Winter in Full Bloom

by Anita Higman

  Later at home, the many scenes and conversations that I had been repressing, with Mother, Camille, Vontella, Marcus, everyone really, came frothing up in my emotions, threatening to smother me. I rubbed my neck and then unbuttoned the top buttons on my blouse. A dizzy buzz filled my head. Maybe I needed to eat, and yet I wasn’t hungry. So much had happened. Tragedy, miracles, betrayal, fury, and forgiveness, even for those who didn’t deserve it. What to do with it all? Maybe I could funnel it into art rather than have a nervous breakdown.

  Perhaps the confrontation with Vontella was like the last mile of the traveler after a long journey. I felt grateful that Richard hadn’t given in to sin easily, but hearing about the details of his unfaithfulness was like touring Dante’s inferno. I knew that the seedy realm of adultery existed, and yet I had never been forced to see it up close. Until today.

  In an attempt to escape too much reality, I went into my small music room—a place I rarely visited—and ran my fingers along the polished wood surface of my Baldwin Acrosonic piano. Dust collected on the tips of my fingers, and I fluttered it off. The room smelled unused as though no one was home.

  But I was home now.

  I sat down on the bench. Perhaps God had given us the arts to lessen the blows of life, to bring heaven close—at least as close as we mortals could get.

  It’s been a long time.

  Before I even played a note the music came to me, as it always had—but I’d learned to repress even that, even God’s inspiration, His music.

  But no more.

  I would call the piece “Haven”—a place where God meets us here on earth. There’d be green pastures and still waters in my piece, and it would be juxtaposed with dramatic chords, echoing the human condition. My melody would reflect the hope of redemption for Vontella, the prayer that I would fully forgive Richard, and a look at my own transgressions. Those daily offenses that separated me from God—the things that made me step away into the shadows, away from the brilliance and warmth of His perfect love. And lastly, the haven that would help me to find my way into the future, into that holy place called matrimony.

  I lifted the lid and rubbed my hands together. I played a note and then another until beauty formed from chaos, just as it did that first day of creation. The passion of my soul flowed onto the keys. The melody started out wispy like the tiniest flutter of a petal, and then it became intoxicating mixed with thundering fury, and then finally satisfying, with a resolution, just like the release that comes from forgiveness.

  As I finished up the last notes of “Haven,” I had a sense of freedom. In that liberty of spirit I could see a future scene playing out before me—I would run into Marcus’s arms, and this time, we’d both hear the merry chatter of guests—the guests who would attend our wedding.

  In Melbourne I’d said, “You have to know yourself to have hobbies … be a friend to yourself.” Maybe I knew myself a little better now. Maybe I could be a friend to myself. But I did know this too—I wanted the piano to be more than a hobby.

  I ran my fingers across the keys like a breeze flowing over silk. “My eighty-eight little black and white companions … how I’ve missed you.”

  Forty-eight hours after my confrontation with Vontella, I stood in front of the magazine shop in Terminal E just outside of security at Houston’s Intercontinental Airport.

  I knew what I was about to do. It was an extraordinary step for Lily Anne Winter. I would tell Marcus I not only loved him, but I was ready to marry him.

  Today. Now. Whenever he wanted.

  Only one hitch remained. Marcus was late. Thirty-one minutes late to be exact. I’d checked my watch, and it was correct. I’d checked the board for flights, but the information had disappeared off the screen. If the plane were merely delayed, it would still be listed. Wouldn’t it? Had he come in early, and I’d missed him? But he would have texted. We both knew where to meet. There could be no misunderstandings.

  I slid my coat off and sat down on the bench outside the store, but my twinge of panic got bigger and scarier like those blow-up monsters on people’s lawns at Halloween. One ugly thought played over and over in my head—Marcus had changed his mind.

