Little Tree

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

David wasn’t sure why he was going home for Christmas, but he was. He thought of this as he made his way off the plane and into the terminal at Jacksonville International. It was enormous. Well, at least compared to the tiny airport he remembered when he was twelve when they had first moved to Florida. At that time, you could position yourself in the center part of the lobby area and wait, knowing that anyone coming from a flight would have to walk by you. He and his mother had done it a hundred times when they were waiting for his father’s return from a business trip.

Although he’d seen them before, David was a still a little amazed at the changes in the airport. It had been a long time since he had flown home, but despite the fact that he was now forty, every time he landed he still expected to see the airport of his youth.

His early morning flight from LaGuardia was the first flight he could remember in years where he hadn’t spent most of the time talking to the passenger next to him. Every person on the plane was knocked out. Everyone except for him, that is. While they slept, he stared out the window, enjoying the quiet as the plane flew over most of the East Coast that morning. David wasn’t sure if he was excited to be going home, or just glad to be off work for a few days, but for some reason, sleep had not been an option.

That same excitement coursed through him as he made his way to the car rental agency.

“Do you have any convertibles?” David asked, a mischievous grin on his face, almost bouncing up to the counter.

The car rental agent was old enough to be his mother, and it showed in her response to him.

“You do realize that we’re in Northern Florida, don’t you, son?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m from here, but it’s a whole lot warmer than New York was this morning, and my phone app has promised a beautiful day.”

“As long you aren’t expecting Miami Beach weather,” she said, and then began to search for something on her screen. “So, you live in New York now?”

“Yes, ma’am,” David answered, a smile on his face.

“I can tell,” the woman said.

David looked down. Jeans, dress shoes, a black turtleneck, and a blazer. He had seen his face in the mirror on the plane bathroom. He was a little pale, and his blond hair was the darkest it had ever been. He figured he had another few years before it morphed to mousy brown. In New York, he would be fine with his appearance. Here, he was remembering what he looked like twenty years ago.

“My oldest lives in the Big Apple. Incredible city, but I know sometimes you need to get away. I’m not charging you full price for the convertible. Enjoy the air,” the woman said.

David laughed, and thanked the rental agent. After filling out a few papers, he was on his way out of the airport and onto the road. The sun was incredible and he had the top down before he reached I-95.

David tossed his blazer into the back seat and drove like a wild man, grateful for the fact that he could actually move the car. Half the time he spent driving in New York was in traffic, but his flight had arrived after Jacksonville morning rush hour had cleared. As he passed the city, he smiled at the familiar skyline, remembering that in high school he had been an extra in a movie that was shot there.

Once over the bridge, and now on the South Bank, he exited the highway for familiar streets, determined to take the scenic route home. As David drove through San Marco, he smiled, admiring the little coffee shops, restaurants, and theatres that he had often explored as a teenager. Light poles were decorated with garlands. Red ribbons connected a line of poles. Stores hung wreaths. David thought that he was in the mood for a North Florida Christmas—so different from New York, but with all the same sentiment.

A few minutes later, he passed the Bolles School, the San Jose Country Club, and a unique block or two near them where the houses served as exemplars of Spanish-style architecture, with white stucco walls and deep red tile roofs. David had always loved those houses and was more than a little excited to see them, but it was the image of another house, only ten minutes or so away, that kept his foot just a little heavy.

As he continued down San Jose Boulevard, David made quick assessments, noticing the small changes that had come to the area since the last time he’d been home—a house now painted another color, a small business under new management. There was the yard with the manger scene he loved so much. In no time, David was in a part of Jacksonville named Mandarin after the orange trees that had once grown there. He made a left on Old St. Augustine Road, and drove until he reached the neighborhood he had been dreaming of since take-off in New York.

David practically gasped as his eyes caught sight of the beautiful little home he had fallen in love with so many years ago. Not a mansion, or an architectural wonder, by any means, it was a wooden, eighties, Florida twist on a Cape Cod. The outside was painted a color somewhere between dark cream and light tan, and a colonial blue front door added a peaceful quality to the home that he appreciated even from the road.

Situated on a big corner lot that you had to pass if you were driving through the neighborhood, the house seemed to catch the eyes of passersby and smile back at them. David pulled into the driveway, and practically bolted to the house. He yanked the storm door open and hurriedly unlocked the front door. Over six feet long and about four feet wide, the atrium dominated the foyer, and waited for him like an old friend. David scanned it for his favorites—the cactus someone had brought back from Arizona, which was now overtaking the corner, the Peace Lily a high school friend had given them when his father died. But where was the rubber tree his mother had planted smack dab in the middle? It must have died, he thought. It didn’t matter, things died. Sometimes, we just have to be grateful for what we have, his mother used to say. David looked at the other plants. Yeah, there was still a lot to be thankful for. Mrs. Madera, his mother’s friend of so many years, did a wonderful job, and thanks to her most of the plants his mother had planted there continued to grow.

