My thanks goes out to Kttn and Aleirian for taking the time out of their busy schedules to edit Shady Oak.
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This year Jean and I celebrated our thirty-sixth wedding anniversary. I pause occasionally to glance at my wife, when she first crawls out of bed in the mornings with her white curls all tangled and snarled, or when she lays a loving hand on one of our grandchildren, and there is not one thing I would alter about her or our life together. Our hands unconsciously intertwine, even now, when we walk through a shopping mall or when we stroll along a deserted beach. When I cup her breast or lean against her from behind, goose bumps still dance across her skin. She is one fine looking woman, more beautiful to me now than when we first encountered each other many years ago.
The memory of our first kiss still emanates through my body like the warmth of fine wine and to this day, she still brandishes her special power over me.
* * * * *
We met in college, Jean and I, fumbling through classes, trying to find a balance between books and beer. Groceries were never included in the budget, so the cupboards overflowed with Ramen noodles and peanut butter. We pooled our resources and shared a small house within driving distance of campus and our competitive natures got us through four fantastic years together. We never dated or became intimate. I had never kissed her, I mean really kissed her, even once, for fear that it might smother the natural bond we felt for each other. We became good friends. Bantering back and forth, exchanging jokes, horsing around and maybe, just maybe, I should have made my move sooner because all the signs pointed towards a favorable relationship, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself.
We shared it all, from towels to toothpaste. We studied together, partied together, cried together, and shared our deepest, darkest secrets on cold nights when the wind blew and snow buried the path to our cars. She had her friends and I had mine. At the ripe old age of twenty-three, her interest focused on older men, while at eighteen I was still enjoying my first tastes of freedom.
After graduation, we both took jobs in our respective fields. I went to Seattle and Jean headed for Wichita, but we still kept in touch by letter or phone when we had a chance. The years slid by and on my thirtieth birthday, I was still single. I had given up the dating scene. Everyone I knew was now married or divorced. Occasionally someone new would come along but it never panned out. Maybe I was too fussy.
That year my grandfather passed away and I inherited "Shady Oak."
Gramps had held me close many nights after my parents died. A drunk driver had swerved into our lane and hit us head on. The squealing tires, the busting glass, and the screams still haunt me. I was fourteen. Gramps and grandma had taken me under their wing and I had lived with them in their old farmhouse until I left for the university seeking my degree in industrial aviation. Grandma passed away during those years. I visited Gramps often. His favorite stories centered around the oil fields of Kansas and the oak tree that sat on his property. Each time I visited, he made me swear to preserve that old tree.
Jean picked me up at the airport. We shared memories and a few laughs over several cups of coffee. It felt good to hear a familiar voice. She chauffeured me from Gramps house to the church and stood by my side as they lowered the casket into the ground.
It surprised me how many friends Gramps had. Every pew was full. Jim and Connie Hackart were there. He and Gramps had grown up together, served in the military together, and worked the oil fields of Kansas side by side. I had known him forever. He lived about five miles south of my grandfather's place. Gramps had met Connie in high school, he never cared for her that much. She loved to gossip and when she got older Gramp's would refer to her as their own personal "Yenta." "That woman thinks she knows more about everyone in this county than they know about themselves!" He would yell at their car as it pulled out of the driveway and slam the door behind him. I guarantee Connie noticed Jean at my side and I silently laughed knowing her wheels were spinning in overdrive!
Jim's age showed, he now walked with a cane. He made it a point to come over and give me his condolences then he asked if I planned to return to Kansas. I told him that was my plan. He volunteered to take care of Gramp's horses until I got everything sorted out.
After the funeral, Jean drove me back to the airport, waiting and waving on the tarmac until the jet lifted off.
It took a couple of months to get my affairs in order, one day blurred into the next. The house in Seattle sold quicker than I had expected which freed up enough money to hire professionals to move my belongings from Seattle to Kansas. I arranged an in-house transfer to the Wichita facility. That meant a long commute from the country into the heart of the Air Capital of America but it also meant that the time I had vested in the company would not be lost.
Moving day finally arrived, the packers had boxed and labeled my belongings the day before. They were loading those items and what furniture I had into the moving van while I packed my car. The last thing I did was call Jean to let her know I was on the road.
The house sat on sixteen acres on the outskirts of Wichita, butted up against the newly built turnpike that linked the northern and southern borders of Kansas. Built in the late eighteen hundreds, the house did have some modern conveniences such as indoor plumbing and electricity, but it lacked central air and heat. An old wood stove monopolized one corner of the dining room, in the other corner sat my grandmother's spinning wheel. She knew how to spin but that spinning wheel had sat in that corner for years, merely as a decoration. My grandmother used that room to feed some thirty cowhands at the turn of the century. There used to be bunkhouses on the property to house the men. I never saw them. Gramps told me that they sat vacant for a number of years and those burned down long before I was born.
An old barn filled with tools stood about seventy-five yards from the house. Inside sat the sleigh that Gramps used in the winter to gather wood for the stove. When we went to visit at Christmas, if there was enough snow, he would hitch Thunder and Storm to that old sleigh and attach large sleigh bells to the their harnesses. We would all pile onto the two red leather seats bundled from head to toe in ski hats, woolen scarves, and down jackets. Grandma would bundle hot bricks near our feet, and then Gramps would snap the reins. The horses would prance through the snow, the bells would jingle, and we would ride away like a scene on a Hallmark Christmas card.
My favorite spot, the place that held the most memories of the summers I had spent with my grandparents, was under the branches of the old oak tree that grew between the house and the barn. It was a massive tree, hollow at the base, large limbs shooting off each side. Its gnarly roots stuck out of the ground creating pockets so you could sit and lean against its trunk as though the old tree wanted to share whispered tales of wagon trains, pioneers, buffalo, and railroads. Gramps had told me that he had bought the land because he fell in love with that old tree and that it was over a hundred years old when he built the house. I had spent many hot summer days beneath the shade of that tree with a book in my hand.
It felt good to be home.
* * * * *
Within a few weeks, I had learned how to maneuver the freeways of Wichita. It took a bit longer than that to get all my belongings set up the way I liked them. There were projects that needed attention but overall the house was in good shape. One weekend, I moved two wobbly Adirondack chairs into the barn for some fresh paint and much-needed repairs. I was afraid that Jim or Connie would stop over, sit in one, and topple over. Those two chairs had symbolically guarded the front door for as long as I could remember and were the first thing you saw when you stepped onto the porch.
I thought I had heard a car door slam while I hammered away in the barn but I disregarded it and continued working on the chairs. A few minutes later, I heard Jean yelling at the top of her lungs.