  Maybe he’d gotten back into his routine there, met with his friends, got involved with his church, and Melbourne had worked its way back into his heart. He’d canceled his flight and stayed. Perhaps he thought I hadn’t proven, after all, that I could be the kind of person who could ever trust again. Maybe he thought I was a lost cause. That my husband’s infidelity had ruined my faith in men and in the loveliness of married life.

  With jittery fingers, I texted Marcus—again. If he’d decided to stay, wouldn’t he have called or texted? Maybe not. Maybe he surmised that a clean break was the only way. But did people really disappear into foreign countries? Marcus had done that very thing a year ago.

  Wanting to feel closer to him, I felt around in my pocket for the origami lily he’d made for me. It had been the last thing he’d touched. I pulled it out and twirled it under my nose as I did the day he’d left. What had he said to me? “Never forget that you’re my lily. I know I won’t. Whenever I miss you I’ll make one of these.” How many flowers had he made while he was in Melbourne? I wanted to envision his apartment full of paper lilies as he packed his belongings. Marcus had also promised to call, and except for the last few days, he’d been faithful. Eventually, though, his communications had dwindled to a brief text or two. Perhaps he’d just gotten busy with wrapping up his life there, tying up loose ends.

  I slipped the lily away into my pocket and gripped the edge of the cold metal bench. Funny, we’d begun our life together on a bench. Now I prayed this wouldn’t be the place where it would end.

  But I’d been mistaken about so many things—I was notoriously wrong, in fact—even about Richard. Although what my husband had done with Vontella had been a painful breach of trust and a terrible sin, I’d thought he’d given in to adultery easily with little remorse. But it had taken Vontella three years of manipulations, a master plan, to make Richard fall. And then he’d obviously felt terrible enough about their one-time fling that he’d begged her to forgive him. I would like to think that he was asking for my forgiveness in a way. Perhaps he would have done that very thing had he not died of a heart attack. Yes, I would give Richard the benefit of the doubt. Something I hadn’t done before.

  My hands ached, so I let go of the bench. The warmth of blood made it back into my hands, and I relaxed a little. Marcus had turned out to be one of the kindest, most down-to-earth, most amazing creatures God ever made. And if that weren’t enough, he’d even been Miles Hooper thrown in the mix. He’d made me fall in love with him, so deeply and dearly. But what if it all ended with me on this bench?

  And I was left alone—without him?

  Oh, Lord, could Marcus have come into my life just to be a friend? True, he’d shown up at the perfect time, when I needed help, and he’d been suffering with the same issues, which was an uncanny turn of events. Miraculously, we’d worked it out together. It seemed like the perfect divine setup. Jesus with skin on as they always said, and now was it time for him to go?

  Oh, God, please don’t let it be. I love him.

  I checked my phone for texts. Still nothing. I glanced around at all the people, zooming around. All going somewhere important. Many of them headed into the arms of someone they cherished. Hadn’t Marcus used that very word with me? Cherished? A person like Marcus doesn’t leave someone high and dry after making that kind of declaration. Then I remembered the last thing he’d touched—it hadn’t been the paper lily—it had been my lips. And in that kiss had been such promise. It couldn’t have been a final goodbye. The kiss hadn’t merely embodied the joyful remnants of our past days together, but it had celebrated our future. Hadn’t it? Oh, Lord, this constant vacillation is driving me crazy.

  Trust.

  That one word echoed in my mind, so I invited the word into my heart. Just as I had gotten over my fear of flying and move
d on from empty nest and so many other travails, I also had the ability to learn to trust people again, even after a heartbreaking, life-changing event. People had the potential to let me down again, but the One who held the controls never would. Since faith was a choice, I would choose to trust the harness. I would trust the One who was love and who’d made me for love.

  And I would start now.

  Next stop—I would head to one of the airline desks and see what happened to Marcus’s flight. He loved me, and I would choose to believe him. Just as I rose from my seat, determined to follow through with my plan, I saw the outline of a man, silhouetted by the light, who looked a lot like Marcus. When the light hit his face, I saw that smile of his—the kind of smile that gave the sun something to be envious about. Yes, it was Marcus, my Marcus. I walked and then ran toward him.

