The Leaving Tree

By James Fairview

What happens when an all-consuming love actually threatens to consume?
Theirs was the stuff upon which epic love stories are based: one man, one woman, and a chance meeting. It seemed innocent enough at first, a harmless flirtation.

Ever since childhood, thirty-year-old Hickman, Tennessee native Bryan Reeves has known he sees life a little differently than most: Bryan suffers from synesthesia. Numbers have colors, shown only to him, and a violin solo has visible sound waves. At the doctor’s office, Bryan meets Kathy Bentley, a Grammy-award-winning recording artist trying to stay under the radar in Nashville. When she speaks, much to his shock, he sees the same waves as if he were in a concert hall; this never has happened to him before. The clock on the wall begins to show its colors to him, and Bryan’s whole world is rocked to the core. It takes a nurse calling Kathy by her full name for him to realize he’s been casually flirting with a national celebrity. The indelible impression she leaves in those few moments stays with him as he returns to his job as a controller at an oil pipeline.

While brief, their chance meeting also has a profound effect on Kathy, leading her to realize that Bryan has something she desperately needs. Too proud to contact him herself, it takes a mother’s love to help them reunite. As their destinies intertwine, they embark on a journey that will forever change them. Can Bryan be himself and exist in Kathy’s world?

If all you want is to love and be loved, how far will you go, and how much of yourself are you willing to give?

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Fairview
• Release date: Nov 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310150425

James Fairview

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THE LEAVING TREE

By James Fairview

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

James Fairview at Smashwords

The Leaving Tree

Copyright © 2013 by James Fairview

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Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1 Kathy

CHAPTER 2 The Phone Call

CHAPTER 3 Grilled Cheese Sandwiches

CHAPTER 4 The Encounter

CHAPTER 5 A New Home

CHAPTER 6 Awakenings

CHAPTER 7 The MRI

CHAPTER 8 Making Plans

CHAPTER 9 Bryan’s New Home

CHAPTER 10 The Band

CHAPTER 11 A Day Without Numbers

CHAPTER 12 Going Home

CHAPTER 13 The Grand Ole Opry

CHAPTER 14 Doctor Stevens’ Office

CHAPTER 15 The Party

CHAPTER 16 Lucy

CHAPTER 17 New York City

CHAPTER 18 Boston, Massachusetts

CHAPTER 19 Leslie Fisher

CHAPTER 20 Nashville

CHAPTER 21 The Stables

CHAPTER 22 Awakenings

CHAPTER 23 North Augusta

CHAPTER 24 Farewells

CHAPTER 25 New Beginnings

CHAPTER 26 Somewhere Over the Rainbow

THE LEAVING TREE

By James Fairview

*

CHAPTER 1

Kathy

She died soon after my father. The cause of death never was determined, except for what couldn’t be placed on a death certificate in Tennessee. But what lay hidden in death, my mother bore quietly in life, finding no solace a broken heart could abide. Dreams once laden with meaning lost all worth with his passing as she mourned the ruin where his fond memory lay. So when on that spring night she ventured off to find him, I reconciled my grief with the anguish that’d fled her.

I was twenty.

At my uncle’s request, he made all the arrangements and gave the funeral home her date of birth as well as her passing. But her birthdate, August 2nd, 1952, possessed so few of the colors my mother once loved in life. Without my uncle’s notice, I penciled in August 3rd and thus made my mother’s birthdate one day later. I knew she wouldn’t mind the small discrepancy on her headstone. Everybody knew coral pink was her color.

You see, it’s always been this way, though I don’t know why. Numbers have colors to me. For instance, one is the color of imperial blue and is God’s number from which all other numbers derive. Two is pansy purple and feels warm like the spring and hints at the love that once blossomed in youth. Three is French violet and feminine in nature, while four is vermilion and gets its own way, etc., etc.

Stranger still, I see sounds with melancholy pitch as they resonate in waves of metallic ribbon before me. They cascade from my vision as though retreating through a tunnel and give sounds their inescapable depth. No sound ever has looked more beautiful to me than a violin or fiddle in the hands of an accomplished artist. The waves they create find perfect synchronicity as they vanish beyond my vision into the distance.

As though lacking eccentricity, I discovered yet another tic of mine as the written word became introduced to me: Thought written without rhythm, or seeming too long or too short, always appears crimson red to me. I imagine sentence structure until the lettering turns black and creativity flows as fast as I can write. Thus, my thoughts easily contort as they spill onto paper, and free verse becomes both my keep and my jailer.

I knew I was different from the very beginning.

