Winter in Full Bloom

by Anita Higman

  “But it didn’t matter,” Marcus spat out his words. “I should have listened to my gut. I was tired. Too tired to be driving. I fell asleep, and the car drifted off the road. Ellie screamed, and I woke up, but it was too late. The car hit a light pole. I was only cut and bruised, but my sister died there in the car with me by her side… while we waited for the ambulance. It was as swift and horrific as that. And I cannot go home. I can’t blame them for the way they feel. I think God has forgiven me, but my parents, well…”

  I reached out to him, touching the edge of his sleeve. I gave it a little tug to get him to look at me. “I’m sure they knew you wouldn’t have wanted to hurt your little sister for anything in the world. Didn’t they feel differently about you after they had some time to think and pray and grieve?”

  “I’d like to say they did. But my father would ignite into quite a fury every time he talked to me, and my mother lived inside this dark haze I couldn’t really understand. I’d never seen either one of them like this, but then nothing so horrible had ever happened to our family. At one point, my father told me that keeping some distance for a while might help the healing.”

  Marcus took a deep drink from his water glass. “I had this friend who’d moved here some years ago and loved it. I thought, why not? I figured I could go for a visit and see how I liked it. I fell into step right away. I’ve been here not quite a year. Of course, I brought all the sadness with me surrounding my sister, but I figured at least my parents might recover now. There’s been some consolation in that.”

  His story moved me as much as it grieved me. An attachment toward Marcus, like the first tiny roots clinging to the soil, took hold in my heart. “Do they know where you are? You know, in case they’re worried? Even if they’re angry with you, you’re still their son.”

  “The day I flew out I told them. They have my address and phone. But there’s been no communication from them, so I’ve let it go. I assume when I hear from them someday, if I ever do, it’ll be time. But you see, Ellie was always their favorite, and I understood that. Everybody adored her, including me. She was funny and sweet and full of life. I was always a few steps behind her in every way even though I was twenty years older.” Marcus took a bite of his lamb.

  “What do you mean, a few steps behind her?”

  “Well, I’ve never fit in with my family the way Ellie did. Some kids seem like they belong to their parents, and then there are kids like me. A little offbeat. Sometimes I can relate to children better than adults. When I was a teenager I thought I’d been adopted, but I wasn’t. I’m just different.”

  How very true. But now instead of agreeing with Marcus about his peculiarities I wanted to defend him. “I’m sorry your family did that to you. Surely, though, in the end, they wouldn’t want to lose both their children.”

  “It’s what I hope for, pray for.” He daubed at his mouth with his napkin. “But I will say this … you don’t really know people until there’s a tragedy. Even family. Suffering has this way of stripping us all bare of any pretenses. There can be no more pretending.”

  I thought of my mother. If Camille really had been taken from Mother against her will—although I couldn’t imagine how—it would have been a terrible heartbreak. I know if anyone had taken Julie from me it would have been unbearable. Maybe Mother’s grief had turned into bitterness over the years, which would explain her attitude. “You’re right, calamity works like fire, bringing impurities to the surface, but sometimes all that’s left are the impurities.”

  “The voice of experience?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Maybe God really had brought this man along to help me. Marcus of all people could understand my strange family drama.

  We ate quietly for a few moments as the sounds of the evening surrounded us. Finally I said, “Thank you for sharing that piece of yourself. I’m sure it was hard for you to tell me.”

  “Surprisingly, it wasn’t that difficult.” Marcus smiled, revealing some of the buoyancy from when I’d first met him. “I trust you, even though we’ve just met. Why is that, Lily?”

  “Honestly, I have no idea.”

  “I’m sorry if my story put a damper on the evening.”

  “Nonsense,” I said. “It was just an honest moment between two new friends.”

  Marcus smiled. “Maybe we should hurry a little. I wouldn’t want you to miss your sister after coming so far.” He sliced off another bite of lamb.

