Treehugger

"That doesn't sound like you." Veronica ignored his abrupt and sarcastic laugh. "No, it really doesn't Paul. You fall in love, the two of you are building a life together, and then something comes and rips her away from you. You're a fighter, Paul. So was she. But for every fighter there eventually comes the fight they cannot possibly win. You have to know when to give up. Death is the battle that no-one wins; perhaps that allows us to move on to something else when we finally face the reality of life. Everything dies at some point, Paul."

Veronica reached out with one of her hands and rested it upon one of Paul's. He gave her a thankful smile.

"It does feel good to actually tell this to someone. That's another thing we humans can't face: telling people our deepest thoughts and fears."

She returned his smile and patted his hand. "I'm glad you felt you could tell me. Your pit doesn't seem quite as deep anymore."

He could feel that somehow. He didn't quite believe the metaphysics of people digging themselves into pits, but this unburdening gave him a feeling of a crushing weight having been lifted off his soul. He didn't feel physically lighter; the world just seemed to be less of a terrible place and somehow his bond with Rachel was stronger.

As Paul took a deep breath in, almost joyful with this renewed sense of inner peace, his eyes caught Veronica's expression changing. He realized she was remembering the tree.

"Everything dies," he whispered without thinking. Her eyes went to his face, and there were tears welling up in them.

All this talk of what he and Rachel had gone through had helped him, but it hadn't helped Veronica one bit. There was still something at the edge of consciousness that teased him. Then, it came to him.

"Tree doctor!"

"What?"

He held up a hand to forestall her interruption. Concentrating, he went over what Pike had told the two of them. There was something about an injunction, and a tree doctor.

"I got it!" Paul jumped up from his seat, startling those nearby and colliding with the table. Sitting back down, he told Veronica his idea while he rubbed his sore thigh.

"We ask Pike to put a temporary stop on tearing down your tree - our tree. Then, we get some tree surgeons to come and look at it and certify that it's perfectly safe. What are tree surgeons called?"

Veronica raised an eyebrow and sat forward. "Arbor...something or other. It's not important. Do you really think this could work?"

"It's better than nothing."

The young waitress came by briefly, and interrupted their conversation and then left to return with the bill later.

"Everything dies," Veronica reminded him.

"I'll fight for this tree as long as you're willing to fight beside me," he said as if it were fact.

Later that afternoon they were back at Paul's home, searching the internet for local arborists. At a promise of double pay, three had agreed to come by the end of the workweek, and Veronica and Paul wished to overwhelm town council with certifications on the oak tree's soundness.

"Pike was very helpful, very eager to be helpful," Paul said thoughtfully. "It's almost as if this is something he wants to happen."

"He may just be a helpful person..." Veronica's eyes seemed to glaze over a little. "Uhm, right. He's a politician. Well, so what. We get what we want and he gets what he wants."

"That a girl!"

They went back to staring at the computer screen. The remaining tree specialists they could find were not local. After another hour they gave up.

Paul stretched. "Can I fix you dinner?"

"Oh, I'm afraid I really have to..."

"I was going to make french toast. It's a special recipe I picked up at a place in Nova Scotia, with cream cheese and warmed wild blueberry jam."

Veronica folded her arms across her chest. "I'm sorry, Paul. I really have to be alone for a while. I have to sort myself out. Things are getting a little confusing."

"Ah. I see." Give her space, he told himself. "Just give me a call when you're ready. I can make the french toast for you any time."

"Maybe tomorrow - for dinner?" she asked hopefully.

"Now that I think about it, that would give me time to find out if I actually have all the ingredients and go shopping for any I need. Tomorrow would be better. Let me get my keys and I'll give you a lift to your place." He reached for the hook on which his keys hung.

"That's okay. I'm going to walk. Thank you for everything, Paul."

She went to the front door, slipped on her shoes, gave him a small wave and a smile, and then left. Paul waited a few seconds and then went to a window so he could watch her walk to the road, but he kept behind the curtains so he would not be seen by her if she glanced back at his house.

