Love is a Gift
November 2005
Five plates. Four people. One imaginary friend.
John McConnell watched his daughter from across the width of his mom’s worn oak table. He watched as she heaped noodles onto the plate next to hers and then heaped even more onto her own. Passing the noodles onto her grandfather, she took a bowl of peas from her grandmother and murmured a soft thank you. She scooped a few peas carefully onto each plate.
“Daddy never lets Cheyenne eat dinner with us. I mean, it’s not like she’s a dog or anything,” Tessa said with an air of rationality that exceeded her eight years. The apparent maturity colluded with her imagination to create an irrefutable logic.
“Maybe your daddy doesn’t remember when he insisted his friend sit at the table with us. Can I serve you some of the chicken casserole?” When Tessa nodded, John’s mom spooned the goopy mixture first onto the plate in front of the vacant seat beside his daughter and then onto his daughter’s plate.
His parents’ dining room hadn’t changed much through the years. The rich, warm oak of the sturdy country-style dining room table had darkened. The seats of the chairs were worn smooth. John remembered when his mother had sewn the flowery drapes for the bay window.
“I never—” John began to defend himself.
His mother interrupted. “Yes you did. What was her name?”
“I didn’t—”
“Annie,” his father supplied. “You had just finished reading Where the Red Fern Grows.”
“Annie was a dog?” Tessa asked.
“Oh no. Annie was a girl. Your dad liked the name. Do you remember, John?” Bev McConnell’s attention shifted to her son. “You spent the first summer we lived here tramping around the forest with her.”
His mother turned toward Tessa. “And believe me, every night we set an extra plate at the table just for her.”
“Annie.” John said the name, and as he did he remembered the summer he had spent with her. His dad had taken a job in Seattle, forcing the family to move from Iowa. John had been six years old, younger than Tessa.
It might have been different if they had moved into a neighborhood, but his parents fell in love with a piece of property on Tiger Mountain, twenty miles east of Seattle. John wanted buddies but until school began he didn’t know where to look, so he made up his own—Annie.
She was great. John remembered that clearly.
“Where is she now?” Tessa asked. She looked her father in the eye and lifted her chin, daring him to deny Annie’s existence.
John took a forkful of casserole before he answered, chewing and swallowing the mushy food without haste. This game his daughter had wasn’t about her being lonely. She had plenty of friends. John suspected Tessa was fighting for something else.
“I don’t know. It was a long time ago. I’m not sure I’d even recognize her.”
Tessa reached for the Jell-O salad. “Oh you’d recognize her all right. Friends like Annie and Cheyenne are never very far away.” Tessa excavated some of the cherries trapped in the Jell-O and dumped them first on Cheyenne’s plate then on her own.
“Tessa, it’s not polite to dig out the cherries,” John reminded her.
“Sorry, Grandma.” But Tessa speared a cherry and popped it into her mouth.
John watched his daughter. She was growing more stubborn and headstrong by the day. He didn’t spoil her. Her stack of stuff looked positively meager compared to most of her friends. She certainly didn’t get it from her mother. His wife, her mother, had been sweet and soft. Her love had flowed out all around their family like the yellow glow of a front-porch light. Without the bugs.
“Tessa? Would you like to help me in the kitchen?” her grandmother asked.
Tessa nodded and sent a brilliant smile to her father as she slipped off her chair and followed his mom into the kitchen.
“I thought I told Mom no cake,” John said to his father when the others had left the room.
“Tessa insisted,” Jim McConnell leaned back in his chair. “On the other hand, it didn’t take much to convince your mother.”
John looked at the doorway into the kitchen. In his mind, he saw the clean if faded gold-patterned vinyl floor. On the counter stood the classic white Hamilton Beach mixer—the one used to mix the cake and the frosting, over which now his mom and daughter bent, happily lighting candles.
Giggles drifted out through the louvers of the swinging door. Strains of “Happy Birthday” intruded moments before the pair burst into the dining room with a cake laden with burning candles, scattering heat and bright-yellow light.
The celebration paraded into the room, its merriment and rubble at odds with the quiet desert of John’s existence. Another year gone. How could it only be one?
Time moved so slowly, stretching out before him endlessly in all directions. In all directions there stood nothing but a distance to be traveled. It was a cruel trick that with each passing year the distance stretching before him remained endless. A deep sigh rumbled through him. John rubbed his hand across his forehead and eyes.
Silence. The singing had ended.
