Winter in Full Bloom

by Anita Higman

“But did it go well when you surprised Marcus at the hotel?” Camille asked.

  “Yes. Lots to tell you. I’ll give you the full report after supper… after tea, that is.”

  She grinned. “Listen, I can stay in my room and rest or look at family albums if you guys want to be alone.”

  “No, not at all. You’re my family. If you feel up to it and you want to eat with us, I’d love for you to be at the table.”

  “All right. I’ll try.” Camille scooted back under the covers.

  I drew the quilt up around her as I had always done for Julie.

  “Lils?”

  “Hmm?”

  “The baby will be okay, don’t you think?”

  I wiped the damp curls from her face. “Yes, and she’ll be beautiful like you.”

  Camille smiled. “And she’ll look a little like you too.”

  “I suppose so.” What an interesting thought.

  “So, when am I going to meet my niece, Julie?”

  “In a few days. I texted her, and she’s thrilled you’re here.” I walked to the doorway and turned around. “Well, I guess I’d better get dinner started or we’ll be eating something ghastly from the freezer.”

  Camille grinned. “One more thing … let’s keep the news of the baby between us. Our secret, just for now.”

  I put my finger to my lips. “Mum’s the word.”

  She repeated my words as she rested back on the pillow.

  I headed to the kitchen and scurried around, trying to put together some semblance of a dinner, but my mind kept going over Camille’s words and her plight. Poor thing. To be abused by her father and then by her boyfriend, only to find out she was pregnant, seemed like too many hardships to endure. Too much to fathom. But this I knew—I would weather this latest storm with her all the way. Whatever it took, we would face it together.

  Minutes later, I’d browned the hamburger, but decided to cheat the process by pouring in a jar of pasta sauce from the cupboard. There was no time to prepare anything from scratch, so hopefully no one would notice that I’d skipped a few steps. I turned down the flame and let the meat sauce simmer.

  While I continued to fuss around the kitchen, my mind overflowed with so much new information I barely knew what to do with it all. It appeared that I might be helping to raise a newborn if my sister chose to stay. Seemed like a challenging but fun prospect, but someday soon I would have to go back to work. Like sand in an hourglass, my leave of absence would eventually run out. I couldn’t live forever on my husband’s life insurance money, and I needed to keep most of my savings for retirement. Unfortunately, though, the longer I stayed away from my secretarial job the less I felt inclined to go back. What to do about that? I had no idea. Guess it was a dilemma that would have to be hammered out on another day.

  In the midst of my mind ramblings and dinner preparations, the doorbell rang. Oh, dear. Surely, it wasn’t Marcus. He’d be waaay too early. And I hadn’t even had time to tidy the house. I looked at all the piles of bills and papers on the counter and moaned. Apparently I’d lost some of my organizational skills as a secretary too.

  After traipsing to the small entry—hoping it wasn’t someone selling something—I opened the door. Marcus? “You’re early.”

  The look on Marcus’s face was genuine penitence. “Look, I know you said tea was at six, but I came early to help you. And I’m using that as my official excuse to see you a bit longer.”

  “No worries.” I opened the door. “Come in.”

  Marcus came inside and kissed me on both cheeks.

  “An Aussie tradition, I suppose?”

  “Yes, it is. And I’m glad for it.”

  I chuckled. Excellent tradition, and one we needed to adopt in the States.

  “I realized you must be dog-tired from jet lag. I should have offered to take you out.”

  “Nonsense. I want to cook you a meal. I’m tired, but I promise you it’s a good kind of tired.”

  Marcus raised a finger. “I’m very good at dicing vegetables, and I’m not afraid of onions.”

  “Good. That’s what I need. A real man who’s fearless in the kitchen. But are you sure you’re not the one with some jet lag?”

  “To be honest, I’m a little worn out, but it’s something else, not jet lag.”

  Oh, no. “What is it?”

  “I’ll tell you my story while I slice tomatoes or plant oregano, or play a mandolin for you or whatever you need me to do.”