David gave the house a once over from where he stood. The white tile in the foyer below him was spotless, as was the rest of the great room from what he could see. He looked back at the atrium in front of him, remembering how much time his mother had spent planting things in it and persuading them to grow. He recalled how surprised he’d been the first time they saw the house. He was twelve, and they had driven down from Atlanta to look for houses for their upcoming move.

“There’s a big batch of dirt in the floor,” David had announced, being the first one in the house once the realtor had opened the door.

“It’s where the people who own it put dead bodies,” David’s father said to him with a smile.

David laughed.

“It’s for plants. Isn’t it?” David’s mother asked the realtor.

“Yes,” Janet Whitmore replied. “We call it an atrium. The concrete floor is structured around it. The skylights above provide wonderful light. The current owners just built this place and were transferred. They haven’t had a chance to plant a thing.”

David and his parents spent the next half-hour walking about the house, admiring the vaulted ceilings and enormous stone fireplace in the great room, the loft that let onto two bedrooms, and the beautiful sunny first floor master bedroom. It was a lot less formal than the other houses they had lived in, and neither David, nor his parents, could quit smiling.

When they were upstairs, exploring the room that would be David’s, the realtor pointed out a door on the far wall. Mrs. Whitmore opened it, and the sun burst in.

“Follow me, David,” she said. “I think you’re going to love this.”

“What is it?” David asked, intrigued.

“It’s a privacy porch,” Janet answered, walking around the outdoor space. “You can sunbathe, or just relax. You could even ask your parents to put some patio furniture out here.”

The porch was wooden and the size of a bedroom. There was no roof, but a waist-high, solid covering that matched the exterior of the house ran around the side so that if you were to sunbathe, no one would see you. The structure ran over the garage, adding a unique look to the house.

A few minutes later, they all stood in the great room. David’s mother moved around the wide-open space, her arms open to it.

“I think this is it. Isn’t it?” she asked, looking at both her husband and David.

David’s father, Charles, nodded while David emphatically agreed. “It is Mom. It really is.”

Charles Weathers turned to the realtor. “We’ll take it. Give them what they’re asking. We know what it’s like to transfer, and we were very lucky. Our house in Atlanta sold its first week on the market. We made a killing, but we had to get out fast. Any chance we could close soon? I would really like for my family to be back in a house before Christmas. The hotel’s great, and my job is paying for it, but it’s just not the same.”

Janet nodded and said, “I’ll do my best.”

“I was restless all day,” Marjorie announced. “I couldn’t sleep a drop last night. I told you we’d find it today, Charles.”

“Yes, you did,” Charles agreed, a smile crossing his face. “You certainly did.”

“Sometimes you can just feel the magic in the air,” Marjorie said, practically spinning about the humongous great room, and touching David’s cheek as she swirled by.

David smiled at the memory, and for a second, it seemed all too vivid. His mother was there again, a grown woman, at least the age he was now, moving about the room like a love-swept teenager. For a second, he almost heard her voice.

“Sometimes you can just feel the magic in the air,” he thought he heard again, and then it really did feel like someone touched his cheek.

David was pulled back into the moment by the sound of a car door closing outside. He had secured the storm door, but the front door was open. He hurried and looked through the glass to see who was there.

Another car was in the driveway, but it wasn’t a convertible. It was a brown BMW that looked to be all business. David could see a sunroof, but it was closed. He stared at the open door. An attractive man in khaki pants and a sky-blue button-up shirt emerged from the car. His slim build held muscle that you could see even through his clothes, the body of a swimmer. Thick, dark hair was slicked across his head, but David imagined that were it loose, it would frame his light brown face like a mane. Behind the man’s sunglasses, there was something familiar. A big smile formed on the man’s face as David opened the storm door and approached him.

“Hi, there. How may I help you?” David asked, intrigued by who this attractive stranger might be.

The man removed his sunglasses. “David? Is that you?”

It all came back to David at once. David wasn’t sure if it was the sultry voice, or the blue eyes that matched the man’s shirt, but in only a second, David knew.

“Jared?” David asked, the uncertainty in his voice rose not from wonder as to whether it was Jared, but from sheer amazement as to why Jared Acosta would possibly be there.