Veronica hesitated at the oak tree. She glanced up into the partly cloudy sky, then back at Paul's house. Then she walked right up to the tree. Placing both palms flat against it, she closed her eyes. Paul watched her as she stood there for perhaps five full minutes, then she shivered, blinked and walked away.

The next day Paul found that he did indeed lack some of the ingredients, but he was able to eventually find them. Much of the shopping in town was closed due to it being Sunday. A quick stop at a local gas station provided him with directions to a farmer's market in another town just an hour's drive away, and a short distance off the main highway.

After he returned home he put the groceries away. Suddenly recollecting Veronica's strange behaviour he decided to take a close look at the tree for himself. He did trust her instincts, but Paul wanted the reassurance of seeing the condition of the tree for himself.

He walked around the large trunk that was knotted and wrinkled with age. The branches seemed strong and the thinner limbs swayed in the breeze. Above, clouds were blowing across the sky. A squirrel chittered away angrily, possibly trying to warn this curious human away.

He placed his palm against the bark. He felt nothing unusual. It was a tree, an old oak tree. It seemed solid enough. He rapped it with his knuckle. The lowest branches that would support his weight were beyond his reach, and he would have felt foolish finding a ladder to climb the tree, so he decided that there was nothing more he could examine.

Paul turned back to the house. "Son of a..." He realized for the first time that the grass was almost a meter high in places. He wondered how best to go about cutting it. The mower would simply jam up, he knew. Maybe it was best to let it grow wild this summer and then deal with it next spring, he thought. None of his neighbours had complained about his lawn, so he decided to leave it for now.

Looking at the house he could see small jobs queuing up in front of him. He had to make the place look presentable to Veronica! That work kept him busy until almost nightfall, aside from the hurried jam sandwich he gulped down at lunch.

Later, a glance at his watch had him peering down the road looking for his dinner guest but she was nowhere to be seen. Paul hurried into the house and began to straighten up the interior. He expected to hear her knock at any second, but he did manage to get the place fairly clean and organized.

"Maybe I've got time for a shower..." A knock at the door startled him as he was on his way to the washroom.

Paul darted for the door, then stopped and collected himself. He calmly walked the rest of the way to the door and then opened it. Veronica nearly took his breath away. She wore a white, sleeveless dress that was covered in multi-coloured prints of various types of flowers. Her knees and lower legs were bare. The running shoes upon her bare feet seemed incongruous, but he knew she'd be kicking them off as soon as she was invited inside. The lack of a purse caught his attention, but he couldn't remember having ever seen her with a purse.

"You look lovely."

"Really?" Veronica seemed taken aback by the compliment. "I wasn't sure what to wear, but..." She crinkled her nose.

"Ah, yes. I've been doing a bit of cleaning, and building up a bit of a sweat I'm afraid. I was just going to have a shower," the words 'will you join me' crossed his mind, "if you don't mind."

"No, go ahead. We can talk while you're in the shower." Then her cheeks pinkened.

Paul seemed a little embarrassed himself. He shrugged and headed for the washroom. He heard the sound of her shoes dropping to the floor, one after the other, and then he could hear her bare feet upon the hardwood floor as she followed him.

He gave her a small smile and then closed the door to the washroom. She patiently waited outside while he stripped down and adjusted the temperature setting on the taps.

"Help yourself to a book, or turn on some music if you like," he suggested.

"That's all right. I'd rather talk with you."

He stepped in to the porcelain tub, made sure the curtain was blocking the water from splashing on the floor, and then began to lather up.

"I'll just be a few minutes," he called out to her.

"No problem," came her voice, from within the washroom. "I came in so we could talk more easily."

"Okay." Reality began to take on a dream-like state, with him naked in the shower and an attractive woman standing just two metres away. His heart beat a little more quickly and there was a stirring between his legs that he had not experienced since Rachel had first sickened.

"I know this is going to sound very strange, but I'm not really Veronica Price."

"Oh?" he nearly swallowed some water as he rinsed off his face. Exactly how unusual was this woman? He searched his memories of her for any indication of dangerous behaviour.

"I mean I am Veronica Price, but I'm also not. You see, when that man came to choose trees to be cut down he talked to himself. He stood by my tree for some time, muttering and railing against everyone who ever crossed his path. I listened from within, and it took some time but I eventually understood."