When I was little, what I just described was everyday normal, unless I was scared, and then numbers lost their colors. My first grade teacher, Miss Finney, was just such a fright, as she’d yell at me when I failed to comprehend. She’d scare me, and my colorful world would flee me, leaving me to date my paper with only my color crayons. When Miss Finney would ask me why I did this, I’d simply explain, Because they wouldn’t color themselves, ma’am. Soon, I came to realize it wasn’t my pencil that failed me; rather, it was my sanity. Thus, my secret was born.

As the years passed by, the colors of numbers dimmed with age until only strong emotions revealed them to me. Still, metallic waves wove their field of beauty before me as they’d remind me of how it used to be.

Until there came the day I found my reality regressed and again my world was the many colors of the rainbow. When she’d speak, metallic waves would bathe her in such splendor, though I never could let on what I could see.

The first time I saw Kathy, she wore a brown and turquoise dress, and her jet black hair fell over her shoulders. Her neck was adorned with a delicate green chain necklace that hung partway down her revealing V-neck collar. She had on tan leather sandals with small leather straps that complemented her dress just perfectly. She crossed one shin over the other, tucked femininely beneath her, while the raised foot tapped out a mute beat. She sat all by herself in the doctor’s waiting room, with only her purse, keys, and coffee mug beside her. In her hands, she browsed through a Rolling Stone magazine provided by the table at the center of the room.

I felt my pulse quicken the first moment I saw her as the glass double doors closed and announced my arrival. I stepped the rest of the way in, never once losing sight of her, and realized it was just the two of us in the room. For some reason, I was certain fate had placed us both there and it was destiny that I make her acquaintance. But how do you sit next to a woman in a room full of empty chairs and not seem too obvious doing so?

You don’t.

Fate also determined we meet on a Wednesday afternoon, when Presley’s sells three scoops for the ridiculous price of two. I hadn’t missed out on this coup since I was just a kid in suspenders. Now, I found myself fettered with an ice cream in one hand and a napkin in the other, dividing my attention equally. What’s more, I’d stayed in town with a friend the night before, having bashed in my left knee at a company baseball game. Thus, it’d been rendered useless, and hence my fortuitous visit to the orthopedics that beautiful spring day. To make matters worse, my Jeep was a clutch and required I be dropped off by that same friend out front. This meant she’d probably seen me as he’d slowed by the front doors as I’d hobbled my way out while still coasting.

Good friend.

I limped up to this beautiful woman wearing yesterday’s jeans, soiled T-shirt, ball cap, and holding a waffle ice cream cone with a matching napkin. I looked like a boy of ten years on holiday whose parents surely vacationed off in the opposite direction. The truth was, I felt more like a salmon swimming upstream and just hoped I wouldn’t have to die once I got there.

Not good.

Hi, I said, as I finally arrived at my seat in the chair that was directly across from this striking older woman. I felt comical going after this thawing delicacy on a cone like a dog ridding himself of too much peanut butter. What was I to do? I didn’t exactly plan this, you know? This delicacy had a way of quickly gravitating south. So, I did what was needed and quickly lapped at the menace until I got the upper hand and finally could sense victory.

Thank God.

She looked up with a smile and acknowledged I was there as she barely noticed the melting encumbrance in my hand. But she only was being polite, and thankfully gave me more time, and I devoured it and dispensed with the napkin.

I love that stuff, I said, as I fumbled for something clever to say to get her attention now that I finally was unfettered. When I was little, my parents told me when the ice cream man played his music, it meant his truck was empty.

The beautiful page-turner with the jet black locks looked up as my comment earned me a most alluring laugh. That’s awful, she said as her voice sounded both melodic and feminine as it resonated throughout the room. How old were you when you finally figured that one out? she asked as she still held up her Rolling Stone magazine. Her dark eyeliner and hair lent the mysteriousness of Goth, though everything else about Kathy screamed Country.

I paused before answering once an aberration found me unsuspecting; when she spoke, metallic waves filled my vision. This never had happened before, at least not with a human voice, and it puzzled me. How can this be happening? Then I glanced over my shoulder and peered up at the clock, and the numbers became the many colors of the rainbow. For the first time in my life, both phenomena were happening at once, and I knew our meeting was something special.

Figured what out? I joked as I looked back down at her, my head cocked as I feigned a clueless expression. That earned me a second laugh, though at my own expense, but that didn’t matter as long as I had her attention! Unfortunately, most of what I was saying was actually the truth. Both of my parents had an odd sense of humor.

Poor me.

You’re a goof, she said.

I’m sorry, I said with a laugh as our meeting entered its second stage, adding, I’m Bryan Reeves, by the way.

