Under the Pear Tree

The tree stands proud at the end of a hedge, interrupting the sun’s passage to my window.

I have always been grateful for the shade, but today, I long for a more light to read by.

It’s been three days since the power went out, and Lexi hasn’t been home since. I don’t blame them. Things are miserable in eternal darkness.

I planted some herbs last year, to complement the vegetable garden. Lexi laughed and asked if my brown thumb could manage any more – light-hearted teasing, no ill will. Still, it stung enough for me to read every book I could from the town library; then, I read countless volumes from the library in Charlsbury, the next town over.

As I read, I eat a salad completely grown and prepared of my own efforts. One tomato, three giant leaves of lettuce, two basil leaves, rosemary, and a cucumber, tossed together in the only store-bought ingredient; a fine vinaigrette made by Murray’s daughter, which Lexi purchased last time they went into town.

The tree stands proud at the end of a hedge of berries. The bushes were here before we moved in; Lexi’s dad said they’d been here when he moved in, too, years ago.

The day my father-in-law died, he lay in the daybed in the sunroom, smiling, asking for more berries. His wife denied him, concerned for his digestive system. Lexi sneaked some in their pocket, handing their dad one at a time, sharing a conspiratorial smile.

He asked for another and, as his hand touched Lexi’s, it slowly fell limp. Lexi held their father’s hand for many minutes before calling for their mother.

When she entered the sunroom, she sunk to the floor as from an invisible force. She did not cry so much as utter some indescribable sound, like gasping for air that had been knocked out of her lungs.

We didn’t see Lexi’s mother again except through the library computer. She was making up for lost time, maybe, adventuring here and there with money that had always seemed out of reach, before. She seemed happier than we’d ever seen her.

One year later, she hung herself on some cruise she’d arranged with her new boyfriend, Ted. He was younger than Lexi and me, and we never did get to meet. Even at the funeral, Ted came with his brother and a mutual friend and left before we could introduce ourselves.

No foul play was suspected.

The tree stands proud at the end of a hedge of berries, and beyond the hedge is the road. To get to town, we drive Southeast and to get to the lake, we drive Northwest. There are no other roads until the lake, and the first road before town is about thirteen miles out.

Once, when Lexi and I first married, we realized we needed to purchase a car. We had lived in town for two years prior, not too close and not too far from both their parents and mine. It was perfect, really.

Of course, my mom pushed for some grandbabies, my dad told her to shut up, and Lexi’s parents were just happy whatever we did – easy to please, both of them. When I explained to mom that we weren’t sure if we wanted children, I’m not sure it ever clicked, really. She sort of smiled and nodded, “that’s okay, dear”, and the next time we visited she’d ask again.

Anyway, when we started looking for a car, they were all obscenely priced for our budget, and we spent a good three months searching before Lexi’s dad offered us his vehicle.

“Your mother,” he looked at both of us (she had become my second mother from the moment we were introduced, “drives the red car, and I always go with her. I barely drive this’n, and I can’t think of a time we’d need two damn cars at once. Take it.” He’d insisted.

We graciously accepted, and paid only a thousand bucks, which we had to convince him to take. He’d needed it, though, and it immediately went to minor home repairs that had built up over the years.

After a couple of weeks, we found the car needed servicing. We had to take it to the mechanic. The task was foreign to both of us, so we went together. It was easier than expected.

From then on, I mostly took the car to town when needed.

Lexi stayed home to work on the house and the goats, and to write their books.

The tree stands proud at the end of a hedge of berries, and beyond the hedge is the road, across which live Beth and Thomas, and Ruthanne and Paula, and Jackson, and little Molly, and Anderson, and Andrea, and Amy, and Ashley.

The family is nice enough.

A few months after Lexi’s father passed, I went to the grocery store in town. Just for a few things. There was flour and milk in the trunk, and heavy crème to top Lexi’s birthday cake. I didn’t tell them we were celebrating, because they’d said they didn’t really want to, but I knew a small special dinner between the two of us would be good for us both.

I was about halfway home when the car just… stopped.

There was enough gas. The gauges didn’t indicate any issue.

I was simply stopped on the side of the road, dairy spoiling in the back, when Paula pulled up beside me.

“Need any help, darlin’?”

“I’m okay, but I can’t get this damn car to start.”

“Let’s get your groceries in here, c’mon, we’ll leave the car here and get it when Thomas gets back.”

I went with her, glad for the company and for the help.

Paula was surprisingly well-read for someone who had never left the farm. Maybe I shouldn’t make a judgment like that, hell, maybe all of my neighbours are well-read. I wouldn’t know because I’ve barely interacted with anyone around here. Not because of my judgments, I don’t think, but maybe because of everyone else’s.