  “Thanks.” I gave him my best smile. “Really, Marcus. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  When we were finished, Marcus paid for the food and escorted me out of the bistro. The performers had just started to show up along the promenade—magicians, musicians, and comedians all delighting the crowds.

  “I didn’t expect to see so many people. So many performers.”

  “It’s the balmy weather,” he said. “Brings them out like turtles on a sunny rock.”

  I laughed. “Balmy?” Was that another twinkle in his eyes? I tucked my sweater around me.

  Marcus took off his jacket and put it around my shoulders. “You need this more than I do. I’m used to the weather, you’re not. I don’t want you to get ill your first night here.”

  “Thanks.” I snuggled into the warmth of his jacket and vowed to be more prepared the next day for the wildly fluctuating temperatures of Australia. I could barely comprehend that I, Lily Winter, was in such an exotic locale. I’d never done anything outlandish in my life. Maybe I’d stayed up late for a Johnny Depp movie marathon or splurged on a little black dress that was searching for the perfect evening, or ate my way through a bowl of chocolate cake batter when I was feeling particularly lonesome, but those were indulgences, not colorful life events. I knew mostly ordinary days in a life that appeared not too far from trifling.

  Marcus steered me away from a group of musicians playing chamber music and then after a short walking distance he stopped. “This is it. This is the spot where I’ve seen her play. Right here. The woman who looks just like Lily.” He smiled at me.

  I scanned the area, searching and praying. Lord, please let it be. But we waited and nothing happened. No woman suddenly appeared to play her flute. So, we waited some more. The woman, whom I’d willed to come, did not, and my optimism drifted away like one of the gondolas floating on the river. My disappointment weighted my whole being like a terrible yoke.

  When Marcus saw my forlorn expression he whispered, “Sorry, Love.”

  Not too far from our spot the chamber orchestra began packing up their instruments. “Just a moment. I want to ask one of the musicians about Camille.”

  “Good idea,” Marcus said.

  I hurried toward the cellist, a young woman who appeared friendly enough. I dropped twenty dollars in a colorful basket, which sat in front of the group, and then said to her, “Excuse me. I’m looking for someone.”

  “Yes?” She set her bow into the case.

  “Have you seen a woman play a flute here in the evenings? She stands just over there.” I pointed toward her right, closer to the river.

  The woman’s smile morphed into a puzzled frown. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “No, not at all. What do you mean?”

  “But you look like her. Just like her.” The woman gave me a good long look, taking me in from different angles. “Except, I guess your hair is longer.”

  “Really?” My heart sped up. “This woman … she’s my identical twin sister. At least I think she is. Her name is Camille. Do you know her?”

  “Never met her. But she does play here sometimes. She was here a couple of nights ago. But I think I heard her coughing. Maybe she’s ill.” The woman snapped her instrument case shut and looked like she was ready to move on.

  Why was everyone always in such a hurry? Perhaps I’d become a still-life painting. I talked faster. “So, you don’t know if her name is Camille or when she might come back? Any details about her at all?”

  “No, I’m sorry. But she does
play beautifully. I’m envious of her, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’re American, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes. I’ve come a long way to find her. All the way from Houston.”

  “I love Texas … cowboys.” The young woman’s face lit up.

  “We have a few cowboys there.” The taxi driver had mentioned John Wayne. Guess Australians had seen too many old westerns.

  “Here we call cowboys and cowgirls jackaroos and jillaroos.”

  “That’s cute.”

  “Well, if you want to find your sister,” the young woman went on to say, “I’d come back every evening. You’re bound to catch her eventually. Good luck.”

  “Thanks for your help.”

  “Sure.” The woman turned back toward her group.

  When I glanced around, Marcus stood nearby. I told him, “I’m ready to go. I guess you heard all that.”

  “I did. So, are you encouraged?”

  “Yes, and I’m going to be right here tomorrow evening.”

