The Night Orchid

by M. G. Hernandez

  Suddenly, a slam on the counter rattles the shack. I shriek and stand up, only to find Julian doubled over in laughter.

  I fume. “You asshole!”

  “Sorry, Jo,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye. “I couldn’t help it. You should’ve seen your face though.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. But I peer over his shoulder to search for Bianca, but she’s no longer here. “I guess we’re still twelve. What’s next, whoopie cushion?”

  He laughs. “No, flaming bag of dog poop on your front porch.”

  I pause. My head triggers another memory, and I laugh.

  “Are you thinking about that time we did that to Doug Freeman after he gave me a big wedgie in the cafeteria?” He grins.

  “Yeah, specifically, when he stomped on it and ended up with shit all over his shoe.” I chuckle.

  “Mommy, someone flame bagged me!” we said in unison as we recall the biggest bully in school crying for his mom after our prank. Our heads roll back as we break out in laughter.

  Julian tilts his head. “He never figured out it was us, did he?”

  “Nope. And the bush barely hid us from across the street!”

  He laughs. “Good times.” Then he asks, “So, anyway, are you ready?”

  I furrow my brows. “For what?”

  “Uh, we’re seeing my grandma tonight? To ask about the white orchid?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry, I forgot.”

  “Clearly,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  I’m sitting in Julian’s car for the third time. But I’ve grown accustomed to his company, so I relax and peek out the window to gaze at the rows of split-level homes.

  His grandmother, Mrs. Gloria Taylor, lives in a town north of Wakefield not too far from us. I remember visiting her along with Julian and his parents when we were kids. “Grandma G,” as he calls her, is a sweet, statuesque lady who bakes the best strawberry pies and grows prize-winning orchids in her yard. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen her, and I’m looking forward to seeing her again after so many years.

  “So, how was your date?”

  He surprises me, and I stall by changing the radio station to the ‘90s one. Ice Cube’s, “Today Was A Good Day,” is playing, and I smile.

  “Best rap song of all time.” I lean back and bop my head. “Hands down.”

  “I agree, but you’re avoiding the question.”

  I purse my lips. “It was fine.” Then I continue rapping.

  “Just fine?” His jaw tightens while he stares at the road.

  I sigh. “It was amazing. He flew me to Paris and proposed at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower. You are looking at the future Mrs. Jordan Bailey.”

  “Ok, smartass.” He rolls his eyes.

  “Don’t be nosy,” I said. “Wait, is this trip sanctioned by Bianca? Because I’d rather not deal with her crazy ass.”

  Now, it’s his turn to sigh. “We broke up already, Joy. I told you this. Despite this pesky hickey on my neck, we’re as done as that One Direction band you love so much.”

  I scowl. “I don’t even like One Direction!”

  He laughs. “Not that you care, but she came to see me this afternoon to return my letterman jacket. That’s all.”

  I press my lips together and stare out the window. I don’t know who to believe—him or Bianca. But Julian was always honest with me. All rational thought points to my childhood friend.

  “Well, uh, sorry to hear that,” I said. “That sucks.”

  He sneaks a quick glance at me from the corner of his eye. “No worries. The only sad part is that I’m not dating the person I want to date.”

  I stare at the road, trying to ignore the beating of my heart. “That’s ok. You really shouldn’t be jumping from one relationship to another, anyway.” I don’t know what else to say. But my nervousness makes my upper lip sweat. I swipe it off with my sleeve. Gross.

  He chuckles. “Thanks, Dr. Phil. Send me the bill later.”

  I laugh. Then, I remember my little discovery at the concession stand. “Listen, I found something in my backpack that might interest you.”

  “Yeah?”

  I nod as I pick up my knapsack. While I rummage through its contents, I explain to him how I had used this bag the day we were posting flyers at Rentown. I also tell him how I was hiding from Alexa’s mom in the closet.

  After a few minutes, I find the jewelry and pull it out. I raise my arms and let the necklace dangle from my fingers, so he can see a better view. He furrows his brows as he takes in the pendant.

  “Does this look familiar to you?”

  “No,” he says. “But then again, I pay little attention to what she wears. It’s an interesting piece, though.”

  “I know, right?” I add. “It looks vintage. Do you know what flower this is?”

  He shakes his head. “We can ask grandma.”