The candles heated his face as he leaned forward. The blue, green, yellow and red candles and the exuberant sprinklings of Fun-fetti decorating the white frosting cheered as best they could “Celebration!”
He felt his daughter loop an arm across his shoulders. “Make a wish, Daddy.”
But John could only see the empty distance in front of him.
“Come on Daddy, make a wish. Wish for…”
John looked at his daughter. Her face was golden in the reflection of the candles. Her dark-green eyes danced joyfully, embracing the power of a birthday cake alight with candles. It eased the fight in her and replaced it with an innocence—innocence powerful enough to make wishes come true.
“You make the wish,” he told his daughter.
His daughter considered seriously. Decision flashed in her eyes. With determination, she leaned forward and blew out every last candle.
“What did you wish for?” he asked.
She grinned, the fight returning. “I can’t tell you that!” But when her grandmother cut the cake, Tessa insisted that one piece be cut for Cheyenne and a second for Annie.
* * * * *
“Did I tell you that the property next door has been sold?” his mother asked him as they finished up the dinner dishes. The cake had been eaten and his daughter and father had gone out into the backyard to check on the fort hidden in the trees.
“The property next door was for sale? When did that happen? I never noticed a sign.” John pulled plastic wrap over the Jell-O and put it in the refrigerator.
“It wasn’t available for long. I’m sure I told you last week when we talked. Don’t you remember?” Bev asked.
John frowned. He didn’t. “I’ve always wanted that property. I would have remembered it if you had mentioned it.”
His mother straightened after setting a dish into the dishwasher. She pursed her lips. “I’m certain I did. Honestly, John. You know you only remember about half of what I say.”
John let the argument go. If he pursued it, he knew where it would lead—with his mother insisting that he was prolonging his grieving and why wouldn’t he see a counselor? Instead he changed course. “Do you know who bought it?”
“A young woman, although I haven’t met her yet. I keep waiting until I have a batch of cookies to take over.” His mother’s brow cleared as an opportunity dawned. “You could stop by on your way out. She drives an old red Chevy. You can see it from the road, if she’s there. Why don’t you stop and say ‘hello’?”
John wondered which was worse—his mother’s penchant for matchmaking with eligible women or with professional counselors. He doubted he could win this fight.
John ceded the argument. “Okay, Mom. If I see a truck, I’ll stop.”
“Really? You know, I just might have some cookies.”
She did. Peanut butter with chocolate chip.
It was a two-tone Silverado, red and white, at least thirty years old. The dull red and faded white showed through the verdant undergrowth. John drove his tidy beige Camry up the dirt road and parked behind the truck.
Tessa flung open the door, grabbed the plate of cookies and hopped out, her feet moving as they hit the ground.
“Wait—I—Tessa!” he said to her retreating back.
John moved slower, getting out of the car, surveying the scene around him. It was the playground of his childhood—the canopy of evergreens, the huge granite rock and the sweet smell of the fresh air. The memories of the time he spent with Annie stirred.
Walking around the truck, John completed the bend to the end of the dirt road. As he knew it would, the trees parted and a small meadow showed. Off to the right side was a small trailer. Off to the left was a huge granite boulder. In the center was the small meadow and today it contained a woman with a shovel…shoveling.
The biggest husky John had every seen stood by her. Its tail wagged slowly right to left to right and back, ears pricked forward.
“Hello!” Tessa called out, still a few feet ahead of him.
The woman stopped shoveling and looked up. Auburn hair fell back from her face as she smiled. “Hey.”
“My name’s Tessa. This is my dad, John. My grandparents live over there. We brought you cookies. Nice dog!”
John joined Tessa where she stood on the outside point of the square of land marked by white string and stakes. “Hi.”
“Hello.” Her smile remained. Her eyes were caramel brown and they smiled too. “Thank you for the cookies.” She walked forward to take the plate. The dog shadowed her. “They look delicious. Can I have one now, or do I have to wait for after dinner?”
“I’d eat one now, if I could,” Tessa offered. “Can I pet your dog?”
“Of course. His name is Kitna.” The woman slipped one cookie out from under the plastic wrap. “Would you like one?”
Tessa took one quickly, even as her father began to protest. John let it go.
“Are you the new owner?” he asked instead.
“Yes.” She turned to him as she bit into the cookie.
“I’m going to the rock.” Tessa announced, turning on her heels to go. Kitna checked in with his owner then followed.
“The rock?” the woman asked.