I’m Kathy, she volunteered to my great relief as she brushed a stray hair from her eyes with her free hand. She stared a moment longer and I lost her attention once more as she thumbed aimlessly through my antagonist.

That magazine had to go!

You know, if you start from the back cover and work your way forward, I vied once more for her fickle attention, it says, ‘The Devil’s your master,’ but only if you thumb through it slowly and hold it up close to your ear.

Now she was laughing freely as she laid her magazine down in her lap and enjoyed the levity of my second attempt. Where do you get this stuff? Kathy asked as she regained her composure, the magazine now closed completely.

Finally!

It’s a curse, I said, depending on who you talk to, of course, as I realized I still wore our team’s ball cap. Self-consciously, I removed it and wiped the grin from my face. Oh, how my father would’ve been proud of me.

Not!

Why do you wear a hat with a thick head of hair like that? Kathy asked as she caught me completely off guard. You’ve got enough up there for two. I thought you were balding. Why would anyone cover up thick waves like that?

I shrugged my shoulders like the ten-year-old boy I’d become upon entering the building and seeing Kathy there. It’s just comfortable, I guess. Fact is, I’ve always worn one. You should see it when it really starts getting long! But I don’t let it get that way, not since I was a little boy. ‘High and tight!’ is what my father always requested.

Kathy just looked at me, and I knew she was sizing me up. I realized I had an innocent way of speaking to others. It was just the Country in me, and the manners my parents provided that lent the small taste of naïveté. Is this your first time to this office? she asked as she gave me the undivided attention I’d sought. I was no longer the boy, rather, the uninvited mystery man who sat down across from her in the waiting room that day.

The waiting room was a small, shared room that accommodated patients awaiting doctors of various specialties. Available was ageneral practitioner, a neurological surgeon and,last but not least, two orthopedic surgeons. I could only imagine whom Kathy was there to see as she appeared to be a vision of health sitting before me.

A patient since eighteen, I said, as I crossed my one good leg over the other as I almost touched her leg with my own. I stood nearly six-foot-four and had a good reach on me, but those chairs were packed in there way too tightly. They’ve probably set half my bones and X-rayed all the others, I’m guessing going on at least fourteen years now.

God, she was pretty.

Kathy’s eyes moved towards my armrest as I counted on my fingers and tried to confirm what I’d just said was true. She looked up with a smile, and said, You’re thirty-one years old. I guess that makes you a youngin’ to me. Kathy could say youngin’ because Country laced all her words, and what seemed natural also made it sound real. Plus, I could tell Kathy was maybe several years older than me, most likely late thirties if I had to hazard a guess.

I was intrigued.

I wish I really was a youngin’, I said, as I made her noun sound almost silly as I rubbed my hurt knee with both hands. I wouldn’t be in here today getting this stupid knee looked at. Ten years ago, all I ever needed was Ben Gay.

What happened? Kathy asked.

I forgot I was thirty-one, I said, as I straightened out my knee, and Kathy stared at me, obviously a bit puzzled. Company baseball, I explained. I didn’t want to hurt the catcher charging home, so I slid into the plate instead. At least I got there before the catcher’s mitt did, but it’s been killing me ever since when I bend it. I took the opportunity and crawled my way up from my chair and hobbled over and sat down beside this pretty lady. It wasn’t my most graceful maneuver ever, but still it got me next to her as I brushed past the awkwardness. That was yesterday evening, I said, as I looked over at Kathy and smiled. We won though, so it all balances out.

Kathy furrowed her brow and gave me a disapproving glare, saying, Balances out? Is that what’s really important?

I nodded and explained, It was a really big game. The other team was last year’s champions and our biggest rivals.

Kathy lightly shook her head as she playfully rolled her eyes at me, saying, Boys. Nothing changes, now does it?

It’s nice to be able to complain about it, though, I told her honestly as I leaned back in my newly-won seat. The guys from work suggested, ‘Just dust your skirt off, Nancy,’ I said once I’d dropped my voice a full octave.

Kathy laughed, saying, That sounds like some guys I hang around. Sympathy isn’t exactly their strong suit either.

I took a moment and thought about what I’d just said; it really was nice being able to talk without being judged. What’s more, she was interested, if not genuinely concerned, about what I’d stupidly done to my knee. I don’t think a knee’s supposed to be the size of a grapefruit, do you? What would be your prognosis, Doctor?

No, I don’t think so either, Kathy said as she peered down at the wound through the ragged gash in my jeans. You shouldn’t have waited to come in until today. You should’ve gone into the Emergency Room right away.

