by Barbara Lohr
Scrambling around to the back, he let down the hatch with a rusty squeal. “Sorry I’m late. My Mrs. fell. She just called me.” Poor guy. He ran a hand over his balding head.
“That’s terrible. Let’s get these off the truck right quick.” His poor wife Melba had so many health problems. A fall was not what she needed. While Jolly murmured apologies, Bryn helped haul the flats off the truck. They left the plastic trays and pots strewn over the cobblestone walk. Jolly had also brought her tall buckets of cut lilies he’d gathered on his property. The beautiful stalks grew like crazy in shades of pink, yellow and white––perfect for bouquets. After she’d shut the door to the cooler, Bryn shooed him on his way. “You get home. Give my best to Melba.”
While she stood there watching his truck bounce down Rookery Road, one of those big jeeps pulled up. She almost expected Arnold Schwarzenegger to step out. Pushing back her fluffy red hair, she craned her neck to see who was inside. This definitely wasn’t a regular.
Getting out with a decisive slam of the door, a tall man came around the jeep.
“Trevor?” Her heart kicked up a beat.
He was staring at the mess of flowers. “How are people going to get by?”
That was so Trevor. Not “what beautiful flowers.” Not “don't these smell great.” He’d been a cause and effect boy. Apparently, that hadn’t changed. What was he doing here on a Monday morning? “Why aren’t you in your classroom? Or your lab?”
Looking sheepish, he said, “My classes don't start ‘til noon. I wanted to talk to you.”
She shifted the bucket in her arms, welcoming its cool, metal surface. “I don't have time right now, Trevor. I've got to get my shop ready to open.” That was stupid. Obviously the door was open and she had until noon.
Mercy, she had to keep her wits about her. Pivoting, she dashed into her flower shop and set the bucket in the cooler. Coming back, she began to arrange her stock. “As much as I’d like to talk, I need to get this organized.” Trevor Daniels left her wordless.
Stepping back, she peered up at him. “You came a long way just to talk. Isn’t Asheboro about thirty minutes away?”
Trevor looked so cute when he blushed. All his professor-type composure melted as he shifted in his polished brogans. “Seems I, ah, left my notes at the school auditorium. Thought I’d stop by.”
“But you’ve always been so organized.”
His blush deepened. “I know. Go figure.”
Licking her lips, Bryn wished she’d put on lipstick that morning. Mascara wouldn’t have been a bad idea either. “How did you find my shop?”
He looked at her with the penetrating gaze of a scientist. “I looked it up.” Now it was her turn to blush. Trevor’s glance fell to the golden marigolds, studying them as if he were the judge at the county fair. “I came to apologize.”
“About what?” Had she heard him right?
Looking uncomfortable, he bit the corner of his lips. “About last night. I’m afraid I didn’t do a very good job of answering your question. I didn’t mean to scare you off.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. You didn’t run me off. I had to leave.” A total lie but he looked so miserable.
Heaving a sigh that sounded like relief, he glanced around. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Maybe. Do you know pink pentas from marigolds?”
Ruffling that thick thatch of hair, he looked totally lost and she almost giggled. Trevor knew all about stuff like crustaceans and phytoplankton, but her simple flowers? Uncharted territory.
But she wasn’t turning down the help.
“Just keep the colors together. How about that?”
“That I can handle.” He pushed up his sleeves, looking equal to the challenge.
Wondering how those muscles would feel under her palms, she clenched and unclenched her hands. “Easy, peasy. Yellow at the top.” She pointed to the marigolds. When he slotted them in, she arranged the pentas in the next row. “Then pink. Black-eyed Susans right below.”
She stood back. “Do you like that? Yellow, pink, yellow?” Glancing up, she caught his distant smile. “What?”
His head jerked. “Oh, nothing. The yellow flowers remind me of those dandelions in your hair.”
Self-conscious, she fingered her rambunctious hair. “Kids gave you a hard time the day of the school picnic when you braided that crown of dandelions for me.”
