Alone with the Trees

"I'll get it," I grumbled. There was always something to screw up the day. But six farmers with double orders helped the bottom line.

"I've got three deliveries to make. Can you handle things while I'm gone?"

Jane was excellent, and I don't know what I'd do without her. But she sometimes pushed the wrong button. I smirked at her.

"I've been taking care of it for a few years, so you're dismissed to go deliver."

"Smart ass," I heard her mumble as she grabbed the three bags and headed out to the old Honda I used for delivery. It was fourteen years old but still did what we asked of it.

There were two customers left from the breakfast rush, and when I checked, one wanted more coffee. The one who asked looked around.

"Listen, I can get it," he said, starting to slide out of the booth.

"Sit still; I've got it," I cautioned as I headed for the half-full pot sitting partway off the warm plate on top of the Bunn coffee machine. Back at the table, I topped off one cup and then the other.

"Separate or together," I asked.

"I've got this one. Your turn next," the one said to the other.

I found Jane's order book and punched the numbers into the cash register, then took it to the table.

"Here ya go. Come back anytime you're close by. Lots of good food."

"The food was good, for sure. Give the change to the lady who took care of us." He handed me a twenty and ten.

"Thanks, guys. She'll appreciate that. An eight dollar and sixty-four cents tip was unusual in this dinner. Not many wealthy people around here.

I scooted around, cleaning the tables and getting ready for the lunch group. There were about twenty regulars, give or take a couple on any given day. The kitchen was ready, and food that I knew would be ordered was laid carefully on the counter. I lifted the lid of "Adrian's Special" and decided it was nearly ready. My special was a concoction of anything that was left over at the diner, thrown together but carefully seasoned. The regulars knew never to ask what was in it.

"You have two ramp boards that are rotting," Jane said as she tromped into the kitchen, tossing the keychain on the table.

"I didn't notice."

"You never notice anything." She was counting the burgers I'd tossed on the counter and stacking them neatly

"What's that supposed to mean?" Another button pushed by Jane, and I saw her sigh.

The sound of the mixer being run garbled her words enough that I couldn't understand her answer. I moved around the end of the counter much closer to her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I yelled.

She shut the mixer off since there was nothing to be mixed.

"You just wander around here doing things, whatever they might be, and you have no idea of who or what is happening around you."

"That's not true," I snarled at her. "This is my place, and I know what's going on here."

"You don't even know what's going on in your own life," she retorted.

That one took me by complete surprise.

"Now you're just being a bitch, Jane."

I don't know how she put up with the way I talked to her, but she did, somehow always finding ways to jar my thinking. I paid her well, and the tips were good, but it was more than that. But I was finishing arguing and grabbed my crutches, and headed outside to cool off.

Going down the ramp, one crutch hit one of the rotten boards, and with a sickening crack, it gave way, the crutch plunging through the newly created hole with me close behind, face first into the weathered boards.

"What happened?" Jame screamed as the screendoor slammed against the wall, and she was hovering over me. "Let me help you up."

"Get away, I can do it myself." I tried to find the crutch that wasn't protruding from the hole in the ramp.

"Let me help you," she said again, grabbing my arm.

"I can do it myself. Just leave me alone."

"You can't do it yourself. You need help."

I didn't need help from anyone and hadn't since I'd joined the army.

"Damn it, Jane, leave me alone. Get inside and cook."

"You're the cook, and you can't do it on your ass out here on the ramp."

She was pushing me beyond where my common sense and reason ended.

"I've fallen before, and I can get up."

"If you'd get one of those prosthesis, you could walk and wouldn't fall. Now give me your hand, and we'll get you back inside."

"So I'd be a peg-leg-Pete or maybe Long John Silver. I'm not getting a wooden leg, so you can drop that subject."

"It's not a wooden leg, Adrian. It's an artificial limb."

I had to laugh at that, at her use of the much more medical term. I preferred "wooden leg." Her hand was right in my face, waiting for me to take hold of it.

"Get that hand away, I'll get up." I put my hand down to lift myself. "Damn it," I fairly screamed.

"What now?"

"I was looking at the palm of my hand where an oversized splinter was protruding from my palm." I sensed that Jane was doing her best to keep from laughing, and I knew I had only made things worse.