Of course, Kathy was right; I should’ve come in right after I hurt it. I guess it was optimism that’d kept me away. I’m fairly well built for never having lifted a barbell my whole life, so I wasn’t fragile either, just thirty-one. I guess I was hoping it’d be okay on its own. My boss and our coach, Charlie, said I could forget Workman’s Comp.

Kathy’s face brightened up as I earned yet another laugh. Company baseball, huh? What kind of company is it?

Oil, I said. I’m a pipeline controller for Trans Union here in Nashville, right down the road not too far. Kathy looked at me with a questioning stare, so I quickly explained, I ship oil from one place to another. We ship all over the East Coast using the World Wide Web, which unfortunately eliminates hundreds of jobs. I guess it’s a lot like one huge, boring, computer game where everyone’s underpaid and just wants to go home.

Sounds interesting, Kathy laughed, no doubt feigning her interest. Been there long? It sounds like you’re an expert.

Ever since college, I answered, going on almost ten years now. It’s really the only job I’ve ever known.

I missed out on the experience of my former school days, Kathy confessed, as the sound of regret tinged every word. Fact is, I rushed through high school just to get college started so I could finish up my education early. But then life got in the way and my chance to finish vanished. I really regret that now, looking back on it.

You mean, not finishing college? I asked.

Kathy shook her head, saying, Rushing through high school. I missed out on a lot of fun that I’ll never get back.

Well then, it’s all good, I explained, as I turned towards her in my chair as a big smile now betrayed how I felt. You missed out on some fun, and I had way more than my fair share. It’s like I said, it all balances out.

Kathy laughed at that too, which is what I’d hoped she’d do, and the melancholy that’d been there faded away. I can tell, Kathy said, you would’ve been somebody dangerous. You were the boy my mom warned me about.

She was gorgeous and she was actually sitting there talking to me, someone she’d never met until this very moment. We were turned in our chairs and engaged in conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world. And the greatest part of all was how easy it was, almost like we’d known each other since we were kids. I didn’t feel like some schmuck who was hitting on a pretty woman, and that felt kind of nice for a change.

She smelled great, too.

Did you play baseball in high school? Kathy asked, as she got a bit more personal, although I really didn’t mind. After all, we were now discussing my favorite topic in the whole world, that of course being yours truly.

Ooh, she was good.

I nodded, saying, I played ball all the way through high school and college, until finally I was forced to graduate. I was even offered a chance to play Triple-A for the Braves, which is only the best team in all of baseball.

And …? Kathy asked.

And I turned them down.

Kathy’s eyes opened wide as she asked, What would you do that for?

I grew up in Hickman County, I explained, matter-as-fact. I couldn’t leave it and everybody I knew behind.

Just then, I was assaulted by a tickling left cheek that’d been driving me crazy since earlier that same morning. I scratched with conviction until it was gone and I realized, defeated, she’d been watching me the whole time. She smiled at my vulnerability, as I looked quite pathetic, much like a dog being scratched behind both ears.

Kathy stared a moment longer with a pleasant smile on her face, and I knew she was considering what I’d said. I hoped it sounded better than it did ten years before when I told my parents I’d passed on every boy’s dream.

It probably didn’t.

I wish I’d known more guys like you back in school, Kathy said. I might not have left quite as early as I did.

I smiled back as I realized the compliment she’d paid me, saying, Me too. I would’ve liked that chance myself.

We sat there and stared at each other for the longest moment with two stupid grins plastered all over our faces. Something was happening slowly, but happening all the same, and I could tell we both recognized its beginning. My pulse began racing as I stared unblinking at Kathy and my palms vanished in the fists that I made. I felt inexplicably drawn to her and wished I’d known her all those years before when we were kids.

What happened next was simply unbelievable as an ease overtook me and the whisper of a thrill drew me closer. Without a thought of rejection, I spoke the truest words ever spoken, and said, You’re really quite lovely.

The sum of Kathy’s features appeared almost angelic, veiled in pale skin, seemingly too perfect to be natural. She had a small, pixie nose framed by eyes shaped like almonds, inset with blue jewels I was certain saw through me. The subtle contours of her cheekbones were accented with soft blush, and her jawline was brief, like most women. Lipstick the color of scarletadornedher full lips, her upper lip arching in the middle when she smiled. Although she was seated, I could tell she was slender, though any hint of athleticism remained unmistakably absent. The timbre of her voice held an odd fascination and made every word she spoke sound melodic in nature.

Kathy stared with a smile, and I could tell she considered how easily my thoughts had found her unsuspecting. Thank you, she said without seeming self-conscious. I like the way that sounded coming from you.

Kathy Bentley?

The feminine voice of a nurse rang out from the doorway to our left where I’d forgotten other people were working. She caught us both off guard, and we jumped in our seats as though we’d been entranced by the other one’s stare. I noticed, however, the door from which the nurse had appeared lead back to the unfamiliar neurological wing.

