Page 70 of Claimed By my Father's Enemies
I wrap the rope twice around the base of the root and tie it, testing the tension once and then again. It holds. I thread the other end through the tow hitch from the truck and check that too. Stand up, brush the dirt off my knees, and look at the job I've been building up to for the last forty minutes.
The garden is doing well. The raised beds are in, the path re-laid, three of the four old citrus trees cleared. The seniors have their sections. Mrs. Hargrove is deadheading the roses at a pacethat is more ceremonial than practical. Two of the men are playing cards near the pergola, within eyeline of the beds they're supposed to be watering.
Leonor and Charlie are in the lawn chairs near the back fence, beers open, doing absolutely nothing useful.
"You know," I call out, "you could help."
Charlie points to her arm still in a sling. "Ah, excuse me… Injured in the line of duty."
Leonor doesn't look up from her beer. "You are doing great, sweety."
They turn toward each other and whisper something. They both laugh. I don’t catch it and it’s probably better that I don’t.
Emilio is crouched at the far border. He straightens when he notices me looking.
"Do you want me to trim the edges?" he asks with enthusiasm.
"Yeah. Not much, just make it look even. And be careful around the rosemary, don't take more than you need to."
He nods and starts over. I watch him for a second. It's good to have him here. Here at least he has a task and a way to stay out of trouble.
He stops halfway to the border and turns back.
"When do you think we'll be able to run another Green Guerrilla action? It's been a while."
"When things have cooled down."
"Right." He looks at a point past my shoulder. "No, yeah. For sure." He turns back and keeps going.
I get in the truck.
I ease it forward until the rope goes taut. Nothing gives. I press the gas harder, feel the resistance traveling up through the chassis and then the tree root shifts, holds, shifts again. There's a long grinding tear from somewhere deep in the earth before it pulls free in a single lurch that throws the truck forward half a foot.
Charlie and Leonor cheer with exaggerated enthusiasm from the lawn chairs.
I get out and look at what I've been working on all afternoon.
It's bigger than I expected. A tangle of pale and dark wood, maybe three feet across at its widest, root tendrils going in all directions. Cutting it into transportable pieces is going to take a while. I look at it and then I listen to my back, which has been making its case since noon.
I need a break. I can take twenty minutes.
There's no basket today. No water, no sandwiches wrapped in foil like at the Vale Hotel.
I cross the garden and drop down onto the grass beside Charlie and Leonor. I peel the gloves off and set them on my knee. My hands underneath are damp. The cool air against my palms is immediate and welcomed.
"Do you have water in the cooler?"
Charlie reaches in and hands me a bottle. I open it and drink half in one go.
"Have you heard anything about the arraignment?" Charlie asks.
The water slows in my throat. "Nothing yet."
"You should have called me."
"I didn't want you involved." I look at her. "It wouldn't reflect well on you. Having a criminal friend."
We both smile. But, there ‘s no real joy behind it.