She bent toward me. "Put your arms around my neck and use your good leg to help," she sternly ordered.

Out of options, I complied. I knew she was in her fifties, but she was stout and strong, and I was finally able to stand. She retrieved the two crutches, and I shuffle-hopped into the diner.

"Get in your chair, and I'll take your crutches to the kitchen. And let me see that hand."

Reluctantly, I showed her the hand with the ugly piece of wood jutting out from the palm, a tiny drop of blood now gathered at its base.

"Have you had a tetanus booster?"

I guess I was in for a session of nursing. It was just a freaking splinter. Somehow Jane felt obligated to look after me. It was something I had to endure.

"No idea. I go to the doc, and he does what needs to be done."

"Maybe I'll call him later and check."

"Don't you dare. I can take care of my own doctoring."

"Yeah, yeah, we all can." She was gone for a few seconds and came back with a pair of tweezers, a bottle of something, and a box of bandaids.

"Jane, I don't need all of that shit."

"Try to talk nicely while I take care of you, okay...potty-mouth?"

There was no sense trying to respond to that, so I just held out my hand. I watched as she carefully used the tweezers to take hold of the splinter right where it met my palm.

"Tell me if this hurts too much," she cautioned before she began pulling on the sliver of wood.

Damn it, I was a veteran who'd had half his leg blown off. Nothing hurt too much. When she winked at me, I knew I'd been had.

"Just get it over with," I said gruffly. I was in no mood for teasing.

She jerked, and the splinter was free, a slightly larger drop of blood appearing. She grabbed a nearby Kleenix and blotted it.

"Biggest splinter I've ever removed. Too bad it wasn't in your ass," she added with a chuckle.

It took every iota of my remaining self-control to keep from jerking my hand away from her.

She opened the little bottle and used the glass dauber attached to the lid to push some reddish/orange liquid into the hole in my hand.

"Might burn," she said blithely.

Yes, it burned like hell for as long as it took her to stick a round bandaid patch on my hand.

"Now, make sure whatever it is in that pot in the kitchen is ready because I saw two cars pull in out front."

I plopped into my chair and headed for the kitchen, Jane right behind me with the crutches. She leaned them against the wall and spun around, heading for the front and the customers that had just come in.

The kitchen at the diner was very special. When I'd purchased the place, a volunteer veterans help group had modified the kitchen so I could do everything from my wheelchair. Counters, cooktops, and needed appliances were all lowered so that I could reach them. If I'd had to cook using my crutches, it would have been a disaster.

I checked the pot, and it smelled wonderful. Everything I needed to prepare lunches was stacked neatly, just waiting for the orders.

I couldn't get along without Jane.

◇-◇-◇-◇

It was Thursday morning, and Jane was looking a little, well, ill was possibly the best description.

"You look terrible," I said just after the breakfast rush.

"Just one of my headaches, and I'm a tiny bit dizzy."

"You can't make the deliveries. I've called Burt to come in and help out. He'll cook while I'm gone. Write down where I need to go."

"Why don't you let Burt do it?"

"I've got it." I handed her some paper and a pen. We'd been supplying lunches to these three for some time and others off and on. Jane always took care of it, and the three ladies enjoyed being surprised with the contents of their lunches.

"These two," she began, pointing out the first two on the paper," are close by, and if you toot your horn, they enjoy coming out to pick it up. This one is a little more complicated. You've seen the old abandoned Texaco station?"

I nodded.

Turn right and follow that road for about two miles and turn left. It's the only road along there. It changes to dirt and then to single lane. You'll see the cottage, and you'll need to knock."

Burt arrived, and I filled him in. He'd helped out before, and he promised to keep a close eye on Jane. Her headaches were nothing new, but doctors had told her it was nothing serious.

I grabbed my crutches and the three lunch bags and headed slowly to the Honda. It only took a few minutes to get to Molly's house and a few more to find Annette's. Both ladies were surprised to see me and enquired about Jane.

"Just one of those nasty headaches I'm sure she's told you about." I knew that Jane liked to visit with the ladies. They were customers, after all.

"I've told her before to soak her feet in hot water," Molly said, a serious look on her face. "It draws the headache to your feet. My granny did that regularly."

I wanted to ask her if it worked...but she was a customer, and I headed for Annette's.