Anyway, it worked out, the car breaking down, because I was able to trade Paula and Ruthanne a mint clipping and some safflower oil for a bunch of eggs, and get home in time to make the cake and let it cool before Lexi got home. In fact, it worked out so well that Lexi thought I’d faked the car breaking down just to get them out of the house long enough. They were a bit mad before I was able to convince them that it had all been genuine. “Ask Paula, then!”

“Naw, I don’t wanna. I believe you.” By that time it was past ten, and I was tired, and so was Lexi, and we went to bed without eating the cake. “Sorry,” Lexi turned over, facing away from me. I had a tear in my eyes, so I didn’t answer – my voice would betray me.

It was okay, though, because after about ten minutes, Lexi nudged me to see if I was awake. I was. We made love, until we both were so tired we couldn’t accomplish anything, and we fell asleep, arms and legs intertwined in some pretzel configuration.

We woke late, refreshed. I called in sick to work, and Lexi dashed around to feed the goats while I fixed breakfast.

We ate cake for lunch and played cards and read stories under the tree, all day.

The tree stands proud at the end of a hedge of berries, and beyond the hedge is the road, across which live Beth and Thomas, Ruthanne and Paula, Jackson, Molly, Anderson, Andrea, Amy, Ashley, and Apple.

Yep, Ruthanne and Paula called their youngest daughter Apple. Dunno why. I guess they ran out of “A” names.

When Lexi started spending a bit more time across the road, I didn’t think anything of it. The family was a little strange, sure, but nice enough, and we traded eggs and corn for goat’s milk and tomatoes, and we shared sugar and flour when needed, and the kids were all bundles of precocious joy.

Oh. Perhaps Lexi wanted a child, but was too afraid to bring it up.

“Love,” I wore something scant, for the first time in our five years of marriage, “would you like to join me in our bed?”

Lexi looked surprised, then smiled, hand in the doorway, resting their perfect figure on the jamb. “Not tonight, babe. I’m so tired.”

The hurt must have shown through my eyes, because Lexi tried to backpedal. “You bought this new outfit! Baby, wear this for me, please, when I wake up Saturday morning?”

It felt too late; it felt a bit forced. We’d never needed an appointment before, for lovemaking. “It’s okay, it was just something cheap, I don’t mind, I just thought you might want to try more often, I just thought you might want a baby.” The words spilled out of me, overcompensating for my embarrassment. Lexi wasn’t fooled. They were caught by surprise, though.

The conversation was tense and awkward. Not without love, though; everything Lexi had ever said to me seemed to hold an unfathomable amount of tenderness, even when they were mad.

It could be easily mistaken for pity. Or guilt.

The tree stands proud at the end of a hedge of berries, and beyond the hedge is the road, across which lives Beth and her husband, Thomas; Thomas’ sister, Ruthanne; and her wife, Paula. Jackson and Molly are Beth’s and Thomas’ kids; the rest all belong to Ruthanne and Paula. Paula had Anderson and Andrea, through surrogacy. Ruthanne had carried Amy around the same time Andrea was born, and Ashley was adopted when her parents died, leaving no close relatives.

Now, the first three kids look exactly alike. It doesn’t matter that Anderson is a boy, and the other two are girls. I guess they had the same donor. They don’t just look like siblings; they actually look like they could be identical triplets. Even Ashley started looking like her siblings so much that people forgot she’d been adopted into the family.

Apple, though, doesn’t look like her brother and sisters. She’s four now and, while the rest have plump faces with rosy cheeks and merry eyes, she’s got a long, set jaw and a thoughtful gaze. Apple’s siblings have red-blonde hair, but hers is a mahogany-brown. She doesn’t have any freckles, or blemishes, or that line in her chin like the others. Apple looks familiar, to me, but I can’t place how. She looks like maybe someone I’ve seen before in a story book, or in a dream, or in another life.

The tree stands proud, and under it is the small bench that Lexi built for us in the early days of our engagement, some time before we’d even talked about moving onto the farm.

“This bench,” they said, “will keep us comfortable until we are old. You’d like to grow old with me, right?”

Of course, I said yes.

Today, I sit on the bench. I can’t really concentrate on this library book, and it needs to be returned tomorrow.

I guess I’d better figure out where Lexi is. Maybe they’d like to come to town with me.

I get my wallet; I find my car key.

As I open the car door, I glance up to see Paula and Ruthanne walking on the side of the road with the kids. They’re walking a dog. Ruthanne doesn’t look up at me, but Paula does. She smiles, and I wave. Anderson tips his hat, “Hi, Mrs. Oliver.” He’s growing into a fine young man. The sisters all look up and smile, now, and Apple nods like her older brother.

I know now.

Apple looks a whole lot like Lexi.

I close the car door and walk to the bench; pick a pear from the tree, take a bite.

I’ll pack in the morning.

I guess we weren’t meant to grow old together, really.