"What do you mean from within?" he asked, and then he decided to remind her of who she was just in case, "Veronica?" Despite the possible danger, from what could be a deranged woman, his erection was almost completely perpendicular to his body. Fighting a light-headed feeling, he continued to rinse himself off slowly and carefully.

"Part of me was within the tree, a tree spirit." There was a pause where Veronica stopped talking, as if to allow him to absorb what she had just said, and Paul stood still, trying to find some rationale for why she was saying these things.

"I suppose you've heard other names to describe us, but that's not important. What is important was that I had to do something to save my tree. But I didn't know what I could do. And then a woman stopped her car by the tree one day. She read the notice and rested her hand against the bark, staring up at the oak thinking of all the childhood memories that were connected to the old oak. She understood that a tree is a storehouse of knowledge and memories."

"Rings," he replied without thinking.

"Yes, that's one way. The rings speak of past events; harsh winters, long summers, forest fires, blights. But there are other ways to store information within the bark. Veronica looked up into the branches and trees and wondered how many children had climbed me, and what animals had used me for a home or a scratching post. So I spoke to her mind."

"I see."

"At first she was frightened. But I spoke of my fears and my hopes, and she reciprocated. She willingly let me slip into her physical self, and the new me came into being."

Paul finished rinsing himself off, and wondered if he should turn off the water or allow her to continue her weird story unhindered. In the end he decided not to empty out his water heater. "Can you hand me a towel, please?" he asked, while extending his hand over the curtain.

Veronica handed him a towel. Paul wrapped it around his lower torso and pulled back the curtain. She stared at him, earnestness on her face. It was clear that she believed what she was saying, and aside from the bizarre tale she didn't seem in any way erratic.

"I'm Veronica Price. And I'm the tree spirit who has resided within that oak for many, many years. And I'm something else, a combination of the two that is greater than what the sum should be. I have access to both of their memories, although as you've seen I haven't managed to perfect the trick of using their memories as freely as they would. I'm not as shy and filled with self-doubt as Veronica is, and I'm not as simple and uncomplicated as the spirit is. I'm something more, much more."

"I see." Paul's erection had disappeared, not from fear that a mad woman had cornered him within his own bathroom, but simply because the tone of the conversation lacked any qualities that his subconscious deemed erotic.

"I had to tell you. Perhaps I've put it off a little long because I was afraid - well, Veronica's memories suggested that such a tale would not be believed." She glanced at her audience with one eyebrow raised. "You seem to be accepting this very easily."

Paul opened his mouth to say something comforting, and then closed it. He thought for a few seconds. "I'm sorry I just don't believe the story."

"Oh. I guess I should leave then," she said, with only a trace of regret.

"No." He raised his hands and began to step out of the tub when his towel starting slipping off. He hastily grabbed for it, not knowing exactly how much Veronica had seen. Her chuckles infected him. "I've been less clumsy at times. You don't have to leave, Veronica. I don't care if you believe that crazy story. I'm going to stop that tree from being torn down. I've invited you over for dinner, and I'm going to make you dinner and serve it to you."

She tilted her head. "I'll wait for you in the living room, then?"

Once she was out of sight, he dried himself off as fast as he could. As he walked from the washroom to the bedroom, with one hand ensuring the towel stayed in place, Veronica flashed him a quick smile and a shrug. The towel came off as soon as he had the bedroom door closed. Then he dressed himself in jeans and a golf shirt.

She quietly followed him as he went into the kitchen, keenly observing everything he did. He had been about to order her to keep her distance, but she showed no inclination to take over the cooking. She just leaned against the faux-granite countertop and watched as he mixed ingredients and prepared their meal.

A short time later they were seated at the small dining room table and she was staring at the french toast in amazement. Paul began to cut up his own slowly, delaying long enough so that she would take a bite before him, but she just kept staring at her plate.

"It's not too hot, is it?"

"No!" She looked up at him, shook her head and then stared at the plate again. "It's just - I watched you do it and yet I still don't fully understand how you started out with what you did and ended with something that looks and smells so...so desirable!"

