Chapter 6 #3
obsessing over Lee. Her need to blame him was masking something else that she really wasn’t ready to face.
But there was one obvious project for him.
“Are you any good at restoring and refinishing wood?”
“You want me to tackle the Wood Room?” he asked.
Uncle George loved trees. More than people, considering how he chose to live. The Wood Room’s wood paneling was made with
planks of wood from different trees from the Adirondacks, including every kind of figured and spalted wood, in a spectrum
of colors. But the room was in pretty rough shape. Everything needed to be sanded and refinished to bring back its original
luster. It would inspire her writing, and it would feel like a good way to honor George’s legacy.
“It would be hard to work on that without making any noise. It’s a bit too much to sand by hand.”
It would be penance, Thora thought. But then again, she didn’t want to see the room and think of punishing Lee. Maybe his work should render
himself invisible to her mind’s eye. He could restore the room to the version in her childhood memory, before she ever met
Cody and him.
“We can work out a schedule when you can use power tools. You have power tools in the truck?”
“Of course. I figured . . .” His voice broke. “I figured there’d be something George needed me to do.”
What George needed was someone to talk sense into him, Thora thought. What George truly needed was easy access to family and medical care. Lee wanted to goad on George’s misguided
sense of rugged individualism. A harmful myth to begin with, but downright dangerous for an old man in declining health. Lee’s
cracking voice made her blood boil. She needed to excuse herself.
“Well, I’m going to get to writing,” she said in a clipped, professional voice. “I’ll be in the Wood Room for now. We can
reconvene around five to plan dinner and discuss the renovations.”
With that, she left the kitchen, fetched her e-reader and notebook, and shut herself into the Wood Room.
Suppressing the desire to read more of Lee’s letters to George, she opened a random drawer of the desk. Inside was a stack of legal pads with faded cursive writing. The one on top read “9 of 10” at the top. She picked it up and started reading.
Tree told Leaf not to be afraid.
“We’ve never been apart,” Leaf said.
“You don’t remember it,” Tree replied, “but we have. The two of us separate every fall, but you always come back in the spring.”
“How do you know I’ll come back?”
“Because that is the way of things.”
“I don’t want to let go,” Leaf said.
“There is beauty in letting go,” Tree said.
Tree spotted a person walking through the forest.
“If you let go now,” Tree said to Leaf, “that person will see your dance through the air. It will be less frightening knowing
someone is there to witness.”
Thora recognized George’s handwriting. She also recognized that refrain, there is beauty in letting go. George must have cribbed that from something. Without a phone to consult, she’d ask Lee if he could place the quote later.
She reorganized the notebooks and read the entirety of their contents. It was slow going, with faded ink and writing that
was often scratched out or scribbled over, making it hard to tell what was to be read and what was to be ignored. She emerged
only to use the bathroom and grab a quick lunch. The charming parable about the cyclical life of a tree distracted her even
more than Lee’s letters.
Around three, a gentle rapping on the door pulled her from her work.
Lee stood holding a sterling silver tray, on which rested a cup of coffee, a tiny pitcher of cream, an even smaller bowl of sugar, and a plate of cookies. Homemade cookies. She hadn’t even noticed the aroma of them baking.
“Sorry to disturb you,” he said. “I said I’ll make dinner. I was thinking lentil soup. That’ll be good to reheat for lunches.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking the tray from him.
“Keep working. I’ll bring you a bowl when it’s ready. The cookies ought to tide you over until then.”
He shut the door again, and she was thankful for the interruption. She finished the last notebook of the story, had herself
a little cry at the bittersweet ending, and finally got down to work. Hoping to give herself a crash course in writing for
children, she loaded her e-reader with her favorite childhood classics before coming to Juniper. She’d reread them all and
take copious notes on the story structure they had, how adult characters were utilized or abandoned, and what flaws she found
that she thought she could try to avoid. She wanted the rhythms of these books in her head while she was writing.
This time she noticed the aromas wafting from the kitchen. Garlic and ginger, curry spices. This wasn’t going to be a boring
lentil soup. Being cooked for was a new experience as an adult. Whether it was the care going into the food or the amazing
smell, she was hungry.
Another knock on the door.
Lee held out a bowl of soup, sat on a plate with a slice of buttered bread. He buttered the damn bread for her, and generously.
“I’m not a total recluse. I’ll eat with you at the table,” she conceded.