The Wedding Tree (37 page)

adelaide

I
should have suspected something two days later, when Hope took me and Eddie and Ralph to the coffee shop to see her mural at five in the afternoon. Not because she was taking me to see her work—I'd been asking to see it, and she'd kept telling me it wasn't finished yet—but because it was the afternoon before I left town for good. I was such a jumble of mixed-up emotions about leaving Wedding Tree for the last time, though, that it slipped right past me—plus it made sense, since Eddie said he wanted to take us all out to dinner.

My first clue should have been Eddie's red cheeks. That boy has always gotten flushed when he's excited about something. My second clue should have been Hope's attention to her appearance. She wore a fitted pink sundress that made her skin glow, and she seemed as high-strung as a cat on a tightrope. I chalked it up to nervousness at showing us her work.

My third clue should have been that there was a parking spot right in front of the coffee shop. And if that weren't enough, I should have known something was up when there wasn't a soul in sight. “Looks like someone rolled up the sidewalks,” I said.

“Everyone quits work early on Mondays,” Ralph said.

“When did that start?” I asked. “No wonder the economy is in trouble.”

Hope got my walker out of the trunk, unfolded it, and helped me to the door of the Daily Grind.

It looked dark and vacant. “Are you sure this is open? It looks like the lights are off.”

“It just looks that way because the windows are tinted,” Eddie said.

Hope put her arm around me and opened the door—and sure enough, it was dark inside. I was about to say something, but suddenly the lights came on and a huge crowd yelled, “Surprise!” Well, it was good thing Hope had a hold of me, because I darn near passed out.

The place was packed. Practically everybody in town was there—including most of the residents of the nursing home.

Kirsten appeared at my elbow. “You didn't think we could let you go without throwing the biggest party this town has ever seen, did you, Miss Addie?”

Well, I gotta say—I was flabbergasted. I put my hand on my chest.

“You all right, Miss Addie?” my doctor asked.

“Yes. Yes, indeed.”

Eddie and Ralph ushered me further into the room. After a moment of breathlessness, I felt buoyed and light and floaty as a kite. “My goodness, my goodness,” I muttered, over and over. The high school band started playing “Stand Up and Get Crunk,” the official song of the New Orleans Saints, and the local dance team did some high kicks on the coffee bar.

Person after person came up to me. It was only when the band stopped playing that I could understand what they were saying.

“Miss Addie, I want to thank you for how much you've meant to my family,” said Rachel Reed, who worked at the pharmacy and knew everything about everybody. “You've photographed all of my big life events. My high school graduation. My wedding. My baby's christening. Her first birthday. Her high school graduation. You've been a big part of the best moments in my life.”

“Miss Addie, your photo of my mother is the one thing I took with me when we evacuated during Hurricane Katrina,” said the middle Boudreaux boy—who wasn't a boy at all anymore, considering his graying temples.

“The pictures you took of my grandmother are the only ones I have,” said a teenaged girl I couldn't place.

“I love the photo you took of our house,” said Bitsy Mangus.

“The picture you took the day my shop opened has been by the front door for forty years now,” said Wendall Preaux, who ran the local shoe repair place.

On and on it went. At length I turned to Hope. “This is all incredible, but I wanted to see your mural.”

“And see it you shall,” said Kirsten. She cleared a path, and Hope, Eddie, and Ralph escorted me through a door into the back of the building.

“Oh my!” I gasped. It was just like being in the middle of the street outdoors, only in miniature. There was the barbershop, the cleaners, the coffee shop, the real estate agency—all painted along the wall—and through each painted window, I saw someone I recognized. There was Charlie in the hardware store, and my mother at the cleaners, and—oh heavens! The man in the barber's chair was a handsome young airman who made my heart flutter. On the sidewalk—oh my—there was a picture of me! I looked to be in my late twenties, and I was taking a photo of Eddie and Becky as children in front of the bakery. A lump the size of an egg formed in my throat. “Hope, honey, you don't have one ounce of an inkling of how talented you really are.”

