Memory Tree by Joseph Pittman Page A

it’s still warm. Odd for us; usually we’ve got a foot of snow at this point.”
    â€œYou trying to get rid of me? We were going to go shopping later.”
    â€œI have no doubt you’ll be back in plenty of time to take me. We’re low on coffee.”
    â€œYou’re sure you can wait?”
    â€œGo have a cup at the Five-O; Sara will take care of you.”
    Trina agreed, if for no other reason than to give Richie a break from her. She retreated to her room, where she fixed up her hair and dabbed on a bit of lipstick and a light jacket, deciding at the last moment to toss a scarf around her neck. You never know, the weather could turn cold without warning. With a glance in the mirror, she pronounced herself good enough for public viewing, and then set out on foot, leaving behind her car. Downtown Linden Corners was only a half mile away, and the walk, like it had the other night she’d ventured down to George’s Tavern, would do her good. She walked against oncoming traffic, if it could even be called that, with barely a dozen cars passing her in either direction. It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving, with December just a week away, and indeed she was surprised by the fact that she’d worked up a sweat during her walk.
    Her mother, Pamela, had warned her about going to Linden Corners, telling her that once she arrived she might not thaw out until April at best, and then wished her well. Pamela was now retired and living in Florida with her third husband and had long ago shipped the man who played the role of Trina’s father from her life. But while Pamela might easily dispense with the men in her life, Trina, despite not growing up with Richie as her father and as such barely knowing him, knew that blood was thicker than divorce. When he’d called and asked her if she could help him after his accident, she knew that doing so went against every fiber of his being. Richie Ravens had never before asked his daughter for anything.
    And so here she was, in Linden Corners.
    In fact, at this very moment she’d entered the downtown area, much more visible in the bright sunshine than it had been three nights ago when she had snuck out for a quick reprieve at the bar. She saw it down the road but knew such a place could hardly be her destination now. It might be five o’clock somewhere else in the world, but here in Linden Corners it was barely eleven in the morning. So instead she made her way toward the ironically named Five O’Clock Diner, but not before coming upon an old Victorian-style house, a sign on the front lawn announcing this was a place of business: A D OLL’S A TTIC, it read. A curious name, Trina thought, contemplating going inside for a look-see but opting for that anticipated cup of coffee at the diner. Also, it would be nice to have a conversation with someone she knew other than her father.
    She opened the front door, the fresh-brewed smell of coffee drawing her inside, like she was under some kind of spell. Taking a round, cushioned seat at the counter, she gazed around and saw that the place was half-filled. Several of the booths against the wall were occupied with young families or with older men who were leisurely sipping away at coffee while enjoying the day off from whatever business they had. Two other men, who seemed not to be together, based on their lack of communication, sat farther down the counter. She also saw two women at a back table engaged in conversation, so much so that they looked lost in their own world. Just then, the door that led to the kitchen swung out, a woman Trina guessed as being between fifty and sixty emerging.
    â€œMorning, hon,” she said to Trina. “Coffee?”
    â€œIf it tastes as good as it smells, please,” she said, realizing her remark sounded a bit like that customer at the motel this morning. “I mean, yes, and keep it coming.”
    The woman grabbed a ceramic mug, placed it in front of