The Tree Line: Chapter 4

Celeste was intrigued, yet she stood strong.

“I’ll need to speak to my husband,” she said.

“Go ahead. Make the arrangements,” he walked out of the room.

She followed him back up the stairs. She grabbed Miles by the arm and pulled him into the small guest bathroom near the kitchen.

“That guy Chuck said they are looking for a man named Dr. Neil. Do you know a Dr. Neil?”

He looked at her square in the eye, then slightly shifted his gaze to the right, lost in thought.

“That name sounds familiar,” he finally said.

“Think hard, Miles. How do you know that name?

“I don’t know. This whole day feels familiar. Like déjà vu,” he said.

“Chuck said they are staying here. Miles, I don’t know that we have a choice. It’s getting dark soon, it’s raining and I didn’t get the chance to tell you earlier, but our cars won’t start. We are stuck for the night.”

Miles did not react to the news about their cars. Instead, he starting planning for the guests.

“Let’s see. We have the three extra bedrooms downstairs but the rest will have to sleep up here on the couches and floors. We may not have enough blankets but I’ll see what I can round up.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. She knew he was weak and it had always bothered her. Now she stood staring at him, repulsed, not believing she had married a man that would be so willing to have her in a compromising position. She, too, was resigned to the fact that the strangers would be sleeping there, but her mind was also racing, scheming for ways to escape and get help. 

He seemed indifferent, as if they were having a friendly sleepover. Maybe he would offer to make some hot chocolate and sit in a circle telling ghost stories. He seemed to be enjoying this.

Celeste decided to put her emotions aside and instead focus on the situation. She worked with Miles over the next few hours, ushering people around, assigning sleeping areas, and passing out blankets. 

Once everyone had a place, most gathered once again in the living room.

In the midst of the chaos, she felt her stomach rumble with hunger. She was not accustomed to preparing meals for a large crowd. She went to the kitchen, opening cabinets to see what options she had. She decided on pasta. 

Without a word to anyone, she started boiling water, opening cans of sauce and pulling ingredients from the fridge.

She heard a voice ask, “Need a hand?”

She looked up to see a lady.

“I’m Cindy,” she said. “I met your husband earlier.”

Celeste recognized kindness in her eyes and felt herself relax, welcoming some help and a friendly smile.

She wiped her hands on a towel, then extended her hand in greeting.

“I’m Celeste, and yes, I could use a hand. Would you like to chop some vegetables?”

“Oh, it’s been a long time since I have used a knife, but I would be glad to help.”

Celeste handed her a sharp knife and a large cutting board. She found some mushrooms, onions, parsley, and garlic, placing them on the kitchen island.

“So, Celeste, what do you do for a living?” Cindy asked.

“I work at the university. Mostly research. My discipline is cognitive science and psychology.”

“Wow, pretty impressive,” Cindy said.

Celeste laughed, “Not really. It can be quite boring some days. I had my fair share of excitement when I was younger, but in recent years it has become mundane.”

“I understand that feeling.”

“What do you do?” Celeste asked Cindy.

Cindy hesitated, then muttered, “I work in an office.”

“What kind of office?”

“Just the normal kind,” Cindy said quickly then abruptly changed the subject.

“Have you ever tried squid ink pasta? It’s dyed black with squid ink,” Cindy asked.

“No, I haven’t. I had a friend tell me about it once. I’m not sure I would find a plate full of black pasta to be appealing.”

“Oh, it’s supposed to have a seafood taste. It was popular back in Italy.”

“Were you born in Italy?” Celeste asked.

“I came from Italy,” Cindy whispered.

Celeste was not sure why Cindy was whispering.

Cindy continued in a low voice, “A lot of us originated from Western European countries.”

“Really?” Celeste was intrigued. She saw this as an opportunity to ask questions.

She leaned in, sensing she could trust Cindy.

“Who is Dr. Neil?”

Cindy looked at her, eyes wide with surprise.

“You mean you don’t know?”

“No, I don’t.  Chuck told me that you are all here looking for him.”

Cindy seemed baffled, “How could you not know? Hasn’t Miles ever told you?”

“Wait, what?” now Celeste was confused. “Why would Miles mention him? Miles told me the name sounded familiar, but that’s all.”

Cindy looked at her with pity.

Celeste spoke again, “And why would you assume he had told me anything? What else do you know? This doesn’t make sense.”

Cindy looked like she was about to speak again, when Chuck appeared.

“Ladies, something is smelling really good in here.”

Celeste wanted him to leave so they could continue their conversation, but he sat on one of the stools lining the kitchen island.

They both finished preparing the meal, with neither woman speaking again. Each time Celeste looked over at Cindy, she kept her eyes averted. Chuck lingered.

As the pasta was finished, Cindy walked from the kitchen first, carrying a pot to the nearby table. Chuck followed close behind her.

Cindy finally spoke again, “Celeste, why don’t you start tidying up the kitchen while I serve the food?”

Immediately, Celeste was insulted that she would once again be asked to do something in her own home. However, as the rest of the crowd grabbed plates and headed to various parts of the living room to eat, she started wiping down counters.

Reaching the end of the island where Cindy had been chopping, she found a green mess on the counter.

What she found in the middle of the mess stopped her in her tracks. 

Cindy had used a finger to trace two words in the shredded parsley: Project VERA.

Celeste lifted her head and made eye contact with Cindy, then used her hand to wipe away the message.