“The boys were mean, threatening to use their daddy’s weed killer on you. They liked you, Bryn. You never got that.”
Her smile slipped a little. “Were you the one who put frogs in their lunch boxes?”
Trevor’s crooked smile gave her an answer.
“You looked pretty with those dandelions.” Her scalp crackled under his gaze.
“So how do they look?” She tried to bring his attention back to the flowers.
Trevor stood back, hands on hips. “Very orderly. I like the color coordination.”
Bryn had to giggle. “Trevor, these are flowers, not a shirt and tie.” But she was sorry the minute the words were out. He’d always been sensitive. “Come on, let’s fill the other one too. Then we can just stack the remaining flats on the side.”
Only took a few minutes to arrange the blue salvia on the top, along with red. Some blue bachelor buttons on the bottom and then the plumbago pots on the sidewalk. “Got time for some coffee?”
“Sure.” No hesitation there, and he followed her inside. As he passed through the store, Trevor glanced around. Bryn was glad she’d cleaned the glass refrigerator cases Friday. She could see that he was taking it all in. “Smells great in here.”
The smell of coffee filled her work room, and she was glad she’d made a full pot.
While Trevor looked around, Bryn poured them each a cup and pulled creamer from her old refrigerator. As she plunked the carton of creamer on the table, she wondered why she felt so nervous. She didn’t recall ever feeling like this with Malcolm.
“Everything okay?” Trevor asked.
“Fine. Perfect.” After handing Trevor a mug, she walked over to the bucket. “I have to check my newborn.”
“Newborn?” His eyes scanned the room. “I don't see a baby in here. Thought you didn’t have any kids.”
“I didn’t mean a baby, although it is in a way. Let me show you.”
She crooked a finger as she gazed over the rim of the bucket. Her heart squeezed just looking at the delicate little thing. The newborn scuttled around the edges of the bottom, traveling over and under the grass, curious as all get out. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
Coming up behind her, Trevor whisked a pair of glasses from his pocket and put them on. His coffee sat forgotten on the counter. “Where did you get it? I thought selling turtles became illegal a long time ago.”
“Oh my, no. These babies come from my backyard. Mama turtles don't give a hoot about their children after they lay those eggs. They just scoot right back into that marsh and disappear until it's time to lay the next bunch.”
Trevor was laughing, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. “You know an awful lot about turtles. That's exactly what they do.”
By this time she was laughing too. “Sometimes I’m home to watch them lay the eggs. It’s fascinating.”
“So you’re a turtle midwife?” His eyes twinkled playfully. They’d always had their secret jokes. This sure felt like one of those moments.
“Kind of. One of my neighbors keeps an eye on the sandy places in our backyards. You might say we have our own nursery.” Her enthusiasm had carried her away again.
Looking up, Bryn found him staring at her, as if she were a specimen under his microscope. Time to concentrate on the turtle, not Trevor’s warm brown eyes. “Isn’t he beautiful? From what I’ve read online, every baby turtle had its own unique design on that shell.”
“Carapace.” When Trevor leaned closer, he smelled like soap and sunshine.
“Care a piece?” Would she ever understand him?
“Um, s
hell. The shell is called a carapace.”
“Right. Okay.” She had read that somewhere. Lifting the turtle up gently, she turned it over. “You know what that bit of yellow is on his belly, right?”
“Of course. As they develop, they feed on their own egg. Very efficient.” When Trevor held out a finger, the baby turtle nipped at it. “He’s got a sharp little beak.”
“That's how he gets out of his shell. I'm told that end piece falls off eventually.” Turning the beautiful turtle back over onto his tummy, she smiled as the tiny webbed feet tickled her hand. Being oh, so gentle, she carefully put him back in the pail.
When she looked up, Trevor had pulled back and was studying her. He’d tucked his glasses back into a pocket. Dropping her eyes, she sipped her coffee. But she didn't need any caffeine. Every nerve in her body was alive and crackling.
