CHAPTER FOUR
JJ—
I lead the way on my bike. Surprisingly, I still remember how to get there after all these years. It’s only a couple of miles outside of town. A flood of memories returns as I make the turn off the highway onto the long gravel road that leads up a shallow hill.
The sign has seen better days, it’s paint flaking, but I can still read the words. Holly Jolly Christmas Tree Farm. Gram hand-painted it herself, surrounding the words with holly leaves. They’re all faded now.
I roll on past it, Rebecca right behind me.
The cabin is visible at the top of the hill, with the long empty field on the right, a pond beyond that. A line of pine trees on the left with a small turnoff that leads to a gravel parking area on the other side of the tree line.
The acreage goes beyond the crest of the hill, where a red barn sits, and fields full of rows of trees in varying sizes fan out.
I pull to a stop in the area in front of the cabin and shut my bike off. Rebecca pulls in next to me.
The smell of pine and sun-warmed earth hits my nose, and I breathe it in.
Rebecca gets out of her car and mimics me. “God, can you smell that? It’s so fresh out here in the country.”
“The sign needs painting,” I grumble.
“Perfect time for us to come up with a new logo.” She grins, turning toward the cabin.
A black dog is lying up on the porch. It stands, tail wagging, and approaches.
It looks like a black lab, and I wonder if it belongs to the farmer across the road. I reach out and scratch its ears. There’s no collar or tag. “Hey, buddy.”
He rubs against me.
I catch Rebecca’s eyes on me, and her cocky smirk.
So I like dogs. Big deal.
“Go on. Git,” I say, taking a step toward the dog, and it runs off, trotting down the drive.
I scan the area. There’s an old tire swing hanging from a big oak to the side of the cabin, and flashes of my brother and me playing on it hit me.
Gravel crunches under my boots. “You want to check out the cabin first?”
“Sure.” Rebecca falls in behind me.
The porch steps creak and bend beneath my weight, and my eyes catch the two rocking chairs I know my grandparents sat in every night to watch the sunset.
I turn and scan the view they had down the gently sloping hill and across the road to the farm beyond. Cows low in the pasture, and beyond are the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance.
It’s a beautiful view. I can imagine a developer would build some nice homes up here. Expensive homes… with that fantastic view. The thought of all this being sold off is depressing, but I can’t see keeping the place.
Rebecca steps forward with the keys and unlocks the door.
I’m not sure what to expect when we step across the threshold, but it’s like stepping back in time. The place hasn’t changed a bit. Though I know most of the items have been packed up, a lot is still here.
My grandfather’s flannel fleece-lined jacket hangs on a hook by the door. I touch the sleeve, running my thumb over the worn, faded fabric, and I swear I can smell his pipe tobacco.
The polished wood floors shine in the afternoon sun.
There’s a living area to the right with a fireplace, a dining table straight ahead with ladder-back chairs, and beyond that a kitchen. To the left, my grandparents’ bedroom and a staircase to the loft where my brother and I had twin beds.
Rebecca wanders toward the kitchen, and I follow her.
My gram’s apron still hangs off a hook on the pantry door.
Rebecca opens a few cabinets, but everything is gone except some old dishes and cast-iron pans.
“Your mother cleaned it out after your gramps died,” she says quietly, and I nod.
“Guess so.”
“It’s just been sitting here all this time.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. I can feel them here. Their presence is everywhere.
I step to the bedroom door and peek inside. Their wrought-iron bed that sags in the middle is covered with the hand-sewn quilt my grandmother made. Two nightstands hold old-fashioned stained-glass lamps.
I remember my grandmother lying in bed, reading at night, and I turn away, heading to the front door. “You want to check the property?”
“Sure.”
Rebecca follows me out, and we walk toward the barn. Swinging the big double doors wide, they stick on the dirt, and I have to drag them open.
“Great. These are going to need to be shaved down if we’re going to use the barn.” Studying the loose boards and leaning posts, I huff, thinking of all the work the barn needs.
The musty smell of the place wafts out.
“Think of the possibilities.” She scans the place with a sparkle in her eye. “This could be turned into a gift shop or a place we sell apple cider and baked goods or even turn it into a wedding venue. Honestly, the possibilities are endless.”
I wish I could see the place through her eyes, because when I look around all I see is a money pit.
“I can help you do the work.”
“You know how to repair a barn door?”
There’s a tractor sitting just inside, and after wandering farther, I spot the old machinery Gramps used for the business. I run my hand over one of them.
