Wildflower Hope (The Wildflower House)

by Grace Greene

  “Be right back,” I said and dashed inside.

  I brushed the carriage house dust from my hair and face and put on a fresh blouse. Seth and Maddie were still standing there, hand in hand, when I came out the back door.

  Now that we were headed back toward the path to the Albers home, Maddie’s mood changed for the better. She released Seth’s hand. She was practically dancing as she skipped ahead of us.

  “She’s excited,” I said.

  In a soft voice, low enough that Maddie couldn’t hear, Seth said, “I intended to surprise you, but not quite this way. Mom told me what she wanted to do after I’d landed. That’s the only reason for the last-minute invitation.” He grinned. “But I still surprised you, right?”

  His hand brushed mine, and I caught it. I held it only for a moment, not wanting to worry Maddie Lyn. But the feeling of his hand in mine, our flesh warm together, lingered deliciously.

  I said, “She’s so thrilled to have you here, and a birthday party too.”

  “Technically, her birthday is in two days, but I have to be back in LA before that for an important meeting.”

  “A short visit.” It was hard to hide my disappointment.

  “Crazy short. I’m flying back tomorrow. But I’m glad I could work it out. As for us, I haven’t forgotten we never went on that date we’d planned.”

  “Not your fault. Not anyone’s. Between losing Dad and you getting the job offer . . . well, we had to put our personal plans on hold.”

  “We’ll have our date when I come back next time—if you’re still interested and haven’t given up on me.”

  I gave his arm a gentle shove.

  “Thanks for understanding,” he said. “I was surprised at how clingy Maddie Lyn was when she saw me. I guess I shouldn’t have been.”

  “It’s hard for her. You’re her father figure.”

  We stopped on the small wooden bridge over Cub Creek.

  Seth took my hand again and said, “It’s been just over a month since we stood here and you told me goodbye—to go to LA so that I could come back all the sooner.”

  “Words to that effect, anyway.” I smiled.

  “And a kiss I’ll never forget.”

  I caressed his cheek. He leaned toward me. I leaned in too. My lips were already tingling, remembering the feel of that last kiss, when a small voice called out, “Come on! Hurry!”

  “Cake awaits,” Seth said, drawing back. “Rain check?”

  I slipped my arm in his. “Always.”

  Maddie ran back to claim us. She positioned herself between us and put a hand in each of ours to better tug us down the path and toward the party.

  Inside, I chafed at the interruption, but I knew—I remembered well—how disruptive it could be to lose a parent. Seth was Maddie’s father figure, and though his absence was temporary, it must feel scary and sad for a child who was about to turn five.

  The Albers house was a long brick rancher that had been added on to over the years. It was roomy, but the three-car garage in the side yard was much newer and nearly dwarfed it. The path opened onto the backyard, and we walked around to the front door. As we entered the house, I looked around. This was my first visit. Seemed like at least one of the Albers family showed up at my place regularly—and I was usually glad to see them—but I hadn’t crossed the bridge to this side of Cub Creek until today.

  Mel’s kitchen wasn’t fancy, but it was tidy and warm. The wallpaper may have been popular when the house had been built. It pictured teakettles with flowers and had faded over the years into a sepia-toned aspect that was, in itself, part of the coziness.

  That coziness, however, contrasted oddly with the mood around the table.

  The cake was delicious, but it was only me, Mel, Nicole, Seth, and of course Maddie gathered around the kitchen table, and the adults were a little too determined to make it fun. Everyone focused so intently on Maddie, the birthday girl and only child present, that the interactions felt strained.

  There was laughter, but sometimes too sharp or forced. Or maybe that was my imagination. I knew Seth would walk me home, and I was looking forward to having a little time alone with him, but as we were leaving, Maddie insisted on joining us. I sensed we might be treated to a tantrum or a meltdown if she wasn’t allowed along. Her uncle, the only daddy she’d ever known, was here for this one night. I empathized with her.

