Meet Me by the Oak Tree

[TW: contains mentions of death/murder]

 The soft pitter-patter of the rain hitting the windshield drowned out the constant static emitting from the car's stereo. The cheesy '80s music from the local radio station cut out twenty minutes ago, likely due to us being out of range. We were indeed in the middle of nowhere. There were no service stations. No buildings. No neighboring houses. And I'm sure if I had a cell phone, it'd have no service. I didn't even remember the last time I saw a passing car. We were deep in the Tennessee backwoods with thick forest surrounding us on each side. I wished I could say I wasn't used to this feeling of isolation, but I had felt isolated for most of my life, even among the crowds and congestion of city life. 

We made our way up the long and winding driveway until our new home came into view: an old Victorian that sat atop a hill. Its exterior was painted pastel pink with bright white shutters, making it look eerily out of place compared to the dark greens and browns of the woodsy backdrop. Despite the new paint, everything else about the house remained the same, and the memories of summers spent here came rushing back. 

Memories of running up and down its grand halls playing hide and seek. Memories of baking cookies with Mom and Aunt Cheryl in a kitchen that, as a kid, felt way bigger than it was. And memories of walking through the woods on the path that led to the property's lake. Back then, the house belonged to my grandmother; when she died, it became my Aunt Cheryl's. And now it was ours. When Dad first told me we were moving here, a small part of me was excited. Foolishly, I hoped to finally be around family again after so many years alone. But then he told me why we were moving, and all my hopes crumbled. As I lay crying that night, I heard his all-too-familiar steps approaching my door. I wiped my tears and schooled my features just before he could walk in and flick on the light.  His voice was cold and detached as he told me that Aunt Cheryl left the house for us in her Will and that she would’ve wanted us to have it. If he noticed I had been crying, he didn’t mention it.

“Dad, can I ask you something?”  

It was the first words I’d spoken to him in three hours. Despite the nervousness that drummed through my body, I attempted to make my voice as steady as possible. I waited for him to tell me to continue, but all I received in return was a grunt and a head nod. I’d have to admit it was better than the silence I was often met with, so I would take it. Taking a deep breath and interlocking my hand to keep them from fidgeting, I continued. 

“I saw an art supply store a few miles back, and well, I was wondering if it was alright with you, of course,  if I could check it out tomorrow and maybe get some supplies. You know, for my birthday,” I said in one full breath. 

 I winced on instinct, preparing my body for rejection. The sound of rain hitting the car grew louder as the weather got worse, and in secret, I hoped it would drown out the persistent thumping of my heart. This was more than just some trip to the art store. This was me asking my dad for the one thing he had never given me: freedom—a chance to explore independently and make my own decisions without him constantly looking over my shoulders. In three days, I would turn twenty-four. But even then, the thought of it was foreign to me. My life resembled nothing of an adult. I’ve never lived alone or had any sort of romantic relationship. Hell, I didn’t even own a cell phone. Everything about me included my dad always being right beside me, watching, judging, and controlling. I was ready for a change. I wanted many things for my birthday, but this is what I wanted the most.  

"Yea, Violet, we can go tomorrow after the house is unpacked," he sighed, annoyance evident in his voice.  

His signature sigh should’ve been my first warning not to push the subject further. But the frustration that had been building up since we packed our bags and left the home I’d known for ten years seemed to boil over finally. 

"I meant by myself," I said, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth.

It was barely a whisper, but the words landed like a grenade. 

"Absolutely not," he said, turning to me with fire in his eyes.

 His voice was stern and final, and the frown lines on his face became more prominent. The prick of tears began to burn in my eyes, but I willed myself not to cry before him, wiping my eyes before the tears could form. 

Before I could even process what I was doing, I was out the door and walking into the woods, down the path I knew by heart. The rain continued to pour, and within moments I was drenched. My clothes clung uncomfortably to my skin, and my now-soaked shoes made a persistent squelching sound with each step. As I walked deeper through the woods, memories flooded my brain. Every summer, I would spend most days screaming out in joy when my mom threw me off the dock into the lake. I’d swim back as fast as possible and beg her to do it again. This would continue until either my bones grew tired from the current or my mom would finally put her foot down and call it a day. Back then, that was the closest I ever felt to flying. It was magical. And I don't think I've felt anything like that since.   

