The Cherryhill Tree: Cherryhill
Jack Riddle grew old on his own terms. His hair didn't gray until he was well into his forties, and he only had slight wrinkles beside his eyes. He never got rid of his beard. He kept the Mustang for all those years, and cared for it like a child. He still enjoyed a cigarette with his cup of coffee every morning, and he continued his daily run until thirty-five, jogged until fifty, and walked from then on. His head became a library, and he could recite a passage from every novel he had ever read. He persisted with carpentry until he was sixty-seven and his wife forced him to retire. He and Olivia wed when they were thirty-three, and seven years later, they had a beautiful daughter; Iris. They always lived beside Cherryhill, and everyday throughout her childhood, Jack would walk Iris up the hill to talk with his old friend.
Jack sat on the porch as he did every morning. The sun was warm and it painted him golden. In one hand, he held a steaming coffee mug, and in the other was a cigarette that flaked its ashes. He gently teetered in his old rocky chair, and he enjoyed the slight groan the foundation made beneath him. It was comforting to know that his house aged along with him. But, some days, Jack didn't feel seventy. Especially when he was with his beloved Iris. She kept him laughing, and made him feel like a teen again.
Iris and Olivia had left to go shopping, and it was one of those rare occasions that Jack got to enjoy the quiet. Between Olivia's talkative nature and the fascinating event that was Iris' existence, Jack rarely found a moment to pause. He sighed in contentment. The only sounds were the foundation's groan when he rocked and the whisper of a dove's coo from the summit of Cherryhill.
He took a final drag on his cigarette before snuffing it in the tray. After the smoke had cleared, he was left with the faint perfume of the cherry blossoms, and it quirked his lips into a smile.
A silhouette of blue spoiled the stillness of Jack's peace. The crunch of his gravel driveway swamped the dove's coo and the foundation's groan. Over the coffee mug he tipped to his lips, it was the mail lady, Donna, who disturbed his portrait of brief serenity. But, he wasn't too defeated. Donna was a friend of Olivia's, and she was nice enough to bring their mail to the porch so Jack didn't have to walk all the way down the driveway. He wouldn't have minded at all, but Donna insisted and Jack was never one to dwell.
Donna handed Jack a small, crinkled envelope with no postage stamp and no address. She claimed she found it sticking out of his mailbox, and when he asked her where it came from, she said it was already there when she arrived. Donna bid Jack farewell, and told him to inform Olivia that she found the vanilla cake recipe for Iris' upcoming thirtieth birthday.
The anonymous envelope was light as if it hand no contents, save for the little bulge in the bottom-right corner. Jack ran his fingers across it, then turned it over, looking for some identity to the envelope that appeared to have no clue in itself of where it came from. He almost tossed it away, but the bulge was hard and a spark of curiosity demanded to know what it was. Jack was never curious, he was always content, but he was curious now and that feeling was strong.
Jack peeled open the envelope, which was barely sealed. He turned it upside down. What fell into his lap caused a whirlwind in his mind of photos with long forgotten stories that were being remembered now.
Jack's withered hands shook when he plucked the golden, heart-shaped locket from the fold of his shirt. Engraved on its face was a dove, and Jack vaguely heard the dove's coo from Cherryhill grow louder. A ragged breath pulled at his lungs when his thumb traced the engraving. The locket's hinges were worn from being unlocked infinitely, so when he placed it in his palm, it fell open.
Jack drowned an eye as he peered at his childhood self in the palm of his hand, but more so at Liv whose arm was wrapped around his head. He recalled the last time he saw her; it was that night forty years ago when he found her beneath the cherry tree and she told him of her life after Cherryhill. Jack cried and a few tears fluttered onto the old, frayed picture in the locket. He still thought about Liv everyday and he missed her terribly, though, he would only speak of her in secret out of respect for Olivia.
Jack hadn't noticed it before, but a gray slip of paper fell from the envelope and into his lap as well. He wiped his eyes, but it was no use when he saw what the slip was. It was an obituary cut out of a newspaper from a city he had never been too. The picture was of an older woman. She had dark hair with a gray rearing its head every now and then, and she had sparse wrinkles. The ink of the obituary was faded, but Jack knew her eyes were green. He knew her face, and he knew her skin. He knew it was Liv, and his knowledge was reinforced when he read her name that was so harshly bolded and capitalized beneath the photo.
LIV JUDE FIELDS (nee FROST), age 69, died Sunday, December 17th at her home. She was born in Montrose in 1953, and graduated from Penrose High School in 1971. She was a licensed cosmetologist. She loved to travel, paint and garden. She always said her greatest accomplishment was the cherry blossom tree she planted in her backyard. She is survived by her husband, Rick Fields; and two sons, Sail and Jack Fields.
The obituary went on to discuss her funeral proceedings, but Jack saw nothing passed the fact that she named her younger son after him, and that she died nearly six months ago. Harsh sobs clung to his heart and so did a deep pain.