  I patted him on the shoulders. “I still can’t believe you’re here in the US. In my home. So surreal. I thought it would be weeks, and then I got a little worried … you know, that you might change your mind and not come at all.”

  “Of course I was going to come. But as it turned out, I just couldn’t wait. You should have seen me when your cab drove away with you, and it turned the last corner. The moment your wave and smile vanished I became a sorry case. I thought I was having chest pain. Instead of making a useless trip to the hospital I got on a plane. It was heart trouble all right, but it wasn’t anything a doctor could fix.”

  “I’m so glad you came.” I touched his cheek. “And I’m so very glad it wasn’t a heart attack.”

  “Me too.” Marcus leaned in to my touch.

  “I’ve got the meat sauce on for a simmer, so we can chat in the living room for a minute if you want to.”

  “Lead the way. I’d follow you anywhere.”

  Guess that was true. I sat on the sofa in the living room, while Marcus pored over all the family photos on the fireplace mantel, asking questions about each one, especially the one where I was a little kid, sporting a mammoth grin with no front teeth. “You were a cute kid.”

  “Thanks.”

  Marcus sat down next to me. “I like your house by the way. It suits you. Very comfy. In fact, I think I even caught one of your throw pillows trying to give me a hug just now.”

  I chuckled. “Thanks. That’s sweet.” We both got quiet and dreamy, and I knew we were going to lean into some happy smooching on the couch, but I also knew that supper would not make itself. I chose the disciplined road. “Eventually we need to make a salad. So, you’re handy in the kitchen, eh?”

  “I can slice and dice with my eyes closed.”

  “Good thing we have an emergency room nearby.”

  When we’d both settled in the kitchen cutting up bell peppers and cucumbers and red onions for the salad, I asked. “So, what is it you need to tell me?” I hoped it wasn’t bad news. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take after Camille’s announcement.

  Marcus glanced over at me. Then he stopped his work at the cutting board. “It’s about my parents.”

  I turned off the faucet and dried my hands. “Really? Do they know you’re here?”

  “They do. I called them from the hotel. Amazingly, they want to see me.”

  “That’s wonderful. Truly.” I reached over and gave the cuff of Marcus’s sleeve an affectionate tug.

  “My father had a biopsy recently. It came out normal, but it scared him. Scared them both. They started thinking about their lives, what’s really important. And I guess the prodigal son returning figured in their revelations.”

  “I couldn’t be happier for you.”

  He went back to slicing the vegetables. “I mentioned you. I couldn’t help but mention you.”

  Really? “Was that wise? I’d hate to rock the boat when you just got it righted again. And you’re going to lose a finger with that knife if you don’t stop staring at me.”

  He chuckled and looked back down at his work. “You won’t rock any boats. They want to meet you.”

  “Are you sure?” I leaned over the pot to check the softening strands of pasta. The boiling water foamed up, giving my face a sauna bath. Too hot. I turned down the burner and stirred. “Maybe they were just being polite.”

  Marcus studied me. “I know my parents well enough to know when they’re faking it.”

  “Did you mean to see them right away?” I tho
ught of Camille and how she needed me, especially right now as she adjusted to her condition, physically and emotionally.

  “Well, that’s the thing I needed to ask you. I’ll be driving up to Dallas to see my parents.” Marcus stopped his work and faced me. “Will you go with me tomorrow?”

  Tomorrow? The spoon dropped out of my hand and onto the floor. “But this will be a crucial meeting. One that could have tremendous consequences one way or the other. I don’t want to take the chance to tip the scale in the wrong direction. They should see you first, without the pressure of a stranger in their midst. There will be a lot of heavy talk. Hard things might get said before the fun catching-up part. Don’t you think?”

  I picked the utensil off the floor and tossed it into the sink. “Or maybe I’m being a big fat squawking chicken, since I hate confrontation.” I leaned over the sink and looked out the window at my mums. The tiny buds suddenly looked wilted, terrified that the last hours of summer would be the hottest. “Any way you look at it, though, it has conflict written all over it.”