The sunlight filtered through the thick pine branches, warming my wet cheeks as the rays hit my face. The only sounds came from the wind rustling the trees and the distant callings of song sparrows. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and a sense of calmness washed over me as the after-rain, earthy scent permeated my nostrils. I blindly move through the trees, letting the gentle breeze guide me. But before I could get far, my foot caught on something, and I stumbled forward. Cursing myself, I looked up to see what I had tripped on, and to my surprise, it was a large tree root. And connected to that root was the massive oak tree I used to get in trouble with as a kid for trying to climb. Back then, the tree was larger than life, and it still was today. Its moss-covered trunk was at least five feet in diameter, and its branches shot out in all different directions through the surrounding pine like a firework.    

A flash of white on the tree caught my eye as I pulled myself up from the wet ground. It was a piece of paper; tacked onto the trunk and in the perfect position for anyone to grab it. I looked around, half-expecting to see someone hiding behind the trees, waiting for someone like me to take what was clearly bait. After some time, when I was sure no one else was around, and curiosity got the best of me, I plucked the paper off the trunk. I took one last look around before I unfolded it. And what I saw made my blood run cold. 

   Dear Vi, 

 I can’t believe it’s been ten years since writing a letter like this. I know this is a long shot, and I don’t know if you’ll even find this, but I don’t know how else to reach you. I want to start by saying I missed you. Not a day went by where I didn't pray that you would find your way back here. When your aunt told me she left the house to you before she passed, I knew it’d be a matter of time before you’d return. And when your dad reached out to my mom to get the house ready, I hoped you’d seek out the lake and the comfort it brought you when you arrived. And I hoped, on your way, you’d pass by this tree, leading you to this point now. So if you’re reading this, there’s something you need to know. Something happened the last summer we saw each other, and you deserve to know the truth. I can’t tell you everything right now, but I will explain everything if you meet at the oak tree tonight at 11. And whatever you do, please don’t tell your dad. 

Yours Truly,  

C.K

“Charlie,” I whispered as a tear fell from my cheek and stained the letter.  

My hands trembled as I reread it; memories of my childhood best friend ran through my mind. Charlie was my only friend. Her mom did all the gardening for the house when my grandma owned it. We spent all of our summers together. And the rest of the year, we wrote silly little letters back and forth to each other, which she always signed with Yours Truly, C.K, because she wanted to be more sophisticated. We were inseparable. Then, when my mom left and we moved out of state, we stopped seeing each other. And soon after that, the letters stopped too. I never thought I'd hear from her again, let alone like this. 

A loud snap of a stick echoed behind me. I jumped, pressing my back against the tree. Footsteps drew near me as a dark figure emerged from the trees.

"Violet!"  

The voice was familiar. I took a deep breath as relief spread through my limbs, and the thumping of my heart slowed back to normal. By this time, I could make out my dad's presence approaching. Just like me, he was soaked from the rain. But he was out of breath, and his boots were significantly muddier than mine. Pine needles stuck to his hair and jacket, and I could make out the mud on his face, like he must have veered off the path and gone looking for me through the unkempt trees.  

"What were you thinking, running around in the woods like this? You could've gotten lost," he yelled.  

His tone, harsh and accusatory, startled me. I could see his clear facial expression now, and the look of fear, anger, or a mix of both, was prominent. It was a look I had never seen before. 

 "Get back to the house, now,"  he said through gritted teeth.  

I hesitated. My feet were like cement blocks, keeping me rooted as my mind screamed at me not to follow the man I had been following my entire life. Question after question swirled in my mind, and I knew only one person could answer them. I pushed the note into my back pocket and willed myself to begin walking again. As I followed him back to the house, I couldn't help but scan the trees as we walked, hoping to see Charlie amongst them.  

I slipped into the butler's pantry and thanked the heavens that the wine rack was still fully stocked. After our interaction in the woods earlier, there was no way my dad would let me walk out the front door, no matter how nicely I asked him. If I wanted to leave, I needed him asleep. And drunk. I grabbed the oldest bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon I could find and went to the kitchen to get started on dinner. I usually cooked for us, so the chance of him growing suspicious of my motives was slim. And when I posed the wine to celebrate moving, he didn't bat an eye.  Soon after dinner, he had his arm slung across me as I guided him to his room. I helped him into his bed and left a bottle of Tylenol and water at his bedside. I heard him mumble incoherently right before I could shut his door behind me.