I felt an odd expression as it came over my face once I recognized the familiar name the nurse had called out. It can’t be, is the first thing I can remember myself thinking. Things like this only happen to other people, right?

Good Lord!

I pulled back as though I’d crossed over an imaginary line that placed me in a category I wouldn’t want to be in. I’d been speaking with a woman who had six Grammys to her name and I even told this celebrity she was lovely! I was mortified beyond what words can properly express and was unsure where to go, as I’d gone too far already! I didn’t know, I said as I lightly shook my head and fought back the urge to say, I’m sorry I bothered you, Ms. Bentley.

Kathy continued smiling as she reached out to me and touched my hand, saying, I know. Really, it’s okay. Maybe that’s why what you said sounded so real. I could see in your eyes you meant every word you were saying. Her fine features seemed so much softer than when I’d first saw her. Kathy truly was a beautiful woman.

I did, I replied simply as I smiled back at her. What else could I say as I’d already expressed how I felt?

Kathy gathered up her belongings and stood up from her chair and looked down and held out her small hand to me. It was nice meeting you, she said with a hint of gratitude. I already feel much better having done so.

Me too, I said as I fought my way back up from my chair and was finally able to shake her hand like a gentleman.

What happened next both surprised and perplexed me completely as Kathy stood motionless and held onto my hand. She stared at me as though she was trying to work something out, though what it was I couldn’t have known. Still, her pause in the moment made our meeting seem real, and I think for her it did much the same thing. It was like the placement of a period at the end of a sentence that’d just expressed the most wonderful thought.

Thank you, Kathy said as she finally let go of my hand before quickly turning and walking away from me. As she reached the doorway, she stopped and looked back and smiled so peacefully it beckoned I remember her. As the door shut behind her, I lost Kathy’s gaze, and in the next moment she was gone from me completely. All that was left was her wonderful smell I’d remember and the indelible memory of a perfect moment spent.

CHAPTER 2

The Phone Call

Weeks passed, and my memory of Kathy diminished with the daily grind of all life’s little problems. Eventually, a day would pass and I would scarcely recall our ever meeting or catch myself humming one of her songs. Meeting a woman like Kathy the way that I had was almost more than an inexperienced heart like mine could handle, and in those days that followed the cruel ache of wanting consumed me as I tried to reconcile my diminished reality. I took comfort in the knowledge she’d looked back just that once and gifted me a moment I’d always cherish.

What was puzzling is why I’d never noticed before that Kathy’s voice filled my vision with spectral images before me. All my life, I’d heard her music played in every imaginable venue, and never once did I notice anything special. Perhaps the fiddle she played had lulled my ability to notice once instrument, and voice definition became blurred. No matter the reason, it was now obvious to me that a voice could be as beautiful as any instrument could.

The life I regained was a busy little life, full of friends, work, family, and my coveted weekends. We had ball practice on Wednesdays with games on Fridays, followed by either a celebratory or consolation dinner. My home out in Hickman had chores of its own, and the drive between there and Nashville was almost an hour. Then, once every two weeks, I’d bail from the day shift and help man the consoles of a darkened Control Center. That’s where Jeff Hamilton, my best friend, had resided on a full-time basis ever since leaving the old neighborhood.

We called these controllers Vampires.

While everyone else slept, the night shift ran on auto-pilot for the most part, and perhaps even to some extent amok. Musical instruments were optional, and a good time always could be had, but only if you could stay awake long enough. Guitars were the distraction of choice on our night shift, and we’d bring ours and there Jeff and I would practice. We’d belt out the numbers from times long since passed whilst taking requests from all the other controllers. If you could hum it, we could play it, and usually better than the cover, or so we told ourselves convincingly. Of course, we weren’t supposed to entertain such distractions on shift, but the first rule you learned was to keep quiet. What happened in the Control Center stayed in the Control Center and there was simply no exception to this rule.

The Control Center was huge and reminiscent of a lecture hall, one long row of countertops along every level. The levels were arranged in long, wide semicircles that led down to the next, boasting six tiers in all. Atop these long rows of endless countertops were countless monitors filled with dizzying pipeline readouts. Every third monitor was manned by a controller responsible for his segment of a crude oil pipeline. In the front of the room were four large mounted screens that faced back, reserved mainly for the problem lines. These were the screens you tried hardest to avoid, much like getting your name on the board back in school. For it was on these screens your assets were up front and center, with an emphasis on the first three letters: a-s-s.

In the daytime, the Control Center was a well-lit room, filled with people