“The rock.” John pointed to an enormous rock sitting to the left, a bit down the gentle slope from where they stood on the squared-off patch. He watched Tessa scale up its side, remembering each foothold as she moved because they were the same ones he had used. It had been his favorite perch that first summer.
“Of course!” The woman looked pleased. “The rock! That’s why I’m putting my house here. See? It’s the same view. I can see the river and the mountains—as if I’m sitting right on top of that rock.”
John turned to look.
“No, you have to stand over here.” She walked to the front edge of the square.
He followed reluctantly, carefully stepping over the string to join her inside the square.
“See?” she said again.
John looked out. It was the view he loved as a kid—the mountains backing the trees, the river bending just within sight. It was September and a few leaves drifted down.
It was the setting of his childhood.
John started to smile and turned to tell her just that but when he looked at her and she looked back at him, time danced between them, bending and turning until he could feel the kid he was before his wife’s sickness, before the ensuing emptiness and this woman next to him became—
“Hey, you haven’t told us your name.” Tessa reappeared, jumping with both feet together back and forth over the string until at last her left foot caught and pulled it down.
“Tessa! Miss…uh…the lady needs that…” John rushed over to fix the line.
“It’s okay.” The woman straightened one stake as John straightened the other, pulling the line tight again. “And my name is Susannah.” She held out her hand to Tessa. “Nice to meet you.”
Tessa beamed and took the woman’s hand. “That’s kind of like Anna, which is kind of like—”
“That’s enough, Tessa.” John interrupted firmly.
“I’m just saying—” Tessa would not be subdued.
“Tessa! Car! Now!”
To his surprise Tessa obeyed.
“She’s very talkative,” John tried to explain.
“She’s a child.” Susannah said as if that were a better explanation.
“Are you sure?” John looked back at the car. Tessa had disappeared into the backseat.
“You aren’t?”
He looked back at Susannah. “You don’t have kids?”
“Not yet.”
He continued to look at her.
She held up her ringless left hand. “Not yet.” She answered his wordless question. Her small smile remained.
Embarrassment heated his skin. “I didn’t mean to pry—”
“You weren’t.”
He looked back at the car and then to her. “I need to go—anything else you want to answer without me asking?”
She was beautiful—like autumn colors, like colorful quilts and warm hearths. She was alive, strong and sure, like the rushing river, sparkling. She was homecoming. Homecoming, at last.
“Thank you for the cookies.”
Those weren’t the words he had in mind.
* * * * *
The prime rib was excellently prepared, rare and juicy—each bite to be savored. The restaurant’s soft glow of candles and white tablecloths ameliorated the cold darkness that had fallen outside the glass window. John carefully sliced another piece of meat and looked back out into the night. The Chittenden locks were out there, just a few feet from his seat in the restaurant and hidden by the black night.
As it was, John could only imagine the huge sailboats and luxurious yachts rising and falling as they made their way between Lake Washington and the Puget Sound.
“Is everything to your liking?” the waiter inquired, adroitly topping off their water glasses.
“Yes. It’s wonderful,” John answered.
“Excellent.” The waiter disappeared. A single diner caught John’s attention. He felt a stab of pity as the diner kept his head down and ate his food. John hated to eat alone. It was the perfect setting for loneliness. John turned back to his meal, taking the last bite. He sat back in his chair.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked after a few more minutes had passed.
The woman across from him picked up her napkin and dabbed her lips. “Yes, thank you. It was delicious.”
John had been dating Melanie for several months. He liked her unassuming ways. When he called, she always said yes, even at the last moment. She was never late, she didn’t babble with unnecessary conversation and she didn’t require him to. Even as they walked to his car, even as he drove her home, the silence couldn’t complain. Neither person was alone.
John kept the car running as she got out at the door of her apartment building.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Of course,” he responded. “I’ll call you.”
The car door closed. John waited for Melanie to get inside.
Another Friday night safely executed.
* * * * *
Saturday morning broke fresh and new but the autumn sunshine didn’t last. Gray clouds moved in, making it truly a Northwest day in September. John ground his Nike’s into the squishy turf. Damp earth scented the fall air.
John hunched over the football and grumbled. “This is a stupid tradition.”
“Shut up and hike the ball.” Mike stepped lightly from foot to foot, optimism energizing him. “This play will have ‘em weeping!”
John hiked. Mike faded back. A wall of teenagers crushed John and sacked Mike.
They lay flattened on the grass while the kids danced around them in celebration.
