The Cherryhill Tree: Cherryhill
Jack Riddle grew old on his own terms. His hair didn't gray until he was well into his forties, and he only had slight wrinkles beside his eyes. He never got rid of his beard. He kept the Mustang for all those years, and cared for it like a child. He still enjoyed a cigarette with his cup of coffee every morning, and he continued his daily run until thirty-five, jogged until fifty, and walked from then on. His head became a library, and he could recite a passage from every novel he had ever read. He persisted with carpentry until he was sixty-seven and his wife forced him to retire. He and Olivia wed when they were thirty-three, and seven years later, they had a beautiful daughter; Iris. They always lived beside Cherryhill, and everyday throughout her childhood, Jack would walk Iris up the hill to talk with his old friend.
Jack sat on the porch as he did every morning. The sun was warm and it painted him golden. In one hand, he held a steaming coffee mug, and in the other was a cigarette that flaked its ashes. He gently teetered in his old rocky chair, and he enjoyed the slight groan the foundation made beneath him. It was comforting to know that his house aged along with him. But, some days, Jack didn't feel seventy. Especially when he was with his beloved Iris. She kept him laughing, and made him feel like a teen again.
Iris and Olivia had left to go shopping, and it was one of those rare occasions that Jack got to enjoy the quiet. Between Olivia's talkative nature and the fascinating event that was Iris' existence, Jack rarely found a moment to pause. He sighed in contentment. The only sounds were the foundation's groan when he rocked and the whisper of a dove's coo from the summit of Cherryhill.
He took a final drag on his cigarette before snuffing it in the tray. After the smoke had cleared, he was left with the faint perfume of the cherry blossoms, and it quirked his lips into a smile.
A silhouette of blue spoiled the stillness of Jack's peace. The crunch of his gravel driveway swamped the dove's coo and the foundation's groan. Over the coffee mug he tipped to his lips, it was the mail lady, Donna, who disturbed his portrait of brief serenity. But, he wasn't too defeated. Donna was a friend of Olivia's, and she was nice enough to bring their mail to the porch so Jack didn't have to walk all the way down the driveway. He wouldn't have minded at all, but Donna insisted and Jack was never one to dwell.
Donna handed Jack a small, crinkled envelope with no postage stamp and no address. She claimed she found it sticking out of his mailbox, and when he asked her where it came from, she said it was already there when she arrived. Donna bid Jack farewell, and told him to inform Olivia that she found the vanilla cake recipe for Iris' upcoming thirtieth birthday.
The anonymous envelope was light as if it hand no contents, save for the little bulge in the bottom-right corner. Jack ran his fingers across it, then turned it over, looking for some identity to the envelope that appeared to have no clue in itself of where it came from. He almost tossed it away, but the bulge was hard and a spark of curiosity demanded to know what it was. Jack was never curious, he was always content, but he was curious now and that feeling was strong.
Jack peeled open the envelope, which was barely sealed. He turned it upside down. What fell into his lap caused a whirlwind in his mind of photos with long forgotten stories that were being remembered now.
Jack's withered hands shook when he plucked the golden, heart-shaped locket from the fold of his shirt. Engraved on its face was a dove, and Jack vaguely heard the dove's coo from Cherryhill grow louder. A ragged breath pulled at his lungs when his thumb traced the engraving. The locket's hinges were worn from being unlocked infinitely, so when he placed it in his palm, it fell open.