“Could I ask,” he began, “do you keep these in your house?”
She waved the comment away. “Oh, heavens no. On my deck.”
That frown relaxed but she caught him staring at her hands.
“What?” She opened one palm, gripping her mug with the other hand.
“Um, aren’t you going to wash your hands? You know, after touching a turtle?”
“Yes, of course.” Feeling like a small child caught by her mother, she set her mug down and walked to the sink.
While she was sudsing up and rinsing off, his eyes had shifted to the turtle. “You know he belongs in the marsh, right?”
There was that professor tone again. Irritation prickled along her hairline as she dried her hands. “No, I was going to make turtle soup of out of a bunch of them.”
Eyebrows raised, Trevor pulled away. “You always did get mad fast.”
“Maybe I did. Maybe I still do.” What was she saying? Tucking the towel into the rack, she picked up her coffee. “I release them when I have five or so. This little guy’s early.”
“Why wait?” Trevor stayed on point. Must be the scientist in him.
She swallowed hard. “Because if I let one little guy into the marsh, he may not make it.” Her voice was a whisper and she swiped at her eyes. “An owl might swoop down or a raccoon could skitter out to snap them up. You never know with nature. But if you release a few at a time, why...”
“They have better chance. It’s all about survival rates.” The look on Trevor’s face was pure compassion. When they locked eyes, she felt this subtle transfer. This was how it had been in science class when Mr. Daly explained osmosis in eighth grade. While their biology teacher took them through a chart, Trevor had looked over at her and grinned. They both got it.
“You should have become a botanist,” Trevor said while she buried her nose in the mug. “Or a marine biologist like me. You’re a natural.”
Swallowing, she shook her head. “You know how it was. My folks didn’t have the money, Trevor. My family wasn’t like yours.”
In Asheboro his house had sat on a hill, set apart by a wrought iron fence with a gate and a keypad.
“There are scholarships, Bryn. You would have qualified.”
She waved that ridiculous suggestion away. What did her parents know about applying for a scholarship? Daddy felt terrible enough that he couldn’t afford college. Besides, there had been other hurdles. “By then Mama’s diabetes was out of control. She had to give up her shift at the factory. My dad took on overtime to make up the difference. They both worked so hard. Years passed. And then...”
“The accident,” he said softly, as if the words might hurt her. They always did. “I read about it online and heard it on the news. You’re the only Peachums in the area so I knew. I’m so sorry.”
The coffee had turned tasteless and she dumped the rest into the sink. They said time healed but when exactly?
The bell rang over the front door. Bryn bustled out front, relieved to leave that conversation behind. Trevor trailed out behind her. Emily’s mother stood in the doorway, two containers of cosmos in her hands. “Oh, Bryn, honey. I simply must have these. They grow so tall and pretty.” When she finally looked up, her eyes widened with surprise when they found Trevor.
Stepping out from behind the counter, Bryn said, “This is my friend from grade school, Mrs. Sommers. Trevor Daniels.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Trevor nodded.
“You do look familiar.” Emily’s mother pressed a finger to her lips.
“The open house,” Bryn supplied. “Victoria’s Pantry.”
“Of course. Good to see you again.” She tore her eyes away and found the spinning display of seeds. “I should look these over. Is it too late to plant seeds?”
“No, cosmos and zinnias should be fine. Give them plenty of sun.” What a relief to be talking about flowers, instead of her parents.
Leaving his mug on the counter, Trevor ambled toward the door. “I should get going. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Sommers. Bryn. See you later.”
Later? What did that mean? She still wasn’t sure why Trevor had driven all this way. Drifting outside after him, Bryn didn’t expect to see Trevor again.
He jiggled his keys in his hand. “Takes me half an hour to get to Asheboro.”
“I know.” So...why, she wanted to ask. Standing between the racks of flowers with Trevor looked awkward and wonderful at the same time.
“So I guess my apology is accepted?” His eyebrows peaked.