Annette was a tall and stately-looking lady with long gray hair, not in a bun but in a neat ponytail. She came to the car very slowly, her steps short and shuffling. But she had a big smile on her face.

"You must be Adrian. Jane always tells me what a wonderful cook you are. And the food I get verifies it. I hope she's okay."

Just a headache, so I'm delivering."

"It's been a while since I've seen you."

"Jane enjoys making these deliveries, so I stay out of it." I wondered if it all right for Annette to be living by herself.

"I sure love her. She's so friendly and nice."

"She is that," I answered, anxious to get moving. I started to put the Honda into gear.

"Did you bring a lunch?" she asked, her hand on the window.

"Sorry, Annette. I guess I let my mind wander." My mind seemed to be wandering most of the time these days. I handed her the lunch to a big thank you and headed to my last delivery.

I wondered why Jane didn't get bored doing this, but I knew she loved talking to the ladies and just being with them. She was like that. I wasn't quite there yet.

I turned at the old Texaco station, and the road was not like anything I was used to driving. It was rough, with potholes and a lot of missing pavement. I hated to spring for new shocks on this ancient Honda, but they were needed. Maybe I could sell it and pick up a surplus Jeep. I didn't know if Jane could handle a stick shift, though I'd have to check.

I'd neglected to check the odometer when I started up this road, but Jane had said there was only one road. Up ahead, I could see that the poles with the two electric lines turned left, and sure enough, there was the road.

I couldn't believe that a road could be in worse shape than the last one, but I was wrong. I was being jarred and jolted and tossed around as I'd never experienced before, except maybe in Iraq. When it finally narrowed to a single lane, I prayed I didn't encounter any oncoming traffic. Jane had told me there were only two cabins on this road, so it wasn't likely I'd meet oncoming cars.

Suddenly, in a small clearing, there was the cabin, or cottage. Small but neat, I was surprised that, out here and away from everything, it appeared to be well attended. I knew that it was a woman who lived out here, but I didn't know a thing about her. There was a short grass and gravel drive, and I pulled in, parked, and struggled to gather my crutches and the lunch sack.

The door to the screened porch was unlocked, and I knocked on the front door.

"Be right there," a voice called.

The door opened...

Two people, mouths open, had puzzled looks.

It couldn't be, but maybe? I took a chance.

"Christine?"

She shook her head but stared hard at me, then my crutches.

"Um, um."

"Adrian."

"It is you." She bit her lower lip and shook her head slightly.

It was Christine--the face told me it was her. But she was very different otherwise. Her hair seemed thin and a little unkempt. She was very slender--thin would be a better description. And there was something else. I remembered dancing with her and her body pressed against mine, the swell of her breast clearly obvious. Today, all of that seemed to be gone. I mean, she was thin, but I didn't think she was that thin.

"You're surprised to see me here, aren't you?" Even her voice seemed thin and frail.

"And you didn't expect to see me delivering lunch."

I think we both felt awkward with the changes we saw in the other. I wondered if she wanted to talk or just wanted me to leave.

"No, I never expected to see you again, even though this isn't very far from where we grew up.

"Did you get to Stanford?"

She stared at me for a moment, then turned and stepped away.

I set the lunch bag on a table and gathered my crutches. "I'll head back to the diner and see how Jane is doing."

She quickly turned to face me. "Is something wrong with Jane?"

"One of her headaches, so I didn't want her to drive."

"I don't want anything to happen to her. She's, well,..."

"She'll be fine. It's good to see you again, Christine."

Staring at the floor, she replied, "Can you stay a while, Adrian?"

I could, but did I want to? Did I want to hear her story and share my own because I'm sure that's where she was headed?

"Sure, Christine. Let me call the diner."

I called, and Jane said she was feeling much better. She checked with Burt, who was more than happy to fill in. I guess I was staying.

"Where do we start, Christine?"

She surprised me with what she said next.

"Can I get a hug?"

I immediately fumbled with my crutches as she moved close to me.

"Just throw them down. I'll do my best to hold you up."

The crutches hit the floor as her arms went around me, and mine went around her.

No matter how we looked or where we were, my mind quickly flashed back seventeen years to that epic night when I held Christine tightly as we danced, and she finally kissed me. Despite her frailness and the bones I could feel as I hugged her, this was Christine. The Christine.