“What’s that?” Rebecca asks.
“The shaker,” I say. “It’s used to shake the trees of any loose pine needles. And this one is the netting machine. You run a tree through it, and it bags it up in a net for the customer to take home on the top of their car.”
“Oh.” She looks around at all the junk piled up everywhere.
Beside the tractor is a flatbed. I gesture to it. “I remember he’d haul cut trees on this thing. I’d help him set them up out in front of the cabin for those who didn’t want to cut their own.”
She nods. “He always had lights strung around the area.”
“Right.”
There’s a black Chevy pickup truck parked to the side of the tractor. The name of the business is painted on the door. I glance inside, wondering if it still runs.
I know Rebecca has a manilla envelope with labeled keys for every piece of equipment, and I turn and hold my hand out. “You got the keys to the truck?”
She digs in the envelope and passes them to me.
I slip behind the wheel and insert the key. Surprisingly, the engine fires right up, and the radio comes on, playing Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire. I smile, then turn the key off.
Something makes me flip the visor down—a distant memory perhaps.
And there it is, the photo of my grandmother banded to the other side.
It’s a shot of her as a young woman, probably from when they first met.
I remember my grandfather flipping that visor, and pressing two fingers to his lips, then pressing them to the photo.
Every damn time he started the truck up.
A memory floods over me of the two of us bouncing along the rutted dirt road into the fields, Gramps looking over at me and laughing, telling me to hold on.
I climb out and shut the door. “You want to check the fields?”
“Sure.”
I close up the barn, and we walk down the dirt road and over the hill. Wind blows through the trees and ruffles my hair.
“It’s been twenty years, and yet it seems like yesterday,” I murmur.
Rebecca studies the side of my face. “I’m sure he missed you.”
It doesn’t make me feel better. In fact, it makes me feel like an asshole for never coming to visit. Any animosity I felt toward my parents had nothing to do with my grandparents. I was a fool to let all that drive us apart. I should have come back years ago.
Regret floods me, but it’s too late now, and that’s the worst of it.
We clear the rise, and a valley opens in front of us. Rows and rows of various types of trees spread out in long lines, all of varying years of growth. White Pine, Blue Spruce, Fraser Fir, Cedar.
It’s obvious, even to me, they haven’t been tended to. The branches are scraggly on some, and many have brown dead spots. From what, I haven’t a clue.
Nature is always beautiful, but all I see is a ton of work.
“So, there they are,” I say.
“They’re beautiful. Oh, look how many there are.”
I scan the fields, remembering my grandfather had to plant seedlings every year to ensure another season's crop. “Most of these are eight to ten years old.”
“It takes that long?” she asks.
“Yep. And it doesn’t look like he planted any new ones in the last couple of years.”
“Is that a problem?”
“It will be down the line.”
“Oh.”
“There’s a lot that goes into this, Rebecca. There are lots of problems that can happen. Drought. Insects. Fire. More problems than even I know of, I’m sure. This isn’t all fun and games.”
“I never said it would be. I know it’s going to take work, but it’s all I have, JJ.”
“Surely my brother had life insurance. You can’t be that bad off.”
“I’m not saying I’m bad off. And yes, there was some insurance, but only thirty thousand dollars. By the time I paid for the funeral and paid off the car, well, there isn’t much left. I need this, JJ. I have to make it work.”
I study her. Her reason for not wanting to sell is valid, I suppose. “But think what you could do with the money from a sale. It could set you up.”
“You don’t know that. Besides, that’s in the distant future. I need an income now. I want to do this, JJ. We’re in this together, and I guess I need to know right now if I can count on you to do this with me.”
I kick a rock and shove my hands in my pockets. This is the last thing on earth I want to do. Putting aside all the work, just being in this town is the last place I want to be. But we’re stuck with the place for a year.
“It’s not that I don’t want to help you. I’ve got other responsibilities. I don’t know how much time I can devote to this.”
“Your club, you mean?”
“Yeah. I’ll have to ask if I can get the time away.”
She nods and studies the landscape. “The season isn’t that long. If we could at least get a good crop of trees sold this Christmas, we could make it a year. It’s only a couple of months, JJ.”
Looking into her pleading eyes, how could I refuse her?
“I’m not promising anything. I need to make a phone call first.”
“So, make it.” She stares at me. Damn, she’s a tough one.
I pull my phone out and stalk away.