“Trust me, there’s nothing to apologize about.” He’d always been like this. “Just pretend we’re trying to figure out osmosis again together and we’ll be fine.”
With a dry chuckle, he dipped his head. When he brought his eyes up, Trevor made her knees weak with that shy smile. “Since we’re talking about science again, I’d love to see your turtles.”
“What? Well, you just did.” And she waved back into the shop. “In my bucket.”
When he tilted his head to one side, a lock of hair fell over his forehead. She wanted to brush it back but Trevor beat her to it. “I thought you said you had more.”
“Not right now.” Clearly he didn’t understand this process. “Right now most of them are still eggs. They’ll all be hatching soon.”
“And then you release them into the marsh.” He said that with such reverence.
“Yep, I take them to the edge and they walk right in. Instinct, I guess. Their natural habitat.” Trying to sound scientific, she pulled those words out of the air. But words couldn’t cover how her heart twisted as she watched the tiny things march off through the grass, unaware of what awaited. Life could be tough.
“I’d like to see your whole process.” He was backing up to his jeep.
What was this? “Sure. Any time.”
“How about Saturday?”
Her mind leapt ahead. “Not possible. My shop is open on Saturdays.” And she had plans for Saturday night.
“Oh, right, well.” A wrinkle furrowed his brow.
“On Mondays I don’t open until noon. Stop by around ten or so?”
“I’ll be there.”
Bryn didn’t give him her address. After all, this was a guy who knew how to do his research. As she watched him drive away, she asked herself why she hadn’t mentioned Malcolm.
Chapter 3
“Trevor stopped by Monday morning,” Bryn told Emily and Josie as they walked to the marina the following day. The weather continued to be muggy. Bryn felt like she was walking through water.
“Did you know he was coming?” Josie turned her eagle eyes on Bryn.
“Nope. Complete surprise.” Bryn kept her eyes on the cobblestones, considering her words carefully. Saying anything about Trevor was tricky because Josie worked with Malcolm. “Jolly Jenkins had just dropped off new stock when a jeep pulled up right behind him. I thought it was a new customer but the shop wasn’t open yet. Jolly had to take off because his wife was sick. There I was, arranging my flowers when Trevor pulled up.”
Okay, she was babbling.
Josie and Emily exchanged a glance. “I'd say this was a conv
enient surprise visit.” Emily grinned.
“You bet. He helped me arrange my flowers. Pretty unusual for a guy, I’d say.” If Bryn kept motor mouthing like this, she might faint. “Will you just look at that water today?”
The smell of the marina floated up to meet them with all its wonderfulness. Instead of the usual blue-green water folding into frothy waves, the water heaved and murmured quietly in a silver-gray mass. Boats weren’t scudding out to meet the new day on a brisk breeze. In fact, most of them were hunkered down in the water. A single fishing boat chugged out, the lonesome sound drifting across the bay.
But Josie and Emily weren’t studying the bay. Bryn could feel them exchanging looks over her head.
“Back to Trevor. Did he say why he'd come?” Josie drilled down for answers.
“To apologize.” Catching her walking shoe on an upended cobblestone, Bryn stumbled. Josie caught her. “He’d been a little short with me after that meeting. I was asking questions and didn't know what I was talking about, as usual.”
Emily whipped around to face her. “Hey, don't cut yourself down like that.”
How could she explain this? “Easy for you to say, Emily. You and Josie have both been to college. I haven’t. Everybody else in that audience was smarter than me. They knew what he was talking about.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Josie just about exploded. “You’re just as smart as anyone on the planet when it comes to that marsh. You live and breathe it.”
Josie was right. She loved that marsh with all her heart and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Bryn swallowed hard. She’d had this argument with Josie before. But as for the schooling? Her friend just didn’t get it. “That’s real sweet, Josie. But I asked a stupid question that night. Everybody there knew it.” The embarrassment crept back on her, like last night’s gumbo when she’d eaten too much.