Clinging tightly to me, she said, "You start."

"I'll start if you'll sit down and eat your lunch."

She sat down at the table and opened the sack. She pulled the hamburger and home fries out, then the container of slaw. The bite she took of the hamburger was tiny and barely needed chewing. I began to understand a little about the fragile lady I was with.

"I think I'd told you I had decided to enlist. It's hard to remember back that far."

"You did. You mentioned the army."

"Christine, take another big bite. I cooked that burger and it's special."

I received a hint of a smile.

"All the food that Jane brings is delicious. I just, well, can't eat very much. But don't change the subject. Right now, it's about you."

About me. Seventeen years to recall, much of which I didn't want to recall. Those brown eyes that had been so alive and warm back then seemed to have lost much of their life, and I was anxious to hear her story.

"Christine, that night of the senior prom was, well, it was the high point of my life."

"Oh, Adrian. It's been seventeen years."

"Just hold onto what I said because it's the absolute truth."

She cocked her head to the side, looking at me a little differently now.

"I enlisted and somehow ended up with the mess hall group. But I learned to cook and studied on my own as well. In just a few years, I was the head chef at an officer's club. I loved it and knew that's what I wanted to do with the rest of my life."

"And that's why these lunches are so good."

"I'm just glad you like them, Christine. Grab another bite of that burger--oh, and the slaw is my special recipe."

She delicately unsnapped the lid on the slaw container and took a bite.

"Adrian, I see what you mean. It's wonderful."

"Another bite of burger and slaw, and I'll go on."

I received an instantaneous threatening look, and then her face softened. She took a larger bite of the burger and then a bite of slaw using the plastic fork that was provided with the lunch.

"Is it okay if I just eat the meat and skip the bun?"

I smiled. "It's your lunch, and you can do as you please with it. I just reserve the right to make suggestions, and you can totally ignore them if you like."

Christine used the fork to carefully separate the burger from the bun, then tossed the bun into the sack.

She took a bite of the potatoes. "There, without even being told."

"Christine, you don't--"

"--Adrian, I know," she interrupted. "That was my weak attempt at teasing, and that's something I haven't done for years."

I could feel my heart beginning to pound, and that was something I hadn't experienced for years.

"It's just that, you know, you're so much thinner than I remember you."

"Things happen in seventeen years. You'll hear about it soon."

I wondered what she'd do If I hugged her again. It was certainly what something inside of me was telling me to do. Maybe later.

"So you were a chef for the officer's club. What next?"

This was the part I hated to go into, but it had happened, and it's what made me what I was as I sat in Christine's little cabin, sharing with her.

"This is a little harder, so bear with me." I shrugged. "I was stupid, got drunk, way too drunk, and got in a fight in a bar, and they arrested me. I think my commanding officer, and maybe others too, were jealous of my popularity at the club and took their chance to take that away from me, and I became just a plain old foot soldier...at the wrong time.."

I felt my stomach reacting to those memories.

"Where's your bathroom?" I didn't need to go, but if the stomach got too bad, I needed to know where it was.

"The door over there," she said, gesturing.

"Just in case," I added as Christine lowered her eyelids.

"What was the wrong time?"

"Operation Desert Storm."

"Oh," she replied, reacting sharply.

"Suicide bomber took off most of my lower leg. I still have a few bits of metal inside me as a reminder." I tried to change my expression as I knew my face had taken on a hard look.

"Do you have a prosthesis?"

A normal question, but my sharp "No!" wasn't a normal response.

Christine looked surprised as she straightened in her chair. I felt like I should apologize but thought better of it, knowing my response would quell any further questions of that nature. When I got home, I probably should kick myself for being like that, but it was a sore spot.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, I'm sure afraid of angering me any further.

"I get by. I've learned to manage the crutches, and I use a wheelchair at the diner. A veteran's group fixed up the kitchen so I can do everything from the chair."

"So you came back home and bought the dinner?"

"Pretty much, yeah. But I've never seen you there." I was a little ashamed of my one-word outburst and wanted to focus more on Christine.

"No car, so I'm stuck here. And that's fine with me." She looked away, out one of the side windows, I think just avoiding my eyes.