The Tree Keeper's Promise Part 7

Mark sang one of Angela's songs, one she'd written years earlier about a man and his guitar and his dying mother.

"Now I see why you needed a male vocalist," Mark said as he finished a fourth recording. "This gets you right here, doesn't it?" Mark tapped his chest with his fist.

"I hope so," Angela said. "Story songs are a country staple-a good way to get a producer's attention."

"Maybe my voice had too much emotion in it."

"Not too much. Your voice was a perfect fit."

Mark rose from the stool on the recording side of the room and joined Angela by the control board. He stood behind her and rubbed her shoulders, said something about being a good team, and leaned down to kiss the side of her cheek. She reached up and put her hand on top of his. A moment later they embraced. Mark kissed her and she kissed back, then stopped.

"We can work on your song too." She took a deep breath.

Mark instinctively pulled her close again. "What song?" he teased.

Angela laughed. "The song you said you've been working on and finally figured out the chorus. You wanted me to hear it." She paused. "Unless ... did you have something different in mind?" She nervously glanced around the too-small studio. "The way you were acting on the phone today, I thought ... I don't know ... you might ask me something."

Ask her something? Does she think I'm going to propose?

"Tonight? Here?" Mark's voice rose too high on the last word. He s.h.i.+fted his weight and quickly grabbed his sheet music.

A quizzical expression crossed Angela's face before she looked away. "Never mind. I don't know why I said that."

Mark didn't know either. Usually when she brought up engagement, it was to hint about needing to know him for another season. Maybe their conversation at her mother's house had had more of an impact than he realized. But what could he say now? He'd brought some half-written songs. Not the ring.

"I do want to ask what you think of this verse and chorus. Here, let me play a little of it."

"I'm in love. Can't get enough. Turning me upside down," he sang.

"You wrote those words?"

"Yes, I wrote them," Mark said, a bit wounded.

"When did you write them?" Angela asked.

Mark hesitated. This was a new song, written for her. But here she was wondering if it was a song he'd written for someone else.

"I started this song in February. For you," Mark said.

A quiet moment ensued. Angela fidgeted with one of the controls, and then she gathered her hair and let it fall across her back.

"Sorry. I didn't mean ... I don't know what I meant. I like it a lot-the song, the words. They're so sweet."

Mark maneuvered over to where she was again, pulling her in for another hug and kiss. He savored the moment as she snuggled into him. How could he show her that Natalie didn't mean anything to him? Sure, they had dated and he proposed to Natalie, but that was before he'd discovered she was John Jackson's girlfriend. Before he knew she'd been lying to him the entire time. How could he show Angela he loved her and no one else?

"What would be so wrong with proposing here in the studio?" Angela suddenly asked. "You acted like I'd suggested something outrageous earlier."

Mark froze and tried to relax just as quickly. "I wouldn't say this is the most romantic place."

"I don't know why I'm bringing it up. You're reaction surprised me, like there was something wrong."

"Nothing's wrong. At least not anymore. This is a different place than when I brought Natalie to see it. Now that you live here, it's all you," Mark continued rambling, too much and too fast.

Angela stepped back, and her quizzical expression twisted into alarm.

"Wait, what? Natalie was here? How could she? When?" she choked out the words.

Mark's mind raced. What had he said?

"All I meant to say was that I showed Natalie the house when I thought I was going to buy it." He paused.

"You showed her the house and the studio, too? You and she, in here together, with your Realtor?"

"Not exactly. Dave waited upstairs for us. I'd asked him to wait while I ..."

What was he doing?

"While you what?"

In his effort to not say anything at all, he'd said too much. He looked into Angela's eyes, eyes that teemed with questions and mistrust and pain. He didn't have to answer this. He didn't have to tell her.

But it was too late. And he wasn't going to lie.

"While I proposed," he answered quietly. He began gathering his sheet music, not waiting for a response. The moment was over. Probably the night too. Maybe if he could exit smoothly, they could forget it ever came up.

"Proposed. Here? You didn't even own it. How ... why would you?"

"Look, I know what it sounds like, and believe me, I don't like reliving one of the stupidest things I've ever done. It was before I knew what she was. Who she was."

"So every time we've worked on our music here, you have that memory of her?"

"No, it's not like that."

"Of her saying yes, and then what?"

"And then what? And then nothing. The house was freezing, and Dave was calling for us. Believe me, as proposals go, it was pathetic."

He checked her face for clues. No emotion. That wasn't a good sign.

"What are you thinking? Are you mad at me?" Mark finally asked.

"Don't ask me that right now. I don't know what to think," she said.

"Natalie doesn't mean anything to me. I was wrong and couldn't see who she really was."

"But who you thought she was ... you proposed to that girl. And who you thought she was ... that's pretty different from who I am."

"Exactly," Mark said. "Angela, there is no comparison here. I didn't love her ... I mean, I thought I did."

"Right. I get it. But that's not it." She paused. "I wish you'd told me. I don't know. Maybe that would have helped. This is becoming more than it needs to be. It feels like you were keeping something from me, and that brings up old feelings that don't have anything to do with us."

