Perennials

by Julie Cantrell

  “Not good?” She rolls her chair closer, brows pinched, head tilted.

  “Oh, you know. Mother guilting me. Bitsy causing trouble. Chief pressuring me to fix it all. The usual.” I turn to my computer and don’t mention the painful three-year anniversary.

  “Look on the bright side. It’s Team Building Tuesday!” Brynn mocks The Dragon’s attempt to “boost morale.” Despite our resistance, we are both wearing burgundy, the closest we could get to wearing red—the color of the day. “Welcome back to kindergarten,” she snarks.

  The Dragon walks by moments later, trailed by her assistant. “Nice to see you sporting the team colors this morning, ladies.” Then with pursed lips she hands us a revised list of Office Rules and adds, “Sort of.”

  She’s barely out of earshot when Brynn hunches over my desk. “Go, team!” She tosses the rules into the recycle bin, unread. “Somebody needs to get a life.”

  I file mine for a later look and scan my calendar, trying to find a way to please my parents and still keep my job. “I’ve just put the final touches on the Jansana budget. Polished and ready for green light. I’m hoping to submit it to The Trio today, secure sign-off, and move right into production.”

  “Ahead of schedule, as usual.” She sips her latte.

  “Let me ask you something, Brynn. How would you feel about me tag teaming from Mississippi?”

  She spins toward me, ruffling her brows. “What are you saying, Eva? You want me to take the lead?”

  “You’re ready for it.” I smile, hoping to build her confidence.

  “Did someone die or something?” She tilts her chin with genuine concern. I laugh, and Brynn’s eyes widen. “Well, what is it? We’ve got a gazillion things to do for the shoot. I can’t babysit these clients on my own.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s just that my parents are pressuring me to spend the next few weeks back at home. Fiftieth anniversary and all.”

  “Geesh! Couldn’t be worse timing.” She waits in anxious expectation, prompting me to give in to reason.

  I click my pen and eye The Dragon. Then I sigh. “It’s hard to tell my parents no.”

  “Not your strong point?” Brynn teases, lifting her intonation to form a question the way Mother does. When she adds, “Right?” all I can do is laugh. Even Brynn knows the matriarch’s tricks.

  The Dragon prowls around the office, then closes her door a little too hard as she answers her phone with a scowl. Clearly, she’s in no mood for reasonable discussion. After days of indecision, I finally make up my mind. “Mother’s not going to like it, but this is Jansana we’re talking about.”

  Brynn shifts into robot voice. “Danger, Will Robinson!”

  “Trust me, I know. But if anyone back home really wants to see me, they can come to Arizona. They haven’t been here in years.”

  “Right?” Brynn says again, tickled by how effective Mother’s strategy really is.

  I am writing a polite e-mail, trying to let my folks down easy, when I receive a video call. “This is new.” I show my screen to Brynn, who looks as surprised as I am.

  “Your mom’s using FaceTime?”

  A jolt of nervous adrenaline shoots through me. “Maybe you are right about someone dying.” I’m only half teasing as I hurry to the conference room, concerned. When I connect the call, it isn’t Mother’s face that appears. Instead, I’m more than surprised to see a ghost from the past.

  “Fisher? Oh, gosh, what’s wrong?” My voice rises in both pitch and volume.

  “Everything’s fine, Lovey.” Mother’s voice echoes from the background.

  Beside her, Chief chuckles and tugs the phone his way. “Sound just like your mother.”

  Together, my parents stare goofy-eyed into the cell phone. “Isn’t this just wonderful?” Mother sings. “The kids keep telling me to get on the Snapchat too.”

  “What in the world is going on down there? You scared me.”

  She moves into full view. “All my friends use this FaceTime thing with their grandkids, but you know us. Your father still can’t figure out the microwave, and I can’t even change the channel with that ridiculous clicker. Way too many buttons. Looks like a cockpit!” My parents have always presented a humble wit. One of the many things I love about them.

  “Fisher here was kind enough to give us a hand.” Chief moves the screen again. The lens fits all three of them now, but all I see is Fisher’s smile.

  “I’m here with my crew.” Fisher tugs his rugged ball cap: Oaklen Landscape and Design.