“Every year I let you talk me into this.” The sky was dark gray above them, filled with dense nimbus clouds.
“Don’t worry, give the boys another twenty years—that’ll even the playing field.” Mike stood. “Hey, that was second down.” He called out to the retreating backs of his boys. “We still have time for a Hail Mary.”
The youngest son turned without stopping, walking backward. “Baloney, Dad. Besides, we promised Mom we’d go easy on you old guys.” Flipping back around, the four young teens bounced off each other as they headed for the parking lot and the late-model minivan—a minivan that had already taught two kids to drive.
“That was ‘easy’?” John propped himself up on his elbows. “Couldn’t you have had a girl?”
Mike offered John a hand and pulled him up. “We tried. That’s how we got four boys. Let’s get on with tradition. I believe there are chips and salsa and a football game that needs watching this afternoon.”
“Remember when we had to go easy on them?” John fell in step beside his friend as they headed toward the van.
“Ancient history, my friend.” Mike looked over at him. “I saw another piece of property for sale on Lake Union.”
“Got it.”
“No way. It just went up.”
“As good as got it then. We’re negotiating.”
Mike cast him a sideways glance. “Ever thought about selling?”
“That’s the goal. We just need a bigger chunk—something worthy of a condo village with the potential to make a hot-shot developer salivate.” John grinned at Mike but his friend remained thoughtful.
Mimicking the younger boys, John bounced into his oldest friend. “What?”
“Just thinking. Remember, way back? You used to…well, like working with people. Managing them.”
“I was a glorified grocery clerk.” John scoffed. “I had the power to determine the fate of the bananas—donate them to the food bank or toss them into the dumpster.”
Mike paused a few feet from the van. “Yeah, well. That may be but now…now, you just seem isolated.” His friend rushed on when John’s brow furrowed. “Just thought maybe it’s time to move on. Sell the property.” Mike appeared to be trying to drop the suggestion lightly.
“Move on? To what? Is this about— This isn’t about—” John stalled for a moment, before he found his footing. “This is about making buckets of money, my friend!” John piled on extra swagger.
Mike half smiled, “Yeah sure.” He resumed walking. “Hey remember the little people when you’re stinkin’ rich.”
They climbed into the minivan. The boys were loaded into the back. The air fairly snapped with testosterone and its exuberant abundance made John weary.
Mike put the key into the ignition but hesitated. Again.
John prodded him. “Chips and salsa, man. Let’s get going.”
“Yeah. Right. Well, did you invite Melanie?”
“Of course not.”
“You said you were going to.”
“Noooo,” John denied. “You said I could if I wanted to.”
“I feel for you, man, because Katherine knew you wouldn’t too. And now you have to face the consequences.”
“The consequences—what are you talking about?”
“Katherine doesn’t believe there’s a Melanie. I have to admit I’m beginning to wonder too.”
“For your information I saw her last night. We went out to dinner.”
“No kidding? What’s she look like?”
“She’s…” The picture in his brain conjured by the name “Melanie” was a fuzzy beige. With hair?
“What’d ya have for dinner?” Mike asked.
“Prime rib. It was delicious.”
“Bingo.”
“Bingo, nothing. I love beef. I never claimed to love Melanie.”
“How long have you been dating?” Mike shot back relentlessly.
“A few months.”
“Ah well. That’s reasonable then to have not noticed what she looks like yet.”
“Is there a point to this conversation?” John knew he was losing. He battled on to the consequences.
“The consequences,” Mike repeated, unknowingly. Mike and John were very good friends.
Mike looked at John.
John looked back at Mike. The van went bizarrely silent. The realization dawned.
“Aw, man! You didn’t! Not for the first game of the season! I’ve been looking forward to this game for weeks! Tessa’s at a playdate until four. I was planning on indulging my more slovenly nature.”
“I didn’t do it, okay? It was Katherine’s idea! She says this woman is really nice—”
“Nice? Nice? You ruined the first game of the season for ‘nice’?”
“She might be pretty.”
“Mike!”
“Hey, I said I was sorry.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Yes I did.”
“He’s right, Dad. You never said you were sorry.” Jake, the second to the youngest, chimed in from the back.
“Thank you.” John glanced back at Jake.
“You’re welcome.”
John flopped back in his seat. “How much time do I have before she gets there?”
Mike checked his watch, as if he had to. “I think she might already be there.”
John rubbed both hands over his face. They muffled whatever words he said.
* * * * *
“Are you a Husky fan?” John asked from his end of the couch. Allison sat on the other.