  He let go of his luggage, dropped his carry-on backpack, and pulled me into an embrace. He gathered bunches of my hair into his hands and brought it around to frame my face just as he had done when he left. Then he kissed me so warmly I knew we’d surely drawn a crowd. I didn’t mind. Not one bit. In fact, let them bring out the confetti and celebrate with us. I savored his warmth, his kiss. All of Marcus Averill.

  When we parted briefly, Marcus whispered, “I don’t want to ever be that far away from you again.”

  “Just a heartbeat away?”

  “That’s right.” He chuckled. “I really did miss you something fierce, just like I said I would.”

  “Did you make lots of origami lilies?”

  “A whole bouquet, and they were all in full bloom I might add. But they didn’t help me. They only made me miss you all the more.”

  That made me smile.

  “But I’m so sorry I’m late. My flight came in early, but a couple that I’d befriended on the flight had quite a frantic few minutes when they couldn’t find their four-year-old. So I helped them. All is well, but I’m so sorry I didn’t call or text. I should have.”

  I smiled, taking him in. I should have known. “No worries.”

  “So,” he asked, “you missed me then?”

  “Something fierce.”

  “Good. I knew you would.”

  I chuckled. “And did you get your life wrapped up in Melbourne?”

  “Yes. I love Australia, always will, but this is my home. You’re my home.” He grazed my cheek with his finger.

  “By the way, I did what you suggested. I went to see the woman … the other woman. And we had quite a visit.”

  “You did?” Marcus motioned to the bench. “Let me sit down for this.”

  When we’d moved his luggage, and we were settled on the bench, Marcus asked, “So, what in the world did she say?”

  “Quite a bit actually. Enough to give me the closure you’d prayed for.”

  “That is good news.”

  “And I’ve gone back to the piano. I know what I want to do now. I’m going to stay on at the oil company part-time, but I’d like to teach piano to children. What do you think?”

  “I’ve never heard you play, but something tells me you’re wonderful, Love.”

  “Oh, how I’ve missed you calling me by that name. I’ve missed your smile. Well, all of you.” I scooted closer to him. “Does this mean we’re no longer Leroy and Zelda?”

  “Yes. We’ll be Marcus and Lily.”

  “Okay, so you know that question you were hinting at during the awful rainstorm under the bridge?”

  “How could I forget?”

  I took his hands in mine. “Well, if you could hint at it again… this time, I think you might get the answer you were hoping for.”

  He suddenly got all hushed on me.

  I continued. “You know, I think it might go something like, ‘Will you marry me?’ Uh, this would be a good time to say something.” I caught his mischievous gaze. “Marcus?”

  Marcus made me wait a whole day before he would respond to my proposal of marriage, but since he’d taken me to Galveston I was fairly certain I knew what his answer would be.

  The late autumn chill in the air didn’t stop us from rolling up our pant legs and strolling along the beach. After a while we settled ourselves on the sand, snuggled into each other’s arms, and watched the waves roll in and out like a pendulum swing. Mesmerizing. “That was dreadfully mean, you know,” I teased him, “to make me wait for your answer.”

  “But I knew you’d forgive me.”

  “Always so sure of yourself, Mr. Averill?”

  “With you I am.” Marcus bundled my sweater around me and ran his finger along the curve of my cheek. “I wanted to do it right. I’m old-fashioned that way. And I didn’t want to share such a sanctified moment with a bunch of noisy, sweaty travelers.”

  I laughed and glanced around. “So, how did you manage to keep the noisy, sweaty travelers at bay today?”

  “Not sure. Maybe they can sense that we need a moment to ourselves.” Marcus kissed the tip of my nose. “And it could be because it’s cold out here.”

  I grinned. “True.”

  “Look at those waves.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve always been fascinated by waves. Did you know that when two ocean waves collide they influence each other, but once they pass over each other they go on about their business as if they’d never met?”

