“Well, he’d better try harder. We need him more than ever.” Mom nodded sharply. “I made a pot of coffee.”
“None for me, thanks.” Nancy hung her purse on the coatrack in the corner and introduced herself to Kevin and Amanda.
Nancy and I greeted each other with the polite nod of civil foes. “For those who haven’t been through this, all I ask is that you keep an open mind and heart. Try not to say anything unless I ask, and then only yes/no answers, please.”
“Okay. Let’s get started.” Kevin pulled out a seat for Amanda and then sat beside her.
Nancy sat next to him and Mom flanked Amanda’s other side, forcing me to sit beside Nancy.
Amanda glanced at everyone, but when she caught my eye, she looked away.
“As your mother knows, I encourage everyone to say a silent prayer for your intention today and, if it helps, to close your eyes so your other senses awaken.” Nancy placed her hands on the table. “Think about a specific memory or let your feelings about your father flow through you. As I get messages, I’ll relay them. Many may have nothing to do with him. I can’t control who comes to me, but I hope we hear from William.”
Kevin shot me a look that mirrored the incredulity I felt, to which I responded with a subtle shrug.
Surrendering to the inevitable, I relaxed my shoulders and closed my eyes. I don’t know how many minutes passed before Nancy spoke.
“I’m getting something about red shoes. Do red shoes mean anything to anyone?” Nancy’s eyes remained closed.
“I have red shoes,” my mother said. “And Erin has those beat-up red sneakers she always wears.”
Most women probably owned one pair of red shoes, so once again Nancy’s “gift” underwhelmed. What also didn’t shock me was my mom’s inability to stick to yes and no answers.
“I hardly think Dad gives two you-know-whats about red shoes,” I grumbled.
Mom gave a sharp grunt of disapproval. To Nancy’s credit she took a deep breath and kept her eyes closed.
For my own sanity, I mentally checked out and thought about how to convince my sister to forgive me so we could prepare for Willa’s arrival and I could tell her about kissing Eli. After all we’d been through, I refused to concede the ground we’d gained to Lyle’s viper tongue.
For most of my life, I’d thought our differences too big for us to be close. Now, I knew we could bridge those if we learned to respect them rather than judge them. But there’d never before been a time when we didn’t speak to each other, so I first had to win back her trust.
“Dorothy . . . I’m hearing a man say the name Dorothy . . . ,” Nancy said.
“My sister’s name is Dorothy!” Mom’s hands went up with another hopeful smile.
“Why would Dad bring up Aunt Dodo? She made him crazy,” I said. More to the point, finding the name of my mother’s siblings would take almost no skill at all. So far, Nancy was batting a big fat zero. I’d give her credit for not quitting, though.
Kevin’s mask started to slip. He stole another glance at his watch and shot me a “spare me” look. Nancy closed her eyes again, so I made a silly face. From the corner of my eye, I saw Amanda scowl at me.
“Buttonwood . . . ,” Nancy said, eyes opening. “The base of the sycamore tree.”
My heart stopped as my mouth fell open.
“What?” Amanda asked, yanking me from the memory. “You look spooked.”
“Dad and I planted that sycamore in the backyard.”
My mother clapped her hands together. “He’s here.”
“Why would he show up to talk about a tree?” Kevin asked, all lawyerly.
“I’m not sure.” And then I thought about red shoes and Dorothy and I leaped from my chair. “I know! I know!”
I ran to the garage for a shovel and then raced out the kitchen door to the tree trunk.
Within a minute or two, my family had gathered around me as I paced, trying to figure out where to dig. “It’s so big now . . . I don’t think I can get to the doll.”
“What doll?” Kevin probed.
“From The Wizard of Oz. Remember the little action figures? I buried Dorothy when we planted this tree.” I continued walking around the tree trunk, trying to remember where it might be.
My mother waved her hands and gazed at the clouds as if spirits circled overhead. “William, what kind of nonsense is this? I need answers, not toys.”
“Erin,” Kevin called, stopping me in my tracks. He reached for the shovel. “You’ll never get to that doll now. This trunk is massive. How about you try to think about whether there’s actually any significance to this memory? Why did you two bury the doll with the tree?”
I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to recall every detail, reenacting the scene aloud.
“Why can’t we plant an apple tree so we have fresh apples for Mom’s pies?” I’d said to my dad, hands on my hips. “Or a cherry tree—I love cherries.”
“So do I, but this sycamore will grow to be huge and provide lots of shade for us.” He dug up the first shovelful of dirt.
“Whoop-de-do!” I sank onto the bag of fertilized soil I’d dragged back there and crossed my legs.
He patted my knee. “Come on now. This buttonwood will be here for generations, like a piece of Turner family history. You and me—we’re putting something in the ground that will outlive us.”
I opened my eyes, staring up at the massive canopy of leaves now shading us all. “He went on and on about how deep its roots grew. I’d said, ‘Who cares? You can’t see the roots, unlike the apples or pink flowers of the other trees.’”
Amanda stared at me, wide-eyed and accepting, as if she’d known that if Dad did show himself, it would be to me. That wouldn’t help us mend fences.
I turned to Mom. “Dad said that roots were more important than the pretty flowers. At first I thought he’d said that because he knew it hurt my feelings that everyone always complimented Amanda’s looks but no one ever called me pretty.” I avoided my sister’s gaze and glanced instead at Kevin. “But then he talked about how roots kept the tree safe, and that it was like that with a family, too. That all the people in a family could stretch in different directions like branches, but the roots would always bind them together and keep them strong. And then I said that must be why people called it a family tree. And then he said something about how there is never anyplace as important as home . . . and that’s when I ran inside to get Dorothy and bury her with our tree, ’cause, you know, that’s what she said.”
Kevin laughed at me, head shaking. “Sounds exactly like something you and Dad would do. Good metaphor, too.”
“Except sometimes branches get diseased and need to be pruned,” Amanda quipped and turned to go back inside.
I bit my tongue and followed her, as did the others.
“None of this helps us with the gossip or selling the boat,” Mom groused as we filed in through the kitchen door.
We returned to the dining room but didn’t take our seats. “Maybe the point is that none of that matters as much as this right here.” I circled our little group with my index finger. “Instead of focusing our energy on everything out there, we should be grateful for and help each other.”