.

“Good. Don’t let her fussing get in your way. I told her you’re paid up through the semester.”

“But–”

“Never mind, you,” she chided. “You two boys were the best tenants in years, and I want to thank you for a lovely time.”

We spent the next few hours together, sharing stories, mostly listening to her stories, all the while ignoring the fact that this might be the last time we would spend together.

The next week was somber, repetitive. Each morning, Everett and I parted ways for classes, studied, yet distracted.

Every time the phone rang, one of us would be startled and race to answer it, expecting a call from Elsa about her mother.

“Hello?”

“I was just reminding you of my fabulous brunch this Sunday.”

“Oh. Hi, Gerard.” I sighed.

“Could you pretend to be happy to hear from me?”

I reminded him about Mrs. Kukka. We were still waiting for a call from her daughter to let us know how her mother was doing. Gerard sounded genuinely concerned, but determined to get us to make an appearance at his little shindig.

Having not seen Gerard for weeks, I was surprised when Everett politely asked me if we should attend a party, or more of a daytime brunch, at Gerard’s new digs in Rittenhouse Square. He’d been living there for months. What made me feel obligated to go was Everett’s admission of the number of weeks he’d declined such invitations on our behalf, even before Mrs. Kukka’s accident.

After driving across town, we spent a few minutes wandering through Rittenhouse Square before Gerard’s brunch. We felt a sort of obligation, yet another anticipated bout of queries from self-described ‘queens,’ no less. Everett’s comic defense system seemed about to go into high gear.

I took my glasses off and he hopped down with me to sit on a dry spot of grass. “They all know your story, so no exploding blimps, okay?”

“If you won’t flirt,” he teased.

“Deal.”

We adjusted ourselves on the ground, our bag of croissants un-smushed.

“Besides,” Everett said. “It’s mostly older guys.”