Page 67 of Learning at 40

“Something big. Something she wants that says you agree, you want that too, and you want her.”

“Jesus, that sounds more complicated than Mason’s words of wooing.”

Mason snorts and tips back a bottle of tequila. I swear we are too old for this shit, but I hold out my hand, wiggling my fingers. I need the strong stuff again tonight. We remain silent as I take my burning sip, shaking my head at the sharp tang on my tongue.

“We really need to find a fourth point for Four Points,” Mason says, sobering our conversation a bit. We’re leading up to what’s to come next, and I sense it in the lowering of his voice.

“It doesn’t feel right to ask someone outside of us to take over the landscaping portion,” I say.

“We still have his crew.” Logan, Mason, and Ben have been using the old Kulis Landscaping offices as the new headquarters for Four Points. With Ben gone, the landscaping manager has continued the position he’s held for years. We need to make a decision whether we keep him on and add to the general contracts they have for our special builds or add a new addition to our business.

“We could ask Anna,” Mason suggests. I’ve thought the same thing, but Anna is a teacher, not a landscape designer. She knows some basics but not the intricacies that Ben did. Ben had a financial investment in our new venture with a specific amendment that stated Anna receive his proceeds or sell his position. We all agree we cannot be the Three Points. It doesn’t make sense, and we aren’t willing to dismiss that Ben was our True North. He brought us together. In his name, we plan to keep our number at four.

“What about Archer?” Logan asks.

“We don’t even know where he is.” Somehow, I don’t think landscaping will be of interest to him. I’m convinced that Archer isn’t just some wayward vagabond but possibly something greater, something risky. He hadn’t been home in years, and when he has appeared, Ben said he always looked a little rough, a little tough, and a lot beat up.

“What about your brother?” Mason asks.

“I don’t think Mr. Magellan Hotel has landscaping in his blood. He’s a hotel manager, catering to the rich and famous. Champagne bars and nightclubs are more his speed.”

Mason huffs as if agreeing, and Logan nods. “We’ll find somebody.”

For another minute, we silently watch the low glow of the fire and listen to the soft breeze whistling around us.

“Well, should we do this?” Logan asks.

As Ben wrote each of us a message, Logan suggested we write one back to him. It was actually Autumn’s idea and a little New Age for me. Not surprisingly, River loved it. The idea was we write our own thoughts on a notecard and toss them into the fire, allowing the ash to carry the message to our friend. The concept reminds me of Japanese lanterns, and I don’t know why we didn’t purchase a few of those instead. Then again, we couldn’t easily write a personal note on them.

Mason doesn’t answer Logan but adds another log to the fire and restokes the embers by placing twigs against them to ignite the wood. The fire builds, and we each reach for our notecards. So much had been said to Ben in those final months, and he hated it, always feeling like people were saying goodbye. We were. He would be leaving us forever.

I hadn’t really known what to write on my card. Did I thank him for his friendship? Did I promise him I’d look after Anna and the kids? Did I acknowledge he was like another brother to me? All these things had been said to his face before he passed. It was actually River who helped me come up with something.

“What’s one word you’d use to describe Ben?”

“Kind.” It was that simple and reminded me quite a bit of River herself. “Understanding. He had this way of reading people, seeing something in them that others did not. Maybe even seeing something in a person the individual didn’t see in himself.” What had Ben seen in me as a friend? I was dedicated and loyal. I’d do anything for any of them. Beyond that, what was I missing that he saw?

It’s strange to think Ben might have seen a teenage boy who needed people to love him unconditionally. A boy who’d lost his pride and his home, who only wanted to feel safe and seen for himself, not his father’s crime. Ben had done those things. River was doing it too.

“You could always tell Ben how you are doing,” River also suggested. “Respond to his note. Tell him how you’ll work on his message.” I hadn’t told her what Ben had said. She didn’t ask me to share it after the night I told her about it. Yet she’d still given me the best advice.

I wasn’t eloquent with my emotions. Reflecting on my multitude of apologies to River, my vocabulary was severely lacking. Still, I wrote what I thought Ben might want to know about me.

“Ready?” I ask, leaning forward in my seat. Mason already sits on the edge of his.

“How do we do this?” Mason asks next.

“I think we hold the card until we can’t anymore, letting it burn to nothing, then allowing the wind to take the rest,” Logan suggests.

I do not know what kind of voodoo Autumn feeds Logan, but it made sense. We each dip our note into the flame and watch it instantly ignite. Holding the notecard at one corner, I wield it slowly from side to side as the flame lowers and the paper disappears. As the heat nears my fingertip, I toss the last corner into the air and watch it dance before fluttering into the larger flames. Mason and Logan do the same, and we continue to stare at the orange and yellow pattern crackling around the darkening log.

“To friendship,” Mason states, lifting the bottle of tequila for another swig. He easily swallows and passes the bottle to Logan.

“To family.” Logan raises the bottle in salute as well but doesn’t drink. We allow him a pass.

“To forever,” I say, finding my eyes cloud with thoughts of our lost friend and hope that I haven’t lost the woman who helped me write a note to honor him.

I’m learning to fly. It’s frightening and fantastic, and I only wish you were here to see me.