  “Got some drainage issues down by the barn,” Chief says. “Fence work too.” I assume the real reason he’s hired Fisher is to help build the memory garden for Mother’s surprise, but why didn’t Chief tell me he’d be involved?

  “Nice of you to help, Fisher.” I am talking too soft, too sweet. Am I flirting?

  “It was nothing. Besides, it’s a win-win.” He leans in from behind my folks. “Now, if the landscape business goes bust, I can add technology coach to my résumé.” He smiles, and man, it still gets me. His look hasn’t changed much over the years. With a bit of stubble and a small scar across his right cheek, he’s still a charmer, a down-home contrast to Reed’s highbrow arrogance. Once again, I find myself wondering how life might have been if I had made different choices.

  “Good time to talk?” Chief asks, ever the considerate one.

  “Sure.” The conference room is walled behind glass, so The Dragon paces within view. Normally, I’d keep close watch, but I can’t take my eyes off Fisher. He’s already stepping away from the phone, a thoughtful attempt to grant us a private conversation, so I speak quickly, trying to stall him. “How’ve you been, Fisher?” I really can’t believe they pulled him in on this call. I wish they had given me a heads-up. I would have checked my look in the mirror. “What’s it been . . . five, six years since I bumped into you at The Grove?”

  He comes close again, smiling. “Almost seven, I think. We beat LSU 25–23. Can’t forget a night like that.”

  “November 21, 2009.” Chief is grinning. There’s no better way to get him fired up than to discuss the bitter Ole Miss rivalry. Mother may mark the seasons by bloom time, but Chief divides the year according to baseball, football, and basketball seasons. “Good thing Les Miles can’t read a clock,” he adds, and the men share a laugh about the infamous blunder that cost the Tigers the game.

  With Fisher’s stint as pitcher for the Rebs, he’s the son-in-law Chief always wanted. If only I hadn’t flown like an elf owl right into my thorny shell, accepting the first scholarship I could find to anywhere other than Ole Miss. Little did I know Arizona would still be my home long after I earned that college degree, nor that Fisher and I would go nearly seven years between conversations. I never could have imagined that.

  Draped in heirloom pearls, Mother appears ready for a sorority luncheon or a Garden Club tea, but after fifty years with Chief, she holds her own in the football chat, remembering key players by first name . . . Dexter, Shay. It takes generations to work up that kind of polish, along with the Southern social graces she and Bitsy have perfected. When the ice shifts in her glass of sweet tea, she shifts her attention back to me. “So the real reason we asked Fisher to set this up for us is because we have a surprise for you, Lovey. Wanted to see your reaction when we give it to you.”

  “For your birthday,” Chief explains. “Few days late is all.” He wears a faded T-shirt, not so different from Fisher’s. Both the kind of men who prefer a hard day’s work to a round of golf.

  “Fisher, you want to tell her the good news?” Mother lays on the charm.

  “Happy to.” Dark-brown sideburns frame Fisher’s ball cap, and the sun has graced his skin with a tempting tan. If anything, he’s more handsome now than ever. “Your parents booked you a flight. Looks like you’re coming home. Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” My chest tightens, but Mother is cheering and Chief looks pleased to have pulled off yet another surprise.

  I eye The Dragon. “
Guys, that’s a kind offer, truly, I thank you, but I can’t just hop a plane tomorrow.”

  “Sure you can. People do it all the time.” Mother’s tone lifts. She’s clearly delighted.

  “It’ll cost a fortune,” I argue.

  “We already took care of that,” Chief says, as if there’s no room for debate. My eye begins to twitch. Their secret weapon has always been guilt.

  “You’ve got plenty of vacation time saved up, right?”

  “Yes, Mother, but I can’t just—”

  “Come on, Lovey.” The shift in her voice troubles me. “I need you here. For moral support. There’s no telling what your father has up his sleeve.”

  “She’s got that right,” Chief teases. Last year, he secured prime seats for Mother’s favorite Broadway musical, flying her to New York with backstage passes for The King and I. For their fortieth, he held an invitation-only dinner at City Grocery and somehow convinced Dolly Parton to attend—the real deal, wig and all. Mother framed a photo of her with the country icon, keeps it in the kitchen and says she’s inspired to see “a woman who is fully alive.”

