Thirty-Two
Craig
Wrapping the ficus against the cold, I wheeled it out to my truck.
I’d expected frost in a few places this morning but had been surprised not to find them.
Despite that, I wasn’t taking any chances.
I wasn’t an expert on houseplants like the ficus but I knew they didn’t like the cold.
The plastic loading cart kept the heavy plants at waist level so it was an easy lift into the back of my pickup.
I strapped down both trees so they wouldn’t shift, and then pushed the Mace and Maize cart into the truck bed, wheels up.
In the future I’d have to get one of these for myself. Overall, the operation went smoothly.
Riverside Cafe was right on the south side of the Spokane river.
The southbound bridge was under construction and narrowed to one lane though no one was working on Sunday morning.
Piles of materials were stacked behind the orange barricades.
The piles looked haphazard and I was glad they weren’t my delivery because I’d have been ashamed of the cramped spacing.
The material needed to be moved again for worker access on Monday.
It was also a lot of weight on the bridge.
I would have been concerned driving a fully loaded trailer across it.
The sun quickly burnt off the morning mist leaving a glittering wet sparkle everywhere. Even though the air was crisp it was going to be a warm spring day. Though warm in March still required a jacket. Parking in the Riverside Cafe’s lot, I pulled on my sheepskin coat and went in to greet Myles.
In his mid–50’s, Myles carried a pleasant paunch, but wore it well on his wide frame. “Good to meet you Craig,” he said with a handshake.
The interior of the Riverside Cafe was done in straight lined decor with white paint and tile paired with brown fabric and wood.
Displayed throughout the restaurant were bonsai, and Myles wanted to show me each one.
They were exquisite, with varying styles, but heavy on the multi-trunk designs.
I particularly liked the striking ficus with vertical trunks extending from a horizontal main beam, like suckers growing from a fallen log.
“That raft design is one of my favorites, too,” Myles smiled, pleased I’d discovered it. “It looks so lively with the growth emerging from the main beam on the mossy floor.”
“It’s very interesting,” I agreed. The conversation felt adult, like the way my dad and his poker friends talked about whiskey.
“Craig, I am very excited to have you,” Myles continued. “Ulrich generally inspects my trees, and gives them their spring trims, along with regular fertilizer. Every once in a while he’ll take one in for repotting or more serious maintenance.
Indicating an empty space, Myles said, “That’s what happened with your ficus.
Last fall an old handsy lady really wanted to see the back side of it and tried to turn it around.
Instead, she dropped the whole thing on the floor.
I was worried I’d lose it but Ulrich is a wonder, though it took half a year. ”
“I’ll bring it in then.”
When I wheeled the thick-trunked ficus through the front door Myles face sprouted a silly grin, “Oh baby there you are. So good to have you back.” He hovered while I transferred the plant to its home.
Rotating the thin pot, just like Myles had complained his customer had done, he cooed and caressed his baby.
I left him and returned with the barrel potted juniper.
Myles tore himself away from his reunion to give me directions, “That one is new and goes on the side patio. It’s through here. It would have been easier to come in the side gate from the parking lot, but just the staff is here right now, so it’s fine.”
Following Myles out onto the patio I was blinded by the morning sun.
When I blinked through the glare I found a cozy oasis.
The brilliant sun peeked over a wood slat wall of stained red cedar separating the patio from the parking lot.
Evergreen bonsai were scattered around, just as striking as those inside.
On the northside of the patio the river was visible, churning with white caps, its flow heavy with early spring runoff.
A retractable awning and outdoor heaters completed the space.
“The plan was to put the juniper here by the river.” Myles strode toward an empty concrete display bench about knee high. “I think the barrel fits with the watery environment.”
Pushing the cart into position I was about to agree when my eyes rested on the design in the metal tables.
Helplessly, my fingers traced the curly cues and edges as the early sun drew subtle shadows from the pattern in the metal.
I’d seen this pattern before. As the metal’s chill touched the hollow of my palm I shivered with the memory.
Rilee sat in this chair, the sun on her face. I sat opposite. And she laughed, opening a smile so bright the sun in her hair was dim. My fingers recognized the pattern just as my clenching heart recognized the location of my first vision of Rilee.
“When do you open?”
Oblivious, Myles dismissed me, “Ten, you have plenty of time.”
“I think the placement is fine,” I said, trying to look away from the empty table.
Laughing, Myles folded his arms, “Glad we agree. I knew I liked you. Go ahead and get the sokan tree set up and then get familiar with the other plants. There isn’t enough time this morning to do any other real work.”
“The new plants need watering, so I’ll check if the others do too.” I forced myself back to the present.
“Well then, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything else.” Myles generously shook my hand, wishing me well, and then returned inside to continue opening the restaurant.
The white noise of the river pressed in.
What to do? I’d just resigned myself to living the rest of my life keeping Rilee where I couldn’t touch her or hurt her, where the only part of me she could touch was the past, which I’d already broken.
Riverside Cafe was a significant and regular client, and even if Rilee was in the past, every time I was here she’d be in my future.
Feeling the sting of the cold metal in my palm I also knew her memory wouldn’t dull with age.
Ever since that first dream it felt like something was pushing us together, like two cuttings being grafted together. Her heartwood pressed right into my wounds and bound tight, each dream a twist of the binding. Could I cut her off? Was there a pruner sharp enough to sever us? I doubted it.