He swallowed hard, remembering his erection during the shower, and the temporary loss of his towel. "Why don't you take a bite?"

She very slowly pushed the tines of the fork into the plump, folded bread. Then the knife came down, making a slow and steady back and forth motion. A piece of the food, blueberry jam dripping from inside, was pushed between her lips. She closed her eyes and smiled as she chewed the bite in slow motion. She took a second and then a third portion before she noticed Paul hadn't eaten any.

"Mmmm?" Her tongue darted out between her lips to collect some cream cheese that hadn't made it into her mouth.

"It has been a long time," he muttered, just before he began to eat his own serving. The taste and texture pleased him, partly because of the remembrance that this had been the first thing that he and Rachel had cooked together.

Paul tried to avoid staring at his guest as she ate, but his eyes kept wandering over to her. He didn't think she was purposefully trying to turn this meal into a sensually erotic event, but her sighs, moans and facial expressions were causing something to rise. He shrugged. As long as he was seated she wouldn't know, and even if she did find out the worst she would think was that she had turned him on.

Dinner seemed to finish far too quickly. Veronica sat back in her chair and took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Paul shifted in his seat, trying to find some slack in his jeans.

"Oh, that was good Paul. I've been boiling pasta and eating raw vegetables and fruit. Veronica can cook well enough, but I've been wary of trying anything difficult in the kitchen. How did you learn to make that?"

"Rachel and I figured out the recipe after having some at a small hotel in Nova Scotia. I hope that doesn't bother you."

"Your pit is a lot shallower than it was."

"You've been very good for me, Veronica."

She smiled back at him, but there was a hint of sadness. "I'm glad that I've been able to accomplish something."

"Don't worry about your oak tree. We'll save it."

She gave him another smile. "Well, now what?" She tilted her head and her eyes took on a faraway look. "Oh, dessert! Or..." Her cheeks went pink. "I guess there's some dessert in the kitchen? Should I go get it?" She started to stand.

"Uhm, I completely forgot about dessert," he admitted. "There might be some ice cream in the freezer." He could feel his erection fading, but not quite quickly enough. He tried to think non-erotic thoughts. "Could you bring it out, please? Since you're already standing."

She nodded and left the room, leaving her plate and utensils on the table.

Paul looked down at his groin. "You're not making things any easier," he whispered.

He looked up as Veronica came back into the room carrying a small bucket of ice cream and two spoons. She sat beside him and pulled the lid of the container off.

"I'm guessing you like ice cream, then?" he asked. He hadn't eaten any since he'd put it in the freezer.

"I've never had it before. Wait, Veronica's had it and she likes it. So I guess I'll like it, too." She handed a spoon to Paul as he moved his plate, fork and knife out of the way. "We shouldn't eat too much though, should we?"

Paul dug out a mix of chocolate, vanilla and strawberry. "That's true of almost any food."

Veronica took smaller portions, trying each flavour one after the other. However, after a mere handful of spoonfuls they both agreed that dessert was finished. Paul took the spoons as Veronica sealed the container. They returned the ice cream to the freezer and all the dirty dishes went into the sink.

"Let's go for a walk before the storm hits," she suggested.

"Storm?" Paul could hear a wind outside, perhaps a little stronger than the breeze they'd had earlier in the day, but Environment Canada had not warned of any storms.

"Part tree spirit, remember? I'm in tune with nature. I can sense weather, and I know which animals are about and where they are. I've also an intuitive sense about their disposition." They walked to the front door and she picked up her running shoes.

"What about people?"

"People are harder to read; they're so much more complicated. I'm beginning to figure you out, but I don't think I'll ever be able to read you properly."

Paul dropped his shoes. "Let's go sit, " he suddenly remembered where the deck chairs were, "let's just go to the dock for awhile. It should be peaceful and we can talk for a bit."

Veronica dropped her own shoes and the two went out through the sliding glass doors to the backyard. Their bare feet stirred up insects as they walked through the grass, but nothing stuck around and Paul suspected the gusty breeze was the reason. The sound of lapping water grew louder until they finally stepped onto the weathered boards of the creaking dock.