Memory Tree by Joseph Pittman

moment, steeling herself for the final leg of what had been an awkward holiday. When she arrived with the last two plates, she saw that her father had already plowed down half of his slice, not bothering to wait for everyone else. Silence had also fallen over them, the three of them seemingly engaged in the game. She went and sat by herself at the collapsible card table that had served as their Thanksgiving dinner table. A candle had burned down to a nub before being doused. Trina Winter, surrounded by blood relations, by family—more concept to her than reality—realized she was the only one here whose last name was not Ravens. Even Sara had that over her.
    Again, she wondered just what had possessed her to accept this assignment.
    What had Mark said? Life was about having something to look forward to.
    She couldn’t recall the last time that had happened to her, and she knew prior to her arrival here that she’d been going through the motions. Work, home, sleep, rinse, and repeat, and be careful along the way that you don’t yawn yourself to death.
    Richie’s phone call to her had happened at just the right time.
    Funny, she’d needed an escape from her life, and now that she was here, she was still on the topic of running.
    She took a bite of the pie, felt an involuntary smile cross her face. The smooth, savory pumpkin filling was the best thing she’d tasted all day, and for once, Trina’s sour expression wavered. Mark’s comment continued to taunt her. For one’s life to be fulfilling, one needed something to look forward to. In this foreign place called Linden Corners, where not even the local tavern was open on the holiday, perhaps she’d start with thinking about a second slice of this amazing pie.
    It was progress.
    But once the pie was gone, what then?
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    â€œThank you. I hope you enjoyed your stay with us.”
    â€œEverything was clean,” the man said gruffly as he handed back the key to his room.
    Trina, standing behind the desk, had to wonder if that was a compliment or an expression of surprise. She wasn’t sure how to react, whether to say anything in response, but then the man took the choice away from her. He abruptly turned around and left the office, receipt in his hand, and a few moments later he had zoomed away in his car.
    â€œThat was rude,” she said, more to herself than to anyone else.
    â€œDon’t give it a second thought, Trina,” she heard behind her. She turned and saw Richie emerging from the kitchen, crutches supporting his thin frame; the cast appeared to weigh more than the rest of him. Still, it was nice to see him up and about; that was progress, wasn’t it? He’d just finished his morning coffee, something Trina had learned he couldn’t live without. For that he’d race across the parking lot in two casts.
    â€œBut what did that mean—everything was clean?”
    â€œThe motel business is transient. One customer checks out, another checks in.”
    â€œNot according to the reservation book,” she said, staring down at an empty page.
    â€œPlace like the Solemn Nights, we specialize in drive-bys. Weary drivers needing a quick refresh, they see a word like solemn , it suggests rest, the blinking neon sign calling to them. They turn in and so does someone else, and next thing I know, most of the rooms are booked. You just have to be patient in this line of work. You’ll get the hang on it.”
    â€œI hope not,” she said far too quickly, wishing she could take it back.
    â€œWhy not take a break? Carmen is here cleaning the rooms. If I need anything she’s easy to reach.”
    â€œRichie . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . .”
    â€œI understand, Trina. You’ve barely been away from the property since you got here,” he said. “Go on out and see the village, spread your wings. It’s beautiful outside this late in November, and