  “I’ll come with you. That is, if you want me to.” Marcus’s expression was a question mark dotted with hope.

  “I do, but are you sure? All this endless standing and waiting can’t be that fun for you.”

  “Trust me, there’s no hardship in being with you.” He gestured toward his jacket, which I was still wearing. “I almost forgot,” he said. “Look in the left pocket of my jacket.”

  When I did, I pulled out my charm bracelet and gasped. “How did … ? Where? Oh no. I rolled it off my hand and forgot it.”

  “I happened to see it as we were leaving the restaurant.”

  I held the bracelet to my heart. “Oh, if I had lost this I would have been sooo disappointed. My daughter, Julie, gave this to me. The charms represent our lives … our loves.” I lifted it to show him the tiny charms and explained the significance of each. “I suppose someday I’ll add a silver flute to my bracelet. At least I hope to.”

  “It’s going to be fine. You’re going to find Camille. God didn’t bring you this far for nothing.”

  I rolled the bangle onto my wrist. We strolled back toward my hotel, and I tried not to think about how ill Camille might be. How many evenings would I have to show up to finally meet her? And what if I used all of my evenings waiting for her and then found out it wasn’t Camille after all? The word devastating came to mind, but I remembered the two mustard seeds under the glass dome in Mother’s study. “Marcus?”

  “Hmm?” He seemed to have wandered off somewhere. Maybe he was thinking about his parents again. Poor man.

  “I was curious about something when you talked about you and your sister. Do you mind if I ask you a question? Please tell me if I’m being nosy.”

  “Ask me anything.” Like a gentleman he held my elbow as we crossed the street.

  “When you said you were tired that night of the accident, I just wondered if you suffered with insomnia … like I do.”

  “Yes.”

  I stopped on the sidewalk and touched his arm. “What keeps you awake? I know you must think about the accident, but you said you were tired before that. I just wondered about it.”

  Marcus stared at me blankly for a moment as if he were looking through me into a place where I couldn’t go—where he was truly alone. “All right.” He offered me a surrendering nod. “Instead of walking outside here in the cold wind, let’s go back to your pub through Southgate. It’s a complex of shops that’s more enclosed. I can show you something that will help you to understand.”

  “Yes, please.” For some reason I really did want to know more, to understand. My curiosity surrounding the man, as well as my empathy, was growing by the hour. “Pub?” I suddenly thought to ask.

  He smiled. “People use the word pub here for hotel.”

  “Oh.” When we’d walked past a few businesses—a jewelry store, a café, and various clothing shops—we came across a quaint bookstore.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  “Okay.”

  He escorted me inside and led me to the children’s section. I noticed a few of Julie’s favorite books spread out face forward on a big oak display. Books I’d read to her so many times that we’d loved all the pretty off like the velveteen rabbit. I ran my finger along the brightly colored books and let the wonderful memories trickle down like a soft rain. “When Julie was five she called all her picture books ‘story lovies.’”

  “That sounds adorable.” Marcus picked up one of the hardbound picture books and handed it to me.

  I looked at the title. When Monsters Come Out to Play. Mmm. “My daughter and I both loved this book.” I gave him a sheepish grin. “I still do. What a whimsical concept, that monsters get lonely, and they’re just looking for someone to play with … someone to be their friend.” I opened the book to the first page. “And the man’s use of watercolor is so distinctive and lovely. I’ve never seen anything else like it.” I looked at the author-illustrator’s name with affection—Miles Hooper. “Little does Mr. Hooper know … well, this was my miracle book when Julie was five. It’s how I got her to sleep. It made all of our lives so much easier back then. In fact, I could kiss that Hooper fellow, whoever he is.”

  Marcus grinned then—a big satisfied grin that looked both enchanting and curious. “The author does know. That is, he knows now. And a kiss was far more than I’d hoped for this evening.”