“Nor do you. Look.” She turned me around to face the opposite wall. It was entirely covered with photos. I looked closer. They were photos I'd taken—photos that went back decades. The back of the room held two partitions, which were also covered with photos.

“Oh my,” I muttered.

“Gran, the New Orleans Museum of Art wants to do a special show of your photography,” Hope said.

“You're kidding!”

“No. I'm not. And some of your prints . . . Well, Eddie has a gallery that wants to sell them in California.”

“That's right, Mom.” Eddie was at my elbow, his round face beaming. “Hope sent me some of your work from the sixties and I've had copies made, and we've got buyers already lined up.”

“Well, goodness gracious!” This was all too amazing to take in—and in the midst of it, people kept coming up and telling me how much they treasured photos I'd taken of them or their loved ones.

Among the display of townspeople was one that didn't belong there—one that I had hidden in the bottom of my closet: the photo of a young airman in uniform, smiling just a bit. But the one that made my heart turn over and nearly overflow with emotion was a photo of Charlie on the porch of our house, my favorite photo of him.

“Oh my,” I murmured.

The mayor clanged a spoon against his beer mug, and the roar of the crowd shushed to a murmur. He tapped it again, and the room fell silent. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please. As you know, we've gathered here to show Miss Addie our love and appreciation, and to give her a big send-off to California. Her son, Eddie, wants to say a few words.”

Eddie edged his way to the coffee bar. “Mother always wanted to be a photojournalist.” He looked straight at me. “She worked as one during the war, and dreamed of traveling the world and capturing all of the important news of the day. She thought she'd put those dreams away when she had my sister and me. She thought she gave them up to raise her family and care for my father, and his parents, and her parents.” His gaze lingered on my face, full of love. We'd sat up late for five nights, talking, since he and Ralph had come to town, and I was eager to spend more time with them in California. “She might not have known it at the time, but she
did
capture all the important news of the day. She captured the highlights in the lives of everyone in this town.”

“Darn tootin'!” Harvey Angus yelled. “And we sure do thank you for it!”

The crowd laughed and burst into applause.

“That's right, Miss Addie,” said the mayor. “And we want you to know how very much you mean to all of us, and how much we appreciate all that you've contributed to our lives.”

My eyes swam. Eddie was right—I
had
covered stories that were big and important and far-reaching, and I hadn't even realized it.

But it wasn't my photography that was my major achievement. No, sir; my greatest achievement was my family. I looked at Eddie, his eyes shining with pride. My little Eddie, so teased in school, was happy and thriving, loved and loving, caring for the dental health of hundreds of patients. I thought of my brilliant Becky, so bright that men who made millions turned to her for advice on how to invest it. I thought of Charlie and his father, how they'd provided the supplies that had helped build and repair most of the homes in this town. I thought of my father, who'd talked many people out of foolish lawsuits they would have later regretted, lawsuits that would have ruined other people's lives.

I looked at Hope, my lovely, gifted granddaughter, talented beyond what she dared even dream for herself.

Oh my goodness—what if we all are?
What if everyone held so much potential that the world could barely contain it?

Over the din of the crowd, I heard Mother's voice. “See there, Addie? I told you that you needed to find out the truth. And the truth is . . . we are all so much more important than we know. We don't have a clue how wide our ripples ride out on the waters of the world.”

“You were right, Mother,” I whispered.

“But so were you, child,” Mother replied. “So were you.”

hope

W
hat a wonderful party,” Peggy said as Eddie and Ralph led an exhausted Gran out the door. “I enjoyed it every bit as much as Miss Addie!”

“Me, too,” said Aimee, picking up an empty glass.

“Me, three,” said Kirsten, rolling up the white butcher paper that had served as tablecloths.

“Thank you so much for putting this together.” I looked at Kirsten and the other women, affection forming a knot in my throat. “Gran was so moved.”