  "What was that?" I asked as I drew closer to him.  

"Don't go into the woods again. You might find something you don't want to see."  

It was only a whisper, but I heard him clear as day.

My thoughts spiraled as I walked along the path to the oak tree. My dad had always gotten a little loose-lipped when he drank, but he had never said anything as cryptic as that before, and I couldn’t even begin to process what he meant by it. By the time I arrived at the tree, my stomach was in knots. The moonlight shone through the trees, providing the perfect glow to see my surroundings. At this time of night, the forest was calm, and the only noise that could be heard was the chirps of crickets. Looking up at the clear night sky, I mapped the constellations of the northern hemisphere, just like me and Charlie used to do whenever we had sleepovers. 

        "Remember when we would lay out all night and watch for shooting stars?"  said a voice I would recognize from anywhere.

 Charlie leaned against one of the pines with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face. Besides growing a few inches and hitting puberty, she looked as much as she did since I saw her last, everything from her unruly, curly black hair to her pale skin that seemed to illuminate in the moonlight. 

"Of course, back then, all night meant eight o'clock or until our moms told us to come inside," she said, a hint of teasing in her tone. 

Before I knew what I was doing, I sprinted towards her and almost knocked us over when I wrapped her in a tight hug. She grunted at the impact but soon reciprocated the embrace, squeezing me just as tight.  

"Charlie? Is it really you?" I whispered, not fully believing she was real. 

She chuckled, and god, her laugh brought back so many good memories. I couldn’t help but squeeze her tighter. 

"Yea, it's really me, Vi," she said as she pulled away from the embrace, but only far enough to take my face in her hands. They were warm, and I leaned into the touch.

Just as quickly as our embrace began, it ended, and the smile on Charlie's face fell.

"I'm sorry to cut our reunion short, but we must leave.”  

My eyebrows scrunched in confusion as she moved past me, disappearing behind the tree. When she re-emerged moments later, she was holding two black duffle bags.

"I parked my car along the main road. There's a path about two miles that will lead straight to it and bypass the house-"  

I grabbed her arm, cutting her off.  

"Wait, hold on. What is going on?"  

Charlie spared one glance at me before continuing to walk again. 

"I don't have time to explain. But I promise to tell you everything when we get you somewhere safe."  

"Safe? What do you mean?” I said, trying to process what was happening right now.

“Somewhere away from your father.” 

There was no uncertainty in her voice. And the look of pure determination on her face scared me.

“What for?” I asked, exasperation lacing with the shaking of my voice.

The air around us crackled with intensity. We stood face to face, neither one of us backing down. In one last-ditch effort for answers, I grabbed her hand and pleaded.

"Please, Charlie." 

Her blue eyes locked with mine as a stray tear fell from her cheek. Her resolve was breaking. She lowered her gaze to our conjoined hands before squeezing mine.

"Your mom is dead,” she whispered.

Her words were slow to register in my mind. But when they did, it felt like a punch to the gut. Time slowed, and the only sound I could hear was the rhythmic thumping of blood rushing through my ears. I could see Charlie's mouth moving but couldn't make out the words. Slowly, her voice grew louder as my initial shock began to wear off, and my hearing returned to normal just in time to catch the end of what Charlie was saying.  

"... she died ten years ago." 

I shook my head, trying to force the words out of my head. 

"That's not possible," I mumbled. "My mom left us. She's alive."  

There's no way my mom was dead. I would’ve known. My dad would’ve told me. She left; that’s all there was to it. Just because I hadn’t seen or heard from her in ten years didn’t mean she was dead. It wasn’t possible. 

     Soft hands cupping my checks pulled me back to reality, but I still couldn't wrap my head around what was happening. 

  "You're lying," I spat out as I tried to pull my face away, only to have Charlie's hands grip me tighter.  

"Listen to me," she pleaded; her voice was steady and too calm for the situation. "Your mom is dead. And your dad killed her."  

My body went numb as I felt my disconnect from my body like an outsider looking in. But before I could convince myself this was all a cruel nightmare, Charlie's strong arms wrapped around my body, bringing me back to reality again. Tears broke free as I crumbled in her embrace.

"How- how do you know," I sobbed, barely managing to get the words out.  

We stayed like that for what seemed like forever before she spoke again. And despite my sobs, I still heard her loud and clear when she whispered:

"Because I was there."