  Pushing my own disappointment aside, I took her hand in mine and smiled an invitation. She squeezed my fingers, and we headed with Seth out the door.

  Maddie kept a tight grip on our hands and sang a medley of tunes as we walked along. I recognized a few as Disney-princess songs. Some snippets of song I didn’t recognize at all. But the uninhibited serenade effectively restrained conversation between Seth and me.

  We had time, right? If we meant something special to each other, then we’d make the opportunity to mean more. I could be patient. I remembered his patience with me that first day we’d met and even after. It was Seth who’d welcomed me to Cub Creek, Seth who’d introduced me to the nooks on the grounds, and Seth who’d told me the story about Rob and Mary Forster, the house’s original owners, and how the wildflower field had come to be.

  In a rare quiet moment during our walk back, I said, “I was thinking about the wildflowers and the story you told me about how Mary could no longer keep up the yard and how angry she was when Rob cut the grass down to the roots, threw out the seed, and let it go . . . until spring came and the flowers grew en masse.”

  “Why are you thinking about that?”

  “Because I’m thinking about you.” I smiled with a teasing grin.

  Maddie Lyn burst into the alphabet song. Seth shot me an amused look before adding his voice to Maddie’s.

  When we three reached Wildflower House, Seth gave me a quick hug and a kiss. While his lips were near my cheek, he whispered he’d call me later. I waved goodbye as Seth and Maddie walked hand in hand back down to the creek. As they neared the woods, Seth swung Maddie up into the air, and she landed on his back with her arms over his shoulders and wrapped around his neck. His arms provided a perch for her legs. Her legs dangled—evidence that she was growing up fast. But for a while yet she was still young enough, and with her laughter filling the air, they vanished into the forest’s edge and the approaching twilight.

  It was an emptier space without Seth’s presence and Maddie’s laughter. I tried to hold the feeling of their presence close to me a few minutes longer by thinking of Seth and the nooks.

  Seth had introduced me to the gazing ball grotto, the largest of the nooks, on the second day of our acquaintance. I thought of that nook as Seth’s grotto. I’d been the recipient of his kindness, his intelligence, and his humor. His mind and manner were flexible and open. One moment he’d be teasing me about being afraid of the basement while making sure I knew where the furnace and fuse box were located; the next we’d be sailing toy boats in Cub Creek with Maddie; and other times we discussed our favorite literature and poetry while the breeze rustled the boughs overhead.

  Did Seth and I have a relationship? Something more than almost sweethearts? Would we? I thought we could, but until he returned to Cub Creek to stay, how would we know? His new employer had said he could work from here after he was well versed in the business. I hoped he’d be able to make the move home soon.

  At Wildflower House, the day lingered longer in the backyard because it faced west and the open slope let in more sunlight and resisted the darkness longer. I stood on the back porch and watched the sunset colors bloom over the creek and forest as the sun descended.

  With full dark, the insects, notably the mosquitoes and lightning bugs, came out to hunt and play. I enjoyed the lightning bugs but not the mosquitoes, so I went inside to fix a snack. I took the plate into the sitting room and set it on the table between my chair and Dad’s. I switched on the television, then settled into Dad’s roomier chair, where I could tuck my legs up under me. It was quiet despite the TV.

  M
addie’s birthday party was the most social thing I’d done in forever.

  I’d lost touch with my friends from school. I’d been friendly with my coworkers, but not actual friends. Only Victoria . . . well, that was past too. Over.

  When Niles and I had been building our lives together, in those early hectic days of marriage and new jobs, and even before that, during the college days when Victoria and I first became friends—everything felt like it mattered. Every day had been lived in anticipation and drama.

  But people got older, right? Life and fate took their toll.

  I turned the sound up louder to shut out my thoughts.

