4.

Derrick’s old green pick-up truck, which he kept for tasks like this one, lurched into the parking lot of Landis’ nursery, with Vivian behind the wheel trying to finesse a crotchety old clutch that was much more stubborn than that of the friendly luxury sedan she normally drove. She eased the truck into a parking spot, grabbed her purse and headed for the outdoor section of the nursery. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was there for, but she also knew she wasn’t leaving until she found it. Today, things would change for Vivian.

It was true that Vivian’s life was about to undergo a few changes that day, but it wouldn’t have anything to do with the three Weeping Cherry saplings she loaded into the truck with the help of two young Lanids employees. She was about to find a way to put the losses of three babies behind her, but the process had nothing to do with the blisters on her hand from digging large holes for the trees in her yard. In fact there would be no sweat or shovels or dirt involved; rather she’d figure it all out in the comfort of her own bed, the answer at her fingertips.

After Derrick had absorbed the scene in the back yard, the couple went inside and Derrick ordered a pizza while Vivian hopped in the shower to clean off. Have gotten over the shock of finding his dainty wife outside planting trees that she’d hauled home from a nursery over an hour away, he started to see how this was probably a positive thing. It was the first area, outside of reproduction and work-outs, where Vivian had shown initiative in the two years since she’d left her job. It was reasonable for him to assume that this was Vivian’s way of taking charge of something she had no control over – her fertility. She planted the trees in tribute to the babies and she’d done it on her own. This was probably the very first step to some sort of recovery.

Derrick poured himself a glass of wine and picked up the paper work from Landis’ Nursery, looking over the details of his newly acquired trees.

“Jesus, Viv,” Derrick said as he looked over the papers. “These fucking things can grow to 40 feet,” he said to the empty room, glaring at the saplings his wife had planted so closely together that the wind was blowing their delicate branches into one another and they became tangled up. Oh well, he thought, he could call the gardener and ask him to hire some help replant the trees with enough distance to grow. Anything to get Vivian through this.

And, really, the trees weren’t a bad idea. A nice gesture, actually. Derrick thought of the babies, actually knew all their conception dates—which with IVF is easy since it’s done by appointment—but he also knew the dates of the miscarriages. Six times a year, his calendar would blindside him with reminders of the little boy and girls that never made it the room at the end of the hall—the would-be nursery—that he and Vivian avoided like the plague. For Derrick, the pain would last momentarily before he pushed it back down and away. But, with the trees growing in the yard, he could let go of the specific dates and allow the losses to mesh into the fabric of the couple’s background; something lingering and ever-present, but only taking center stage fleetingly with the trees’ first blooms before fading into the scenery again.

“Should’ve planted evergreens, Viv,” Derrick said. “Then we wouldn’t even have to deal with the blooms.”

“What?” Vivian said, standing behind him, towel drying her hair. He didn’t realize she’d been come back into the kitchen.

“Nothing. I was just realizing that we’re going to have to have George move the trees,” he told her. Holding up the planting directions, “These things can grow up to 40 feet. You’re going to need more than two feet between them. We’ll have to spread them out around the yard.”

At this Vivian frowned. “Oh. I don’t like that idea. I liked the idea of having them nice and close together. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s so cold and dark during the winter. I wanted them to have each other.”

Derrick didn’t want to point out that leaving them the way they were would cause them to die. He wanted the trees to be the answer to their problems, not actual tangible fucking representations of them, taunting him and Vivian from their own backyards.

“Well, we could return them and get a different type of tree. Something that won’t need so much room…” he suggested.

“No. I’m attached to the idea of the cherry blossoms at the end of each winter. We can spread them out,” she said and then, smiling, “I guess I’m not THAT crazy, yet. One more dead baby, though…then I’ll be certifiable.”

“Fine. One more dead baby and you can try planting evergreens in pots in the god damned living room, babe,” Derrick said as he poured his wife a glass of wine and himself a second.

“Ooooh. So that’s the official number? Three dead babies and a girl must remain behaved and well-adjusted, but when the tally hits four I’m allowed to go stark raving mad?” Vivian laughed.

“Yeah. I think with four, juries overlook abduction charges,” Derrick joked.

“Well schedule the next IVF, baby, let’s get this show on the road,” she said. “Cuz I’m hanging by a fucking thread.”

They raised their glasses and Vivian made a toast: “To insanity defenses,” she said.

“To stealing cute babies,” Derrick countered, and they became hysterical, trying to outdo each other with tasteless dead baby jokes and planning baby heists until the pizza delivery boy rang the door bell. As Derrick grabbed his wallet and deaded for the door, Vivian called after him, “If he’s young enough to need a parent, invite him in.”

“Jesus,” he said, shaking his head and smiling.