Heavy in my hands, I flicked through my phone.
What if I told her? Explained I’d dreamed of her before we’d met.
That I’d dreamed of what we could be like together, and it was so good.
That I couldn’t live without her and cutting her off meant living with a wound that would never heal and probably kill me.
That destiny meant for us to be together.
What would she say to that? Would she believe me?
I wouldn’t, but after the way I’d treated her I didn’t have many options left, because I didn’t think I could live another day without seeing her.
Her phone rang. And rang. And rang. Voicemail picked up. “Rilee, this is Craig. Can we talk? Please call me back.”
That was horrible. I never did this people stuff very well. No one listens to voicemail anymore anyway. I tapped out a text instead, changing it four times but hurrying, so she would get the text before listening to the voicemail.
ME: Rilee, I am sorry about the other night. Can we talk?
Simple and direct. Phone in hand I waited for a response.
And waited. Behind me the door clattered open as one of Myles’s staff came out to straighten the tables and chairs.
I was on the job and couldn’t just stare at my phone like some love sick puppy.
Slipping my mobile into my pocket, I waved at the host and fiddled with the juniper’s moss, mostly to look busy.
Then I slid it onto its bench. The angle was lower than the pedestals inside and my back felt it, but I made sure to keep the angle high and center the weight in my legs.
I took the cart back to the truck and returned with a watering can. Most of the bonsai were fine, but the leaves on a couple inside were beginning to droop so I gave them a drink. They’d perk up again with the right attention.
“I think you are good to go,” I told Myles.
“See you next week then.”
“This is all still kind of new,” I admitted. “So work out the schedule with Ulrich. You and I can make adjustments if we need to.”
When I got in the truck I checked my phone again.
Nothing. Tossing it on the towels in the passenger seat I backed out of the parking stall.
Would she even respond? I really had treated her like dirt.
The only thing I could hope for was that my dreams weren’t just a figment of a frantic mind and really meant something.
Because that would mean she’d call. I held on to that.
Whether it was hope or faith I didn’t know. It was probably desperation.
Returning the delivery cart to the nursery I got a few strange looks from the Mace and Maize employees but no one actually said anything. The half pallet of plants needed shaping and potting but that could be done on Monday, like a person with a regular job. Still no call or text.
When the phone chimed on the way home I snuck a peek at a red light, but it was just a worthless notification. At the curb in front of Kathy’s house I checked the phone again. Ninety minutes had passed since I’d left the voicemail but Rilee hadn’t answered.
Jackie was curled on the couch scrolling through her phone when I came in. “So how was the office?” she asked without looking up.
“It was nice to be” the buzz and ding interrupted my thought and I scrabbled for it like a drowning man.
RILEE: What do you want?
My chest clenched and I couldn’t breathe. I want you. That sounded trite and manipulative, even if it was true.
Raising an eyebrow Jackie stared up at me expectantly, “It’s nice to be?” prompting me to finish my sentence.
“Uh, busy again,” I muttered, trying to manage two conversations at once.
ME: To talk. To apologize.
I’d hoped for a phone call. I was never good at writing with my fingers. Writing, I have been dreaming about you so please forgive me, sounded deranged and I hoped when spoken in the words person wouldn’t have the same level of crazy.
RILEE: Apology accepted. Do you want the picture back?
“Damn it,” I moaned. This was slipping away from me. She was rightly angry but the drawing was a gift and offering it back was rubbing salt into the wound.
Jackie was equal parts annoyed and indifferent, “Dad doesn’t like it when you swear.”
Distracted, I sat down at the end of the couch, “Sorry about that.” I really needed to just sit down with Rilee and explain everything.
If she rejected me after that, well, I’d spent a year piling up rejections, I’d figure something out.
Though this one might be as bad as not feeling my toes after the log fall.
“Something important?” Jackie asked.
It really wasn’t fair to involve her. “It’s Rilee.” In two words I laid the relationship out in the open. “Coach Horner, I mean. I asked to talk and she’s not saying yes.”
Sitting up Jackie said, “But she’s not saying no?”
“No, she’s not said no,” I stumbled over the words.
“Texts cause misunderstanding and phone calls are impersonal. It needs to be in person.”
I agreed but warily added, “Sounds like you have some experience?”
“Enough.” Jackie kept on talking, “After your walkout her place is not an option and she can’t come here. You need a neutral place, one the two of you don’t have a history with. But public.”
Since this morning I’d known we would sit down together at the Riverside Cafe. I should have just led with that in the first place.
ME: No, it was a gift. I’d still like to apologize in person. Can we meet? Coffee maybe? Riverside Cafe? Or someplace else if you’d like?
It was a lot of question marks but I was just as twisted up.
I hit send and looked over to Jackie. She shrugged, her face totally flat.
This was unfair to her, any outcome complicated her life.
After a few moments we both looked away.
My niece went back to phone scrolling and I just nervously tapped my foot.
Minutes rolled by. I heard Kathy call out from somewhere else in the house just before the phone chimed.
Why was I so nervous? Flicking up the messages I read it a dozen times.
RILEE: When?
“She didn’t say no,” I whispered.
Jackie laid her phone in her lap. “If you screw up this time I get my room back.”
I tapped out my response and stood up. There was a knot in my thigh to match the one in my chest. Yeah, if this went sideways I didn’t want to see Jackie everyday either.