  “It’s a valid argument. But I’d still like to have you there with me. I know having you by my side will tip the scales, as you put it, only in my favor. For more than a decade they’ve been trying to get me settled down with a wife and family. I was always happy to marry and have kids, but I never found the right woman. Now, this would please them to see that—”

  “But, Marcus.” Fear niggled its way into my spirit. “As happy as I am for you and with you, I feel it might be a lie. I mean, we’re just dating. Seriously dating, yes, but we’ve made no commitments. And if I show up it could easily appear like more.” I opened the cupboard and stared inside. “I feel so discombobulated I don’t even know what I’m searching for in this cabinet.” What was I afraid of all of a sudden—commitment? “Marcus?” The word came out as a plea.

  He came over to me then. Marcus closed the cabinet door and gently took me into his arms. “I’m sorry. I never want to discombobulate you. I know my request was full of self-interest and, well, self-preservation. Forgive me. I wasn’t paying enough attention to you … at how uncomfortable this made you. And it was inappropriate of me to pressure you like that. You’re right. It would be best if I do this alone.” He gave me a warm snuggly hug. “You okay now?”

  “I’m okay. When you hold me like this it would be easy to agree to most anything.” I knew I would regret the words the second they were out of my mouth, but since Marcus had come all the way around the world for me, I said, “Well, what if you’re careful to introduce me just as your girlfriend and nothing more.”

  “Lily.” He pulled back. “Are you sure you aren’t saying this because you’re under the intoxicating influence of my embrace?”

  I laughed. “Probably, but I will go. I want to be by your side.” Even if it scares the giblets out of me.

  “I promise there will be no hint of those dastardly words fiancée or wedding.” He let me go. “At least not yet anyway.”

  I chuckled. “Okay.”

  “Unless, of course, you bring it up and you force the nuptial issue.” He went back to his work at the counter. “Then I might have to reconsider.”

  “No. There’ll be no arm twisting from me.”

  “Believe me, you wouldn’t have to twist my arm at this point. My theory is … it might only take a kiss.”

  I shook my head at him, but a grin was not far behind. It grieved me that my sister had waited too long for a man to propose to her, and yet it felt like Marcus wanted to pop the question way too soon. Why did things have to be so complicated? So backward? “Mmm. It might only take a kiss. That has a starry-eyed sound to it … like a line a writer might use.”

  “Owww.” Marcus winced. “Ouch.”

  I grinned. “I’m not the only one around here who can tease.”

  He dropped his work again and strolled over to me. “Maybe it’s more than a line. Maybe it’s a romantic theory worthy of further study.” He lowered his gaze to my lips.

  One hand pushed him away while another pulled him to me. “Sounds delicious, but we’re never going to get supper done at this rate.”

  He locked his eyes on me. “There’s more to sustenance than mere food, woman.”

  “I forgot to ask you what you thought of my mother.”

  He tilted his head at me. “I think she has issues that can be resolved, but this isn’t the best time to chat about your mother.”

  “I agree.”

  “Finally.”

  The embrace took a more meaningful turn then, and even though the sauce was spattering all over the stove, and the pasta pan was nearly boiling dry, we hovered toward each other.

  Marcus whispered in my ear, “I think I’d like to test this theory of mine … that it might only take one good kiss to summon a proposal.”

  “Well, I can’t guarantee anything,” I whispered back, “but I’d certainly hate to be a hindrance to your research.”

  Early the next morning on our road trip to Dallas—in Marcus’s rental car and with me at the wheel—we had a chance to get to know each other on a deeper level. We covered our childhoods and our families. Our favorite things. Our fears and dreams. Our various friendships and romantic relationships when we were teenagers. My marriage. And, of course, Julie.

  We went beyond the casual chitchat of first dates, and delved into more important issues, the ones couples talk about when they get more serious about each other. I liked almost everything I saw on Marcus’s table when he got it all laid out, and he seemed to respond positively to all my answers and viewpoints. It was obvious we were not perfect people, but we both loved God and we were both smitten with each other.