In spite of himself, Jack had begun to climb the great hill beside his home. He gripped the locket in one hand and Liv's obituary in the other. All the while, his eyes leaked like loose faucets, and no matter how hard he willed himself, they wouldn't stop.
By the time he reached the summit where the scent of cherries was stronger than all else, his breath was shallow and his face had gone pale. His weary bones found solace with the cherry tree. Beneath the blossoms, he sat. He remembered all the Sundays he spent reading with Liv. He remembered her red lipstick and how she would smear it on her face. He remembered when she ran through his sprinklers and his mother called the cops. He remembered the night they rode their bikes to the freeway and talked about parallel lives, and he thought she was absolutely beautiful under the city lights. He remembered the first time he said he loved her beneath this very tree and they both cried. He remembered every time she crawled through his window at all hours of the morning and laid in bed beside him. He remembered every time they touched and he felt warm. A warmth that stemmed somewhere inside him. He felt that these memories would make him warm even if he were standing in the middle of a blizzard.
More than anything, Jack remembered when Liv would rub the cherry blossoms all over her face, and she would smell of cherries for days. Then he remembered the time that Iris did it when she was six. It made Jack smile and sob harder at the same time.
Jack's damp eyes looked up just when the dove sailed across the sky. He wasn't sure if it was all in his head or not, but he could have swore he saw Liv's smile in the sun. He heard a familiar whisper drifting on the wind that told him it was okay to let go... and that's what Jack did.
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After Jack passed away, Iris took it upon herself to keep the cherry blossom tree company. Every day, she would make the trek up the great hill and sit beneath the branches where her father sat for so many years before her. It had been four months since Iris found Jack slumped beneath the tree clutching the golden locket. Incidentally, it had been four months since her mother began sleeping her days away, and four months since her fiancee decided to pursue more voluptuous interests, but Iris was never deterred from visiting her father's old friend, and now an old friend of her's.
Today started just like any other. Iris tried to coax Olivia from bed, despite knowing that her attempts were futile, and made her mother breakfast that wouldn't be eaten before climbing the hill. As Iris leaned against the tree, she wondered if her life would be this way forever. Before her father passed, she earned three degrees and traveled all over the country. She met many interesting people, did many exciting things, and collected so many stories that she would have to censor for her future children if she decided to have any. All of those accomplishments were indebted to her father's encouragement. Without him, she felt hopelessly stuck watching her mother wither away, and feeling her motivation to live dwindle.
It began to drizzle. The wind knocked loose cherry blossoms that rained down on Iris. It knocked her hair loose as well, and the brunette locks flew all around her face. She cried thinking of Jack. The strands adhered to her damp cheeks, and she was sure she looked pitiful, but she lost her pride when she lost her father, so she didn't care.
Iris vaguely heard footsteps beneath the chorus of her own sobs. She scrubbed petulantly at her tear-stained cheeks. Olivia hadn't climbed the hill since Jack's passing, and Donna had arthritic knees; Iris didn't have a clue who it could be.
"Hello," declared a voice of novelty to Iris and the cherry tree. It was strong, but smooth.
Iris whorled around so fast that she thought she may have given herself whiplash.
A handsome man stood just a few feet away. His green eyes were trained on the vibrant, pink blossoms. His hair was as dark as midnight, and faint stubble lined his strong jaw. He was well dressed, and Iris thought he may have been a realtor. She had met a number of them who knocked on her door asking if she would be willing to part with the land. After Jack's death, those realtors circled her father's house and Cherryhill like vultures.
"I'm not selling the house nor the land, so get off my property," Iris barked, and her little head fumed.
The man blinked, taken aback.
"I think we've got ourselves a bit of a misunderstanding," he said with a lopsided grin. "I'm not here for your house or your land, ma'am. I'm just here to... well, I don't know, actually."
Iris' brows pinched together, and she wondered if he had some sort of medical condition. Perhaps amnesia.
"Well, saying that I don't know is not completely the truth, and the last thing I would want to do is lie to a pretty lady like you," he chuckled, "so, I guess I'm here to find out if my mother was telling the truth or if she was just full of stories."
Iris cocked her head to the side. She was always content, much like her father, and never felt the need to pry. But, for some anonymous reason, she did felt a pang of curiosity with this man. "Telling the truth about what?"
"Cherryhill," he said. "She told me about a single cherry blossom tree on a tall hill at the end of one Daisy Avenue. She said she visited it every day as a child. She described it so beautifully that I thought it was just a recurring dream she had. But... standing here now, I think it's real."
"It is," Iris assured him. "My father told me of a friend he used to share this hill with when they were kids. He never mentioned her name, but I know it was a female."
"Funny," said the man. "My mother told me about a friend she used to share Cherryhill with as well. She never mentioned his name either. She just called him 'Love.'"
They stared at each other for a long time. Whether it was purposeful that they would meet, or that their corroborating statements were just coincidental, was beyond the both of them.
After a while, the man approached Iris and he held out his hand. She took it, and they shook. His grip was firm and real business-like, but his goofy grin told otherwise. It made Iris smile.
He chuckled. "Jack Fields at your service."