  “Ok. Remind me.”

  He nods. The car stops in front of a quaint yellow house with an American flag and rose bushes lining the periphery of the front porch. We’re here.

  “Before we go in there.” He twists to the backseat and reaches for his backpack. “Let’s sketch that Orchid again, so she can identify it better. No offense, Joy.”

  I laugh. “None taken.”

  He takes out his sketchbook and places it on his lap. “Ok, describe it to me.”

  “So the petals are heart-shaped and it’s white,” I tell him.

  Julian sketches as I give him details. He’s patient with me when I correct him. We work together for five minutes, and when he finishes, I gasp. His orchid sketch is what I’ve been seeing in my dreams.

  “Impressive Jules,” I said, nodding. “You’re really good.”

  “Not my first time, babe,” he replies with a wink.

  I shake my head. “Seriously, dude…”

  He laughs, then pokes me in the ribs. “Let’s go. I’m hungry, and I told her to make her famous beef stew.”

  I lick my lips. “Speaking of famous, please tell me she also made her legendary strawberry pie.”

  “You know it,” he said while getting out of the driver’s seat. “Now, c’mon.”

  I get out of the car and follow Julian. The chill hits my body, and I zip up my blue parka to my neck. I can’t wait to get in the house. Mrs. Taylor has her grandmother instincts turned on and is standing in the open doorway even before we made it to the front steps.

  “Grandma G!” Julian bellows.

  She smiles, her eyes shining as she takes in her grandson. Her arms outstretched, she waits for him, and hugs him when he reaches her. I wait, so they can enjoy each other, but Grandma G has moved on and switched her attention to me.

  “Come here, honey!” she said, reaching for me. “It’s been so long! Let me look at you.”

  She gives me a nice warm hug. When she pushes off me, she keeps her hands on my arms to gaze at me. “My, Josephine, you’re absolutely breathtaking!”

  She turns to Julian. “Listen, this is the better choice. Glad you guys finally took this friendship to the next level.”

  Julian’s face reddens. “Uh, Grandma.” He puts his arm around her shoulders. “Jo and I are still only friends.

  She stares at him and then at me. “Are you sure?” Then she waves a dismissive hand. “Well, soon enough. Ok, let’s go. Dinner’s getting cold.”

  When I step into the foyer, the wonderful aroma of spices, vegetables and beef tickles my nostrils and as we walk into the dining room, I add butter, warm crust and strawberries to that list. My mouth waters, and I’m ready to eat.

  Mrs. Taylor didn’t disappoint. Twenty minutes into our dinner, we are leaning against our chairs, stuffed as a turkey on thanksgiving. I’m fit to nap after such a heavy meal, but Julian catches my yawn and nudges me in the ribs. I scowl at him and nudge him back.

  “Grandma, we want to show you something.” He takes the reins on this investigation because I’m out of commission and gives her his sketchbook.

  Her
eyes light up when she sees his drawing. “Ah, Brassavola nodosa. Or more commonly, ‘Lady of the Night.’”

  I perk up and sit straighter. “Why is it called that?”

  She looks at me from underneath the rim of her glasses. “I’ll show you. Come out back with me.”

  We glance at each other as we leave the table and follow her. When we reach the sliding doors that lead to the yard, a familiar scent reaches my nostrils—gardenia and citrus.

  Alexa is here.

  But a few things are missing. One, I don’t see her. Two, I don’t have goosebumps on my arms and three, Julian is not giving me any sign that he’s sensing paranormal activities. I furrow my brows.

  “Come outside, folks,” says Grandma G, motioning for us to step into the yard. “Welcome to my orchid garden.”

  My breath hitches as I take in her nursery. Many species of orchids line the walls, on pots and on these strange vertical structures. It doesn’t impress Julian, as I’m sure he’s seen this multiple times. Though I have been here, I’ve never been to the backyard. He chuckles as I gawk with my eyes bugging out. But there’s Alexa’s scent again.

  “Do you smell that wonderfully sweet and citrus perfume?” she asks as if reading my mind.

  “You smell it too?” I ask her in surprise.

  She laughs. “Of course! That’s coming from the orchid you guys are inquiring about.”

  Now it’s Julian’s turn to act surprised. He taps his sketch. “Grams, you have this species of orchid in your collection?”