  In complete contrast to the singer’s jovial spirit, The Dragon gives me a glare from across the work space. I stiffen and pretend to be negotiating a steel-toed business strategy, pushing aside a modern-day 9 to 5 fantasy in which Brynn and I hold The Dragon prisoner until she grows a soul. “All I can promise is I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s all we ever ask of you, Lovey.” There’s a pinch in Chief’s pitch as he rounds the syllables, almost as if he’s trying not to cry. I’ve seen my father in tears a few times before. When we buried our dog Huck beneath the elm. Again, when Mother dislocated her knee on the tennis court, buckling in pain as Chief rushed to her aid. I’ve been told he lost it on my first day of kindergarten and again when I drove away for college. And, of course, when my grandparents passed away. He’s not a man who fights emotions, but if he’s crying, he’s got a reason.

  “Chief? You okay?”

  He nods but hesitates before saying, “Yep.”

  My parents have never once sent me a plane ticket. Never insisted I hurry home. “What is it?”

  “Eva.” My real name again. Second time in days. My spine shoots a warning. Chief and Mother offer each other a knowing gaze. Finally, my father turns back to the screen. “I don’t know what more I can say. Just come home. Don’t waste another day.”

  Whether Chief explains it or not, his message is clear: I need to go home. And after this emotional exchange, the choice is easy. It no longer matters that I have the biggest advertising deal of my career on the line or that The Dragon has laid off 20 percent of our workforce with a thirst for more. Even my retirement goals seem insignificant in comparison to my family’s needs. If my father wants me home, I cannot let him down. Family First. Simple as that.

  In the center office The Dragon lurks beneath the mural of little orange circles. The shapes are stamped like gaping mouths, as if fish are trapped behind the canvas fighting for air. I move toward the painting, trying to breathe. Without looking my way, The Dragon gestures for me to enter.

  “Update me on Jansana.” She moves three lipstick-stained mugs to the side of her desk, making room for a fourth. Her sidekick places it there to cool before scurrying out of earshot. He doesn’t bother to close the door behind him.

  “I’m on it, but—”

  “Good.” She turns toward me now, but I don’t fidget or sway. Instead, I plant my feet and hold eye contact, removing all emotion.

  “There’s a situation. Back home.”

  “Home?” She’s stumped. Unlike our old CCO, The Dragon has not bothered getting to know any of us. She stands cold in her tailored suit, as if she doesn’t really care if I answer or not.

  “Mississippi.”

  The pause is long. Then she takes her jab. “I should have known.” She sighs before throwing another punch. “Let me guess. Pickup trucks. Shotguns. I bet your family still believes the South will rise again. And you ditched them all for the first ticket out of town.”

  Insults spray like buckshot, but I ignore her scoffs. There’s no point in telling her the truth—that my hometown is a literary mecca filled with poet laureates and Pulitzer winners, a university community more diverse and well-read than any she’s probably visited, much less called home. She looks toward the hall as if hoping for an audience.

  “I’ll be gone a few weeks. I have the time saved.”

  This snaps her back. “A few weeks? But you have to manage this campaign.”

  I glance at Brynn, who now looks pale against the sun-washed work spaces. She shakes her head, as if she knows what I’m saying in here.

  “Brynn can handle it at this point. Plus I’ll work remotely and manage any issues from the road.” I start walking before I change my mind. It’s quite possible I’ve slit my own throat. “I’m sorry, but I’ve really got to get home.”

  “When?” The Dragon shouts behind me as I head toward my desk.

  “Now.”

  From their cubicles, more than a dozen coworkers watch the exchange. My imagination runs wild again as I picture a room of caged animals, their spirits broken. I grab my leather tote, then stuff it with my planner and laptop as Brynn watches openmouthed like the abstract fish that hang on The Dragon’s wall. “Don’t worry. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  “Not if she fires you!”

  “Even then. You got this!” I snag the pack of cosmos seeds she gave me, move the vase of Mexican elder blooms to Brynn’s desk, and head for the exit. If I don’t leave now, I never will.

