Chapter 11 - The Tree in Maine
Spring came late to Brunswick.
Julian delayed the trip twice. The first time because of work. The second because he told himself the rain would make the drive miserable.
On the third Saturday, Rosa called him at seven in the morning.
"Are you going?"
"Yes."
"You said that last week."
"I had meetings."
"You own the meetings."
Julian stared at his coffee. "I don't own meetings."
"Then you have been terrifying people for free all these years."
He laughed despite himself.
Rosa's voice softened. "Go before you invent another reason to wait. Your sister knew something about waiting."
That ended the argument.
Julian packed nothing except a change of shirt, Eleanor's copied ferry photograph, and the red purse. He left the photograph in the glove compartment halfway through the drive after deciding he did not need to carry proof of grief into every room.
The purse stayed on the passenger seat.
Julian drove north with the red purse on the passenger seat.
No security convoy.
No driver.
Just the purse buckled in beside him because he had discovered, after ten minutes, that watching it slide across the leather every turn made him irrationally anxious.
Ethan laughed when he saw it.
"You buckled it in?"
"Shut up."
They carried the purse to the backyard.
The maple tree was taller than Julian expected.
At its base sat a flat stone with no dates.
Just one word.
NORA.
Julian stopped.
"Not Eleanor?"
Ethan shook his head.
"She chose Nora here."
Julian absorbed that.
He had come prepared to grieve his sister.
The stone reminded him he was visiting a woman who had also become someone he never knew.
They stood in the wet grass.
No speech.
No flowers.
Julian had brought them and left them in the car after remembering Eleanor hated cut lilies.
Ethan crouched and touched the stone.
"You can talk if you want."
Julian almost said there was no point.
Then he thought of how often Eleanor had wanted him to say something while she was alive.
He sat on the damp ground.
"I heard the tape," he said.
Ethan stepped away, giving him privacy without leaving.
Julian looked at the tree.
"You were right. I remembered myself better than I was."
Wind moved through the new leaves.
He felt ridiculous.
Then stopped caring.
"I loved you. I used that fact like evidence. Like loving you meant I couldn't have failed you."
His voice broke.
He waited until it steadied.
"I did fail you. Not every day. Not in every way. But in the way that mattered when you asked me to see what was happening."
He looked down at his hands.
"I don't know what you wanted from me at the end. Ethan says you didn't want a performance. So I'm trying not to make one."
He laughed through the grief.
"You would've hated this already."
Ethan smiled from several feet away.
Julian wiped his face.
"I'm sorry. That's all. Not because it fixes anything. Because it's true."
He stayed there a while longer.
When he stood, Ethan handed him a thermos.
"Coffee."
"Black?"
"She remembered. So did I."
They drank beside the tree.
Ethan eventually sat on the back steps. Julian joined him. For a while they watched two neighborhood kids kick a soccer ball against a fence and get yelled at by an unseen parent.
"Did she know you were coming here?" Ethan asked.
"What do you mean?"
"At the end. Did she believe you'd ever make the trip?"
Julian looked toward the maple. "I don't know."
Ethan nodded. "Neither do I. She wasn't certain about people. She was hopeful sometimes. Suspicious other times. Sick people don't become prophets just because they're dying."
Julian appreciated that more than he could explain.
He had been tempted to turn Eleanor's last wishes into perfect instructions. Ethan kept returning her to being human.
"She sounds exhausting," Julian said.
Ethan smiled. "Frequently."
They sat there until both coffees were gone.
Later, inside the house, Julian placed the red purse on the kitchen table.
Ethan did not pick it up immediately.
"You sure?"
Julian nodded.
"It's yours."
Ethan shook his head.
"No. It was hers."
"You know what I mean."
"I do."
He opened the purse and removed the gold key.
Then he held it out.
Julian frowned.
"What are you doing?"
"Keep the key."
"Why?"
"Because the door is in your house."
Julian did not take it.
"The lock is gone."
Ethan looked at the key in his palm.
Then smiled.
"Even better."
He set it on the table.
Neither man needed it.
That realization felt cleaner than symbolism had any right to feel.
Julian picked up the key anyway.
Not to use.
To remember what it once controlled.
Before leaving, he stood by Eleanor's green raincoat.
It still hung on the peg by the door.
"You keeping that there forever?"
Ethan looked at it.
May you like
"Probably until it stops feeling like she's coming back for it."
Julian nodded. No advice. No solution. He understood enough now to leave some grief where it was.