  “Well, that’s a sad thing to think about.”

  “Isn’t it? And not very romantic. But I’m not quite finished. In some cases the waves do come back. They are forever changed.”

  “And when is that?”

  “Well, in one case, it’s the waves in a bathtub.”

  “So, are you saying our love is like the water splashing around in a bathtub?”

  “Yes, but in other ways it’s like the ocean. Deep, beautiful, and full of surprises.”

  “Oh, I like that part. You’re definitely warming up now.”

  Marcus’s grin looked full of mischief. What was he up to?

  “Do you remember a book I did a long time ago called Pockets?”

  “I know it made me misty every time I read it. It was about a boy named Sebastian Pepper.”

  “Good memory.”

  “And let’s see … Sebastian would dump out his pockets into his toy box every night with all his treasures. Then as he would finger each memento we would learn about his daily adventures along with his hurts and secrets and joys. It was a brilliant idea. What made you think to write something like that?”

  “Because that boy was me.”

  I smiled.

  Marcus leaned back and pulled out everything in his pocket, making a little pile of treasures on the sand.

  I chuckled. “So, what do you collect?”

  Marcus motioned for me to sort through the heap. “Be my guest.”

  Among the items were acorns, lip balm, and seashells. I pulled out the two mollusk shells from the stack. “There are two here. Does that have significance?”

  “Everything has significance.” He lifted up the two shells. “See, if you place the two halves together like this … they make a home.” Marcus fitted the two shells together. “The way God intended.”

  I rested my head on his shoulder. “That’s as sweet as the marshmallows I used to eat. But what else do we have here?” I eased away and fingered through the mound again. Something shiny winked at me from within the tiny mountain of treasures. “What do I see?” I knew immediately what Marcus was up to, the darling rascal.

  He watched me intently. “You tell me.”

  I moved a few items, uncovering the shimmer. A diamond ring flashed in the afternoon sunlight.

  Marcus picked up a penny from the heap and placed it next to the ring. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  I turned the ring in the light. “My thoughts are … this ring is gorgeous and unique, just like you.”

  “Well said.”

  I laughed.

  “So, will you, Lily Winter, be my wife?”

  “I think I’ll have to.”

  “And why
is that?” he asked. “I want details. Metaphors.”

  “But you’re the word person.”

  “Come on. Give it a whirl.”

  “Okay.” I pursed my lips, but it didn’t help my brain. “Let’s see. Because you, Marcus Averill, are the sunlight shimmer on my seashell.”

  “Good alliteration.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not finished. Let’s see. You’re the moonlight … on my wave. And I don’t want to live without that light. Not ever.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Thanks.”

  Marcus took the ring and slipped it on my finger.

  “Lovely.” I turned my hand. “I promise I’ll never tire of gazing at it.”

  “I’m glad you love it.”

  “I do.” The salty surf foamed up around our feet, tickling our toes. For a moment I turned my attention to the edge of the earth, where the sea touched the sky. “You know, on that first day we met … I wondered what was just beyond the horizon.”

  “Obviously, there were very good things, just waiting for us.” Marcus lifted my chin so that our lips were a whisper apart. “And do you remember my reply that first day we met?”

  “You said we’d just have to use our imaginations.”

  “What a good idea,” he said.

  Like birthday candles all aglow, my whole being did a little melting thing as women do when they know they’re about to be kissed by the man they love.

  We did, of course. We kissed beneath the autumn sun, the circling gulls, and the heavens. And in the midst of our sweet alliance, I knew somewhere up there, God was surely smiling.

  “Lily’s veil looks a mite askew. Don’t you think?” Camille turned her head this way and that, gazing at me from a distance with an eye for perfection.

  “Yes, I think it is.” With Julie’s help, Mother lifted the tiara with the long trail of tulle and repositioned it on my hair.

  “That vintage gown and tiara make you look like a princess, Momma,” Julie said.