  SIX

  On board the plane, I am relieved to find a seat without neighbors. But the privacy doesn’t last long. A woman in the adjacent row leans over, launching a conversation. “Can’t remember the last time I saw a flight that wasn’t overbooked.” She opens a bag of trail mix. “Where you headed?”

  I eye the cabin, unsure she’s talking to me, but I’m the only one in her range. “Memphis.”

  “Well, I know you’re flying to Memphis, dear. But where to from there? I’m going down to Mississippi. You?”

  I slide my window covering up. “Same.”

  The woman takes a bite of her snack before saying, “Apparently, no one in their right mind flies from Arizona to Dixie.” Her laugh is loud, and the other travelers turn our way, the whole half dozen of them. She does have a point, and I’m betting the few who are making this trip certainly wouldn’t have put their jobs on the line to do so. Maybe I really am losing it.

  If it wasn’t for the fiftieth anniversary, I’m not sure I’d ever go home. As much as I miss north Mississippi’s tree-covered hills, my stomach tenses at the thought of seeing Bitsy, so I do a mental power stance and give myself a boost of courage. What’s the worst that could happen? One, she won’t bother to show up at the airport with our folks. Two, she will show up but she’ll launch an attack before we even hit the interstate. Either way, I won’t let her hurt me. Not anymore.

  As the flight attendant gives her emergency spiel, I lean against the window and slide through time again, returning to Sedona, where Marian and I spent this past weekend exploring more than trails.

  May 14, 2016

  It’s nearly noon by the time Marian and I start our descent, following the stone cairns down to a Native American– style medicine wheel. From the sky, it may look like a hoop of rocks with four stony spokes intersecting to form a smaller center ring. A lasting marker representing the two oldest symbols: a circle and a cross.

  “I’ve hiked this trail for years,” I confess. “But I’ve never walked the wheel.”

  “It can be a good tool,” Marian says. “I have one in my yard.” She wipes her brow, slowing her step. “My husband helped me build it.” She looks to the sun as if he’s watching over us. “Alton. He was a good man.”

  “So they do exist?”

  “They do.” She smiles sheepishly, her short white hair offering a stark frame around her tanned face
as she comes to a stop at the wheel. “Maybe the stars aligned for Alton and me, but I never once regretted my choice to marry that man. He gave me no reason.”

  I try to think of happily married couples. Chief and Mother. Maybe one or two more. The rest have divorced, either on paper or in heart. “My parents made marriage look easy. If I could find me a man like my father, I might change my mind about the whole marrying thing.”

  “You never married?” Marian’s pitch rises. In Mississippi, anyone who spent even one morning with me would know my entire history, but here there are boundaries. After almost a year of sharing Seniors at Sunrise, Marian still knows little more about me than the way I look in the downward dog position. Which, now that I think about it, is quite a lot.

  “I kind of have a tendency to fall for the wrong men.” I try not to sound defeated. “The last one’s name was Reed. Wasted some good years on that one.”

  Marian’s gaze deepens, and I adjust with the uneasy feeling she’s peering into me. She sees. “How long have you been without him? This Reed guy?”

  “Few years, more or less.” I don’t tell her it will be three years exactly this Tuesday.

  “That right?”

  I shift uncomfortably.

  “Seems to me you’re stuck, Eva. Have been for a few years, more or less.” She smiles, as if she knows I’m still marking the anniversary on my calendar, dreading the day’s arrival.

  “Nah. I’m long over Reed.” A nervous laugh spills through. “I’m just not ready to give it another go is all.”

  “Ready or not, it’s the only way.”

  I picture my planner, the red line crossed through Goal #3: Fiancé. I shake my head, standing firm on the matter. “Can’t set myself up for that. I won’t. Never again.”

  Marian takes my hands in hers, holding my stare with a pensive sincerity. “You can’t give him that power, Eva. He’s already taken enough.”

  “Oh, if you only knew!” The sounds slide hard between my teeth.

  “Then you have to reclaim your life. Don’t let him steal one more day.” She pulls a small spray bottle from her day pack and moves into the center circle of stones. “Maybe it’s time you give the wheel a try.”