“It was our pleasure.” Lauren smiled at me. “And speaking of moved, you've done wonders, getting her home shipshape in such a short time. It ought to sell quickly. I just learned that a major communications company is moving its headquarters here, so about a hundred new people will be relocating to Wedding Tree.”

Lucky them. I added another cake-smeared paper plate to the stack in my left hand.

“Speaking of moving, Jillian called this afternoon and told me she'd accepted a teaching job in Atlanta,” Peggy said.

Everyone murmured at once.

“No!”

“Really?”

“Why?”

Peggy lifted her shoulders. “She said she wanted a fresh start.”

“She's going to join us at the beach tomorrow!” Zoey said.

I knelt down. “It sounds like a wonderful time.”

“Yeah,” Sophie said, “But she's movin' away. An' you're moving, too.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Why does everyone have to go away?”

The lump in my throat grew bigger. “So new people can come. Maybe you'll get new neighbors with children you can play with.”

“But they won't give us painting lessons.”

“Or tell stories about Mr. Monkey!”

Tears tracked down both girls' faces. My eyes were getting pretty watery, too.

“I love you, Mizz Hope,” Sophie said solemnly.

“Yeah.” Zoey nodded.

“Oh, I love you, too!” I gave them both a big hug, touched by the easy way they said the words I didn't dare voice to their father. Their warm little bodies smelled like outdoors and cake and banana-scented sunblock, and I thought my heart might crack. I kissed their cheeks. “Have a wonderful summer.”

“Can we come see you in 'cago?”

I blinked back my tears. How was I supposed to answer that? “I'd love it if you did.”

Thank God Griff came to the rescue. “Hey, girls—who wants a piggyback ride to the car?”

“I do!”

“Me, too!”

Moods instantly elevated, both girls tried to climb on his back.

“Hey, Matt, come over and saddle up, too,” Griff called.

Matt dropped the paper plates he was gathering into the trash and came over. Sophie jumped on his back. “I'll take them to the car, then come right back,” he said.

“You should go on home and tuck them in,” I told him. “This is the last night before their beach trip.”

He nodded. “Come over when you get through here,” he murmured to me.

Sophie hugged his neck. “Bye!” she called to me.

“Bye.” Zoey waved.

I forced a smile and waved back. My throat felt as if I'd swallowed a goose egg as I watched them head out the door.

•   •   •

It was after eleven when I stepped onto Matt's back deck.

He was waiting for me. “Quite a party,” he said, handing me a glass of wine as I settled beside him on the glider.

“Yeah. Gran was still excited when I got home.”

He put his arm around me. It felt so right and warm. I just wanted to stay there forever. My heart constricted in my chest. “What time does your big trial start?”

“At nine in the morning. But I have a staff breakfast at six thirty.”

“You better get to bed, then.”

His hand moved to the back of my neck. “I can think of something that could help me relax.”

My pulse started a familiar tattoo, but my heart was breaking. Tears threatened my eyes. “I'm really tired. And with Gran still awake, and Eddie and Ralph all in the house . . .”

“I understand.” He stroked my hair. “I'm really looking forward to this weekend.”

I nodded, but my heart felt like a mass of coal. The weekend in New Orleans was a prelude to my move to Chicago. Our time together in Wedding Tree was practically over.

“I can't wait to get you all alone.” He moved my hair and kissed my neck.

Oh God. How could I go away for a weekend with him? I would only fall more deeply in love, and leaving would be all the harder.

He angled in for a kiss. I found myself holding back—and he must have felt it, too, because he pulled away and caressed my chin. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “Just really drained.”

“Go and get some sleep, then.” His finger flitted over my cheek. “I'm staying in Baton Rouge the next two nights, but I'll be in touch, and I'll see you Thursday afternoon. This is going to be the best weekend ever.”

I gave my best imitation of a smile, then slipped off the porch and through the hedge, just as the tears I'd been holding back began to fall.