  The replay of my favorite version of Pride and Prejudice was on. Hard to beat Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy and Jennifer Ehle as Elizabeth Bennet. This was the miniseries version that went on for hours and felt almost like an old friend. Niles had laughed whenever he’d seen me watching it. He’d said I’d been born in the wrong century—sometimes I agreed. Niles had been a person of energy and ambition. I had appreciated that ambition sometimes; sometimes not. I’d thought that “sometimes; sometimes not” was part of marriage. Compromise and give-and-take. I hadn’t discovered until the night of the accident that our understanding of marriage had been our biggest disagreement of all. Niles had blamed me for being me. For being content in our life. For being . . . boring and bossy. He’d blamed me so that he could justify finding amusement with other women.

  If the accident hadn’t happened, if Niles hadn’t died, where would I be now?

  Life was filled with cautions, as Will might say, so there were no guarantees. I would’ve had a child, though. A toddler by now. Boy or girl? I’d never know.

  The loss nagged at me, maybe because it didn’t feel quite real. Niles and I had gone out to dinner for our sixth anniversary, and I’d been trying to find the right time to tell him we were expecting a baby when it had all blown up—both between us and with those headlights suddenly coming at us. Next thing I knew, I was in the hospital, drugged and in pain, and Dad was at my bedside. By that point, it had all been over except the recovery. But some of the things that had been real before the accident had still felt real in the aftermath and were hard to let go of.

  The phone rang. Seth’s name was on the screen. I grabbed for it.

  “Seth?”

  “Sorry about today, Kara. It was good to see you, though my big surprise—showing up on your doorstep to charm you—didn’t quite work out. Thanks for understanding. Maddie’s finally in bed. She’s worn out. You were great with her.”

  “I know she’s glad to have seen you.”

  “I wonder if it was a mistake. A short trip like this—all that time and energy flying cross-country for a twenty-four-hour visit, and poor Maddie is going to feel even more disappointed when I leave tomorrow.”

  “I disagree. She’ll miss you, yes, and a longer visit would’ve been better for all concerned . . . including me.” I added the last bit with a lighter tone. “But you were here and made a birthday memory with her.”

  Women’s voices suddenly filled the background.

  “Sorry, Kara. Mom and Nicole want to talk. I need to discuss things with them.”

  “Things?”

  “Family stuff. The usual. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

  “Sure. That’s fine.”

  “Good night.”

  “Night, Seth.”

  He was gone. I sat there, feeling directionless.

  I turned off the TV and carried my plate and glass to the kitchen.

  It was just past nine p.m., I was thirty, and I was heading to bed. What was wrong with this picture?

  “Things will look different in the morning,” I told myself out loud. “They always do.”

  I sat on the side of the bed and snagged the drawer pull on the nightstand. As the drawer slid open, the brown plastic prescription bottles rolled and rattled, and I grabbed one.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  No dreams troubled my night, at least none that I remembered. I slept solidly. But when daylight began to fill the room and I woke, I didn’t feel rested. I sat up, and my head went woozy, as if I might be coming down with something. I hoped not. Who would take care of me?

  Sitting on the side of the bed, I performed my usual morning arm and leg stretches before standing—the ones I’d been doing routinely since the accident. My old injuries no longer required therapy, but the act of stretching my feet, my ankles, and my legs was a gentle way of easing into morning. Plus, the delay gave my foggy head a chance to catch up with my waking state.

  The sun streamed in through the bedroom windows and brightened the room around me, poking holes in my mental fog. It warmed my flesh, and the breeze coming through the open window teased me into staying upright.

  I had a mouthful of cotton. That happened when I took the blue pills. It would pass as soon as I had a drink of water with a caffeine chaser.

  Deliberately pressing my feet to the floor, I stood. Something pricked my foot. A leaf was stuck to the tender flesh of my arch. A few dark grains of earth were scattered on the floor nearby.

  A leaf. Dirt. I sat down again and picked up the leaf. I twisted it in my fingers, examining it. Green, so it had recently been torn from whatever plant it belonged to.

  But on the floor?

  I must’ve tracked it up here last night when I went to bed.

  What had I done before coming up to bed? I’d taken that walk with Seth and Maddie, and I’d stayed out in the backyard until dark. Then I’d watched TV and eaten a snack.