“Not really, no,” the woman admitted. She was pretty, if you liked redheads with hair that fell in long corkscrew curls and flawless porcelain skin. Her posture was perfect. Her back didn’t even bend to touch the couch. “I like tennis,” she offered.
John appreciated the effort to keep the conversation going. “Now there’s a refined sport.”
“Do you follow it?”
“No.”
“Oh. Golf?”
“Maybe when I’m older. You?”
“Yes. My father taught me when I was very young. I hit five under par.”
“Wow.”
The commercials ended and the game returned. John stared at the screen in relief. Why didn’t he care? He should care. A beautiful woman was smiling at him and he was wishing he could just watch a bunch of guys play football. Had he always been such a devoted Husky? John pondered the possibilities between a beautiful woman versus a great football game, pleased when he found one powerful similarity.
On any given Sunday, anything could happen.
“And that’s why we play the game,” John murmured the football wisdom.
John turned his attention from the television and to Allison. “Katherine tells me you’re new to the area. From the Northeast?”
She turned toward him with the grace of a swan. She wasn’t pretty. She was ultra-elegant. Stunningly beautiful would not be an exaggeration. “Yes. Originally. Have you visited the area?”
“Well no. But I’ve always meant to.” This was pathetic. John turned back to the TV. The Huskies were celebrating. Someone had just made a touchdown. John watched the rerun. “What brings you to Seattle?”
“I’m working with the attorney general. He has some great ideas that could transform child-protection laws.”
The Huskies kicked off. Idaho State caught the ball and began to run when a Husky slammed into him, causing a fumble.
“Impressive,” John murmured, his eyes on the screen.
“I hope you are referring to the AG’s work with children.” The censure in her tone cut sharp.
He looked over at Allison. Her posture was even straighter. “It was an awesome tackle.”
Her emerald eyes narrowed.
“This is the first game of the season…it’s been a while. You don’t feel that way about tennis?”
“As in more important than children?” Her finely shaped brows rose. “No. My work is of the utmost importance to me.”
“Well sure but what about me?” He tried to grin. It was a Saturday in September. They were watching football, for Pete’s sake.
Allison turned her laser-green eyes to Kathy. “You told me he wasn’t like other men.”
“Ha! You told her that?” John laughed.
“I think we need more chips.” Mike grabbed the bowl and ran for the kitchen.
“I think you two might be jumping to conclusions a bit too quickly,” Katherine intervened.
“Hang on. This sounds like counseling. Shouldn’t we at least have a relationship first?” John let the words rip. When you’re going down in flames, you might as well hit the accelerator.
Allison stood.
“John! Behave yourself!” Katherine admonished. “Please Allison, sit down.”
She did. John sighed. Time expired on the first quarter. There was still a lot of game left to watch. A lot of game that John wouldn’t be watching. Straightening his own posture, he turned to Allison.
“Tell me more about your work.”
Allison’s smile was fabulous, but it disappeared when she began to talk.
“She talks too much.” John grumbled as he helped pick up the family room after Allison left. He stepped over Tessa, who had returned from her playdate and was now sprawled out on the floor playing with the family’s huge black Labrador.
Because with four kids, a house needs a little more confusion.
“Baloney. She does not.” Katherine dismissed his complaint without consideration.
“I like Melanie better,” John carried on. “She doesn’t need to say anything.”
“Right. Melanie. The woman whose hair color you can’t even remember. Do the waiters get weirded out when you order food for someone who isn’t there?”
Tessa perked up. “Is Annie back, Dad?”
John stopped in mid-stride and closed his eyes. First a sound beating by strapping young teenage boys. Then a missed football game, a blind date and now…
“Annie? Who’s Annie?” Katherine picked up on Tessa’s comment like a bull on a cowboy.
“She’s no one—” John began.
Tessa interrupted. “She’s Dad’s special friend. You know, like I have Cheyenne? He has Annie.”
Mike’s grin was priceless. “No kidding?”
John knew he would be paying for this one for years.
Tessa continued. “Yep. Grandma says that Dad used to make her set a place for Annie at the table.”
“I bet the waiters don’t argue as much.” Mike said, the mischief dancing in his eyes.
Katherine, for a moment, stood quietly, watching John. “So, John,” she began, her voice deceptively light. “This Annie. Do you know what she looks like?”
The memory of the Annie he knew as a young boy flashed through his brain but the image that stuck was of the young woman with the shovel who answered his questions before he asked.