Chapter 12 - THE TREE
The video arrived in a padded envelope.
No letter from David.
Only a note from Richard Halpern.
Maya,
David asked me to return this.
He watched it every night after receiving a copy from archived cloud storage.
He does not expect a response.
I inserted the drive.
The auditorium appeared.
Parents talking.
Children running backstage.
Then Lily walked out.
Brown pants.
Green cardboard leaves.
A giant paper trunk.
My heart broke and smiled at the same time.
She looked ridiculous.
Perfect.
Her first line.
"Every forest starts with one little seed."
Audience applause.
Then her second.
"So take care of what you love while it's growing."
I froze.
Of course.
Of course that had been her line.
I cried so hard I had to pause the video.
When I finally finished, I saw myself in the third row.
Alone.
An empty chair beside me.
David's chair.
I had saved it until the curtain came down.
Just in case.
Just like I had told Lily he would come.
Just like the ICU.
Always waiting.
Always making excuses.
Always saving a seat.
I stopped doing that.
Two years after her death, I sold the last piece of jewelry David had given me.
An emerald necklace.
I used the money to fund ten emergency flights.
Ten parents got there.
That mattered more.
Three years after Lily died, the foundation opened its first family apartment center beside a children's hospital.
No marble lobby.
No donor wall.
No ridiculous Italian leather furniture.
Just clean rooms.
A kitchen.
Laundry.
Beds.
And one sentence near the entrance.
ANSWER THE CALL.
I stood beneath it on opening day.
Nathan joined me.
"You okay?"
"No."
He smiled.
"Good answer."
I looked at him.
"Better than lying."
"Usually."
Nathan and I became friends.
Nothing more for a long time.
I didn't need romance to prove I had healed.
Some wounds do not disappear because a good man enters the room.
They heal because you learn how to stand inside your own life again.
Four years after Lily died, I laughed at dinner without feeling guilty.
That mattered.
Five years after, I packed away some of her clothes.
Not all.
That mattered too.
Six years after, I visited David.
Once.
He looked old.
Not physically old.
Spiritually.
He sat behind glass.
"Why did you come?"
"I don't know."
He smiled sadly.
"Fair."
We sat in silence.
Then he said, "I listen now."
"To what?"
"People."
I almost laughed.
He nodded.
"I know."
He looked embarrassed.
"My sister calls every Sunday."
"Okay."
"I answer."
"Good."
"Even when I'm angry."
I looked at him.
He continued.
"Because I know what a missed call can become."
I said nothing.
His eyes filled.
"I dream about 4:11."
My chest tightened.
"The last call."
"Yes."
He looked down.
"I dream I answer it."
I hated that part of me pitied him.
Not enough to forgive.
Enough to understand.
"What happens in the dream?"
He swallowed.
"You say Lily is dying."
I waited.
"And I come home."
His voice cracked.
"I get there at 4:12."
I closed my eyes.
Five minutes.
In the dream, he made it.
In reality, he didn't.
I stood.
David looked up.
"Tell her I'm sorry."
"No."
His face fell.
I continued.
"You can tell her yourself."
He stared.
"I don't know if she can hear you."
I picked up my bag.
"But if you're going to say it, say it to her."
May you like
"Not through me."
Then I left.