  There’d been a twig in the upstairs hallway yesterday.

  The obvious explanation was that I lived in the country and was outside often.

  No reason to make something out of nothing.

  I dropped the leaf in the trash on my way to the bathroom.

  As promised, Seth called, and he called at noon, which surprised me since he couldn’t have reached LA already.

  “My connecting flight is delayed. I was going to call you later, but if you’re free now, can you keep me company?”

  “With pleasure. In fact, I’ll take you outdoors with me.” I laughed.

  “Almost like taking a walk with you, but not as good as the real thing. Where are we going? Down to the bench by the creek?”

  I stepped outside. “Maybe. It’s a gorgeous day.”

  The landscapers were working off to my right as I walked down the hill. They looked busy, and I kept moving.

  Seth said, “Tell me about the day.”

  “It’s going okay.”

  “I mean The Day. Tell me what you see.”

  A rough wave of emotion rushed over and past me. The Day, as Seth called it here at Wildflower House, surrounded me. As much as I had come to love the house, it was the outside that resonated most strongly with me, even with the flowers gone.

  “The work crew is clearing the side yards and cleaning up the front. There’s a lot to be done.”

  “One thing at a time.”

  “One thing at a time. Everything in its season,” I said as I walked down the grass path bordering the dried remains of the flower field. “Earth laughs in flowers.”

  “Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote that.”

  “It was what I thought of the first day I saw the wildflowers. Did you know that I planned to leave at the end of wildflower season? That’s what I promised myself when I decided to move here with Dad.”

  After a longish pause, Seth asked, “Are you considering leaving now? Because there’s a flaw in your reasoning, you know.”

  Hesitating on the top stone step leading down to Seth’s grotto, I asked, “A flaw? I have many of those and have made many mistakes. But what’s the flaw in this instance?”

  “There is no end to wildflower season . . . except maybe the dead of winter, and even that is a resting season for the seeds and roots. There are spring wildflowers, summer flowers, and even those that bloom in the fall. If you were going to leave at the end of wildflower season, then you’ve locked yourself in until
winter. And frankly, winter is a beautiful season. If you haven’t seen the snow like a blanket on the slope, heavy on low-hanging branches, clinging to the rocks in the creek, then you’ve missed a beautiful scene. So you should reconsider that line of reasoning.”

  “Sounds icy,” I said, trying to be clever, but my tone came across as harsh. I added, “Dragonflies are suddenly everywhere outside. Must be dragonfly season now. And that will have to satisfy me because there’s no real hope for more wildflowers this year, not after the damage from the hailstorm.”

  “I know all about that hailstorm damage. I was there right after, remember? I found you in the mud. I rescued you.”

  “A gentleman wouldn’t mention that.”

  “You kissed me, mud and all.”

  “I recall that as a joint effort, sir.”

  He sighed. “We’re overdue, Kara.”

  “You are so right.”

  In a lower voice, he said, “Someone just walked by. I think they were listening.”

  “Lucky them,” I said.

  “As for luck, you were lucky about the minimal hail damage to the house. Any problems with that?”

  “No, the storm damage is all fixed.”

  “How’s your new car working out?”

  “Well enough. I’m not picky about cars. If it’s reliable and has a few extras, I’m happy.” I laughed. “I’d like it to stay away from hail, of course.” I descended the stone steps to Seth’s grotto. “Guess where I am.”

  “The grotto nook.”

  Surprised, I asked, “How did you know?”

  “I can hear the breeze, or rather the swish of the wind in the leaves.”

  “You speak words like poetry, Seth. Maybe you should give up writing human interest stories and marketing copy. You are a poet at heart.”

  “No poetry. Takes too much discipline and has too many rules. The challenge to bend or break them is too much for me.”

  “I understand. I can’t write poetry, but I enjoy reading it. Or used to.” I’d stopped reading for pleasure at some point during my six years of marriage.