"When would have been a good time to bring it up?" Mark asked.

"It's fine. We don't have to talk about it anymore."

"It doesn't feel fine," Mark said.

"Maybe if we stop talking about it, it will be." Angela's words cut through Mark.

They both looked around the studio. The melodies and kisses that were in the air a few minutes ago were gone. Mark stood bewildered, staring at the s.p.a.ce where five minutes earlier he'd been trying to figure out a way to show Angela he loved her and no one else.

Without warning, Angela walked out of the studio and up the stairs.

Mark gathered his things and followed. A heavy-hearted feeling came over him as he left the studio. He was sure they would never use it together again. But he'd built a new studio at the farmhouse for this very reason. Even if Angela had never found out about the proposal to Natalie, he'd planned for them to have a place for making music. He wanted to tell her, to bring her to the farmhouse right now and explain.

She was putting on her coat by the door.

"Thanks for doing the vocal for my song," she said without making eye contact. "I better get going to pick up Caroline. If I'm too late, I'll get questions from my mom."

"Aren't I coming with you?" Mark asked.

Angela didn't respond as she picked up her purse and pulled out her keys. Finally, she met his eyes. "I think I'd rather go alone."

Her words couldn't have hurt more. Mark knew she didn't like to make the drive alone. Any other time-every other time-they had gone together. His drive home now felt longer as he wondered what he could have said or done differently.

Once home, he closed the side door behind him and walked through to the new studio.

Will it be enough?

Did he think adding a room would change the way Angela was feeling right now? He'd planned this as a surprise, but he should have told her long ago-to immunize them against the very thing that had happened tonight. There was one thing he hated more than feeling unsure of himself, and that was causing Angela pain.

Papa came around the corner. "Who the devil is there? Mark is that you?"

It took Mark a few seconds to realize he'd walked into the farmhouse, forgetting he'd moved into the cabin.

"Sorry, Papa. Picking up some of my sheet music."

"Land sakes. Everything okay?"

"I'm fine. All good. Sorry to wake you."

"Well, as long as we're both up, maybe it's time for you to learn the second secret."

"Second secret?" Mark asked.

"Have you already forgotten the first? It begins and ends with love?"

"No, but maybe you're tired."

"I'm awake now." He walked past Mark toward the kitchen. "I'm going to have some warm milk. C'mon and join me."

Mark followed but with regret that he'd come to the house. He was preoccupied with Angela and wasn't sure if this was the best time to learn more from Papa.

After the second swallow of his milk, Papa stared at Mark for a moment. "Bed early, walk early," he said, using a napkin to wipe his mouth.

"You mean wake up early?" Mark asked.

"You have to do that too. But like I said, walk early." Papa insisted.

"That's it?"

"Don't underestimate the power of sleep."

At this moment, Mark began to question if Papa was making up this keeper training on the fly. "Look, I'm sorry for waking you. I might not get to bed as early as you, but I am a little younger," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

"It's not about me anymore. It's about you and the trees. Don't let 'em down, son. Bed early, walk early." Papa eyed Mark before finis.h.i.+ng his milk.

Mark drank his milk, but it didn't warm him as much as he hoped. "I don't know. It seems pretty basic-like anyone should follow that advice weather they grow trees or not."

"It's not advice; it's secret number two," Papa said a.s.suredly. "If you follow that pattern well enough, you'll come to understand the timing of things."

Mark waited. "Such as?"

"Everything. When to plant, when to prune. Takes the guesswork outta things, if you're paying attention. Work with the trees. Be in a place where the trees can help you."

"Could it help with relations.h.i.+p timing?" Mark asked, thinking it was a little late now.

"Maybe," Papa said and rubbed his eyes.

"What about fighting Ma.s.sDOT?"

"I thought you were calling a lawyer for that?"

"I did, but he said there wasn't much we could do until we get an official notice," Mark answered, finis.h.i.+ng his milk. "I did come across something, though. What do you think the historical significance is of the farm-maybe the house or cabin?"

"Gotta be something-our Shafer family has been working this land five-no, make it six, generations," Papa said. Then he announced he was heading to bed. "I'll sleep on it. Remember, your mind has to be healthy, unfettered. And walking early after a good night's rest is the only time you get the trees alone, before the world goes and wakes up and crowds the airwaves. Fight this secret and you put yourself-and the trees-at risk."

Chapter 7.

Angela had lain awake half the night trying not to imagine Mark proposing to Natalie. And in the studio! Where she and Mark had spent so much time on their music. So what if he did? She argued with herself. That's over and done, and she's gone. She had missed enough sleep that she called Mrs. Shaw and rescheduled their time to paint Christmas village houses-a surprise they'd planned for Caroline.

Caroline! Her mother was likely already on her way to pick up Caroline for the day and wouldn't want to change her Sunday plans. What she wouldn't give for a drive to the beach. Maybe there was time, she could still go.