  “You’d hoped for. Wait a minute. What are you saying? You’re the author? You’re Miles Hooper? You’re kidding, right? You’re not kidding …”

  “Miles Hooper, my pseudonym.” Marcus stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  So, while Marcus was busy looking hangdog I was hyperventilating, knowing that Miles Hooper was actually conversing with me. My goodness. Would I ever recover from such serendipity? And how wonderful to do something so creative with one’s life. Of course, wouldn’t any job be more creative than being a secretary? But knowing Marcus was Miles explained so many things—his talk of color and imagination and the angles of the sunlight.

  “Miles Hooper,” Marcus continued to say, “has been my pen name ever since I started writing at age seventeen, which is why I had a trust fund with my money. The Monster book did well for me and was made into a TV movie for kids. After that experience, writing became my life.”

  “It’s incredible.” I held the book to me. “I’m blown away. But why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Because I don’t do this anymore. I’m no longer Miles Hooper.”

  “Really? Why not?” And then I realized Marcus was trying to tell me more about his sister, or his life without her. I glanced around, glad that the shop was quiet. “Is it about Ellie?”

  Marcus nodded. “A few years ago I got writer’s block. Terrible stuff. Nothing seemed to work. I threw most everything out, and the stuff that didn’t get thrown out was published, which sold maybe thirty copies. Probably bought by some of my fellow writers who felt sorry for me.”

  He released a mirthless laugh. “That’s an exaggeration, of course, but the publisher was not amused with my sales. And who could blame them? They’d sunk a fortune into my books, packaging them so they were irresistible to kids, marketing them to the hilt, and paying for special placement on the bookstore tables, end caps, that sort of thing … just to see the books fail.”

  “So, this is what made you stop?” I took a step closer to him, hoping for more of the story.

  “No. There’s more. For some unknown reason, the inspiration came again. When it arrived I recognized it right away. But it was like putting a feast before a starving man. I became a madman working until all hours … too scared to stop. I thought the muse might disappear again like it did before. I worked so hard I became perpetually exhausted.” He sighed. “And that’s the reason I was so tired that night. And why I’ll never write or illustrate again. Because one of the sweetest, dearest persons I ever knew is dead because of m
e and my lunacy.”

  My fingers ached from holding the picture book so tightly. I wanted to give Marcus a hug, but didn’t. Mist stung my eyes instead. “I’m sorry. It’s such a sad story.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you sad. You wanted to know why I was tired that night, and I really did want to tell you. To show you a piece of my life. Or what used to be me. There’s just a shadow left of Miles. No more.”

  I put the book on the shelf. “Thank you for that. For showing me.”

  “No one else knows here, none of my friends. It just didn’t seem necessary to tell them. But it felt important now for some reason.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “This life is a dangerous place to be, at least with me at the helm. Not sure any woman deserves that.” Behind Marcus’s smile there seemed to be a dozen doubts and queries.

  Before I could respond a clerk popped her head around the corner of one of the shelves and said, “We’re closing soon.”

  “We’re just going.” Marcus led me out of the store, and we walked in silence for a while toward my hotel. “Selfishly … well, I hope what I’ve told you tonight doesn’t change anything between us. Although I would understand if it did.”

  “It changes nothing. I promise.” Except to endear you to me even more.

  “Good.”

  When we were in the lobby of my hotel Marcus pulled me to the side, to a quiet area near a cluster of couches. “It was a very fine evening, Lily.”

  “Yes, it was. Thank you for dinner, for helping me with my sister, and for sharing your heart, well, for everything.” Amazing, how an evening could start out one way and end another. “Here, don’t let me forget this.” I slipped his jacket off my shoulders and helped Marcus put it back on.

  “I’ll let you get to sleep now. It probably feels like the longest day of your life.”

  “It does, but not in a bad way.”

  Marcus hesitated and then said, “Until your sister performs in the evening you’ll have some time on your hands in the morning and afternoon. I’d love to show you some of the city if you’re up for it.”