  Later, as we drove through the residential area of Dallas, Marcus gaped at me when I told him one of my crazy escapades as a child.

  “So, let me get this straight,” he said, “you nearly blew yourself up. How exactly did that happen?”

  “Well, one of the neighborhood kids, Ziggy, found a box of gunpowder on a high shelf out in his garage. Obviously it was something we weren’t supposed to be playing with, but he and I decided it might be fun to see if we could blow up some rotten vegetables we found out in the garden. We did indeed discover it was a blast …”

  Marcus laughed.

  “So, we tried it on bigger and bigger vegetables and fruits. I’m telling you it’s a real rush to watch a watermelon go ka-boom.”

  He threw his head back, laughing. “I would love to have seen this.”

  I passed a truck that was going too slowly. “Well, the story takes a dark turn. After a while we got bored with exploding vegetation, so we just threw bits of the gunpowder into a small fire, watching it fire up and sparkle like fireworks.”

  “What? Where was your nanny in all this?”

  “My nanny at the time, a woman named Matilda, was having cookies and coffee in the house where we were visiting, while Ziggy and I were hiding behind an empty horse barn with our gunpowder. They couldn’t hear a thing. So, back to the dark turn. Little did we know that bits of gunpowder were seeping through my fingers each time I went from the box to the fire. That action made a rough fuse, which neither one of us noticed.”

  “Oh, Lily, you’re kidding.”

  “No joke.” I gripped the steering wheel, remembering the blast. The thunder of it, the jolt, and the smell of scorched hair. “After a while the fuse lit, and it blew up the whole box of gunpowder. The explosion sent me sort of jumping as well as flying over a fence. I wasn’t permanently damaged, but for a while I had a ringing in my ears and some of my hair got scorched. It was a piece of my childhood that I will never forget, I can tell you that. And one my nanny will never forget either, since she got fired over it.”

  Marcus whistled. “It’s a miracle you’re alive and that you didn’t get severely injured.”

  “True.”

  “There are a lot of miracles in this life, Lily.”

  “Also true.”

  “And one of them was when you decided
to get on that plane to Australia.”

  Delight rushed through me, making me smile.

  “By the way, we’re almost there. Okay, now. Make a left on this street … Timberland Trails.”

  When I did, Marcus pointed to the right. “My parents’ home is that one over there. The two story red brick with the green shutters and the American flag.”

  “It looks like a friendly house. Very Norman Rockwell–ish.” It was a nice size, well-designed, and unpretentious. A home said a lot about the people inside. At least that had always been my theory. The only thing that seemed odd was the blinds—they were all closed tightly. I pulled up to the house and cut the engine. “So, are you ready for this?” Was I ready for this?

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Marcus adjusted his tie and cleared his throat. “After a year, this is hard. I can’t imagine going ten years like you did. How did you manage going back that first time?”

  “The grace of God I guess.” I picked up my purse, wondering if I had enough tissues. Just in case things got emotional.

  “But the thing is, when you went back to see your mom after all those years, you hadn’t been guilty of anything. You weren’t even guilty of not going to visit her, since you told me she hadn’t wanted your company. You were an innocent. I’m not.”

  “None of us are completely innocent. Not me, not your parents.” I wanted to hold Marcus’s hand, but I fiddled with the buttons on the console instead. “And you didn’t mean to fall asleep at the wheel. You wouldn’t have harmed a hair on your sister’s head. You loved her. While it was tragic, what happened, it wasn’t right for your parents to disown you.”

  “I suppose not. But I can see the temptation. It seemed easier to unleash all their anger on something … someone.” Marcus adjusted his tie again.

  “There needs to be forgiveness, though, and I hope it starts today.” I handed Marcus the keys to his rental car.

  He gestured to my door. “Stay put. I’m coming around to open your door.”

  I sat still while Marcus came around to my side, and like the genteel man he was, he opened my door, took my hand, and helped me out. As we walked up the sidewalk to the house I circled my arm through his, a place that now felt homey like a comfortable pair of slippers.