  “Of course,” she says and leads us to the back of the yard. As we wind our way through rows of plants, she stops in front of two with that characteristic heart-shaped bloom. I gasp. Sure enough, Alexa’s flowers are displayed right in front of me, alive and touchable. It’s breathtaking seeing it up close, and I step forward to inspect it. It has yellow-green curls around the club- shaped column. The stem, which Grandma G calls pseudobulbs, is 12 inches long, and it has a leathery leaf that droops to the ground. It’s an interesting-looking plant—almost alien-like.

  “Is that the one, Jo?” he whispers.

  I nod.

  “They gave it its nickname because it only emits this scent at night,” she said.

  It makes sense now. That was one of Alexa’s clues. The scent follows her because it’s connected to where she’s buried.

  “Is The Lady of the Night fairly common?” I ask.

  “It’s common because it’s fairly easy to grow so most beginner orchid hobbyist will start with one.”

  Her response is not promising. If it’s easy to grow, then it’s likely littered in several areas in the Mission Forest.

  “The reason I’m asking is that I’m taking botany, and I’ve researched this orchid. I wanted to see it in its natural habitat. I was told you can find them in the Mission Forest,” I lied.

  “Ah, I see,” she said. “Well, technically, these orchids are native to tropical America, Central Mexico and West Indies. Their natural habitat is usually at coastal forests, low to mid-level elevation mountain forests and mangroves. So, typically their natural habitat is not here.”

  Julian and I exchange glances. This is not looking good. Could it be that Alexa ended up elsewhere, outside of our region?

  “But you’re in luck. The Orchid Society of Wakefield County discovered the Brassavola thriving in a small area in the Mission Forest. They’re studying how this happened, especially since it’s only on this specific tree.”

  I look at Julian, and he returns my gaze with a raised brow. “Grandma, do you know where this area is located?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, my dear. You’ll have to ask the society for that information. I heard that it’s challenging to find but a doable hike.”

  Julian gives his grandma a hug. “You’re the best, and you’ve helped us plenty. We’ll talk to the society, and we’ll go from there.”

  A few minutes later, she’s walking us to the front door when I remember Alexa’s necklace. “Mrs. Taylor, can I show you something?”

  I pull out the pendant and place it on her weathered palm. She smiles upon setting her eyes on the flower. “That’s a heliotrope. That flower symbolizes eternal love, honey. Whoever gave this to you must think you’re very special.” She turns to Julian. “Better get on it, boy.”

  Julian rolls his eyes. “Trust me, grams, I’m trying.”

  I gulp and turn around, pretending I heard nothing.

  ***

  “Houston, we have a problem.”

  Julian and I are sitting in the car in front of my house. I just completed a google search on the Orchid Society’s hours, and it’s not looking good.

  “What’s up?” he asks.

  “Their office closes at 2 pm, and they’re only open on the weekdays.”

  “So, we go during lunchtime,” he said, shrugging.

  “We can’t,” I said. “We’re not gonna make it back in time for fifth period.”

  “So, we ditch.”

  “Hell, no!” I exclaimed. “My parents will find out on Monday, and I’m pretty sure they’ll ship me out to my grandparents the very next day.”

  “Ok, so then I’ll ditch. I’m eighteen already. The school won’t call my parents anymore.”

  I purse my lips. “Must be nice.”

  He tugs on my curls. “You’ll be 18 in a month. No worries.”

  “True,” I said. “I’m just getting impatient.”

  He reaches out for my hand and squeezes it. “Hey, if you ever feel you’re in danger of being shipped out somewhere, call me, ok?”

  I squeeze his hand back. But then I remember my mother’s threat when I was fourteen, and I’m reminded why I don’t want him involved. But it’s a nice thought.

  Ping!

  I look at my phone. It’s Jordan. Julian curses under his breath. Then he releases my hand.

  “And if Jordan hurts you, call me for that too, coz I’ll kick his ass.”

  I smile and open the door. “Thanks, Jules, but I got this.” I step outside the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Chapter 43

  Julian

  The Orchid Society office is a cramped space full of dusty old books, paperwork and pots of orchids. No surprise there. I sneeze as soon as I step in, catching the attention of a wiry middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair. He looks up from his desk and frowns. I’m sure he’s thinking I’m a hoodlum, since I’m not in school.