Wildflower Hope (The Wildflower House)

by Grace Greene

  It was as if a truck had slammed into me all over again. I focused on breathing and getting my thoughts straight.

  I stared at Victoria’s back. At her long curly black hair. She’d added a violet streak down the side. Some sort of package rested on her lap.

  Every ounce of anger I’d felt the day I’d thrown her out of the house returned in a rush. If she felt my eyes boring into her back, she’d surely turn around and see me here. I stood unmoving. The pictures on her phone of her laughing with Niles flashed through my mind, with his voice from the night of the accident echoing as if superimposed, saying, I’ve been seeing someone. I’d seen those photos by accident right after Dad’s funeral. And I’d confronted her. She’d denied any wrongdoing. She’d said ugly things. So had I.

  Whether or not she’d cheated with my husband, she’d cheated on me, as her friend. She’d given her loyalty to Niles and kept me in the dark.

  I wanted to run out to the porch and chase her away. I held back because I didn’t want to relive that ugliness. Caught between those two needs, I felt like I was vibrating, almost being torn apart.

  And still she sat. My heart rate increased and pounded at a low warning level in my ears. I touched the wavy glass delicately with one fingertip.

  Victoria.

  We’d met on that first day of college, hardly knowing anyone and both open to believing in good intentions. So long ago—twelve years that felt like a lifetime. I’d met Victoria first and then Niles. For a while we’d all been friends. When Niles and I had fallen in love, Victoria had often been excluded. It was only natural. But we’d done a lot of stuff together too.

  Niles and I had married right after graduation. Victoria had always seemed to be there somewhere around us, finding a job near ours and a nearby apartment too.

  I’d thrown her out of Wildflower House only days after my father died, the same day I’d seen the photos. She’d said she hadn’t cheated with Niles, that she’d been trying to convince him to be honest with me. After my anger and hurt had lessened, I tended to believe her. But she’d been tempted—I also believed that. Regardless of her intentions, she’d gone behind my back when she’d met with him, had excluded me and kept information from me that I should’ve been told. She’d chosen her side. As far as I was concerned, disloyalty was only a euphemism for lies and treachery.

  Later, I’d sent her a note with a tiny apology for how I’d handled ending our friendship, but I’d been very clear that she wasn’t invited back here or into my life. I’d known I might regret sending it, but I’d done it for her and also for me—perhaps to ease my conscience at the way I’d behaved, justified or not. I’d known she might take it to mean more than it did. Victoria was Victoria, and she would read it as meaning whatever she most wanted it to say.

  The truth was it was extremely difficult to be around Victoria and not be reminded of Niles, the accident, and my losses. Not all of it was her fault, but she was wrapped up in it.

  There were cars and trucks parked out front. I knew Will’s truck. Lon’s vehicle. My car. The unidentified car was surely hers, though I didn’t recognize it.

  How dare she sit on my porch, my bench, as if she has a right?

  Not a right, no. But she had a reason. Victoria always had a reason.

  Angry words were swirling in my head. I felt them perched on the end of my tongue and pushing against my lips.

  Victoria might have a reason, but I had a choice.

  She was here, and I would have to confront her, but I needed to breathe first. I backed away, then walked to the kitchen and out to the back porch.

  I gripped the railing. I closed my eyes and focused on the feel of my breath coming in and out. I began to feel my fingers unclench and my heart rate slow. Within that moment of clearheaded sanity came the realization that it didn’t matter.

  None of it mattered. Not Victoria. Not confronting her again. I needed to be about my business. I’d already accepted my losses as best I could, and I was moving forward in the middle of a challenging but also invigorating project. I wouldn’t allow Victoria to upset that balance. It was my choice and within my control. It was time to do some adulting. Adulting with dignity. I envisioned myself walking out to the front porch. Victoria would look up. I’d say, You are not welcome here. No more than that. I had no intention of stirring things up again between us. With one last long, cleansing breath, I let it all go.

  “You okay?”

  It was Will. He was standing on the terrace and looking up at me.

  I forced a small smile. “I’m fine.”

  “You looked . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t know. A little scary, maybe? Not like yourself. Sorry for interrupting.”

  Scary? I smiled at that. “Not at all. Just deep in thought. Did you need me?”

  After a fraction of a pause, he said, “I thought you might like a progress report.”

  “Oh.” Actually, that sounded good. In fact, it was a relief to put off dealing with Victoria a little longer. “How’s it going?” I asked as I walked down to join him on the terrace.

  Will looked fresher today—not that dripping mess from a few days ago when we’d collided. His complexion was much less red, his expression was bright, and I noted those vivid blue eyes again. His hair had been trimmed.

  He smiled. This time he didn’t look away. “Lon’s been working in the carriage house, and Derek finished clearing the growth around the building.”

  The carriage house was a short distance into the woods, so a few trees still blocked most of the view, but a lot of the scrubby growth had been removed, and I could see more of the building now.

  “I’d love to take a look.” Yeah, that little voice in my head said, anything to delay confronting Victoria again.

  “Is something wrong? You keep looking back over your shoulder. Is there a problem?”

  “Nothing worth allowing it to interfere with our business.”

  The blue tarps on the roof of the carriage house were either an eyesore or a sign of progress. Will moved up to walk alongside me as we followed what was now a wide path meandering through the trees until we reached the wide doors of the carriage house. Both sets of doors were now open. The interior was still rustic but fresher. That fine, dusty silt was gone. The earthen floor of the main room and in the old partitioned areas that had presumably housed horses was freshly swept and hard packed. The door to the small office area was also wide open, and I put my head inside, surprised to note that it had a wood-planked floor and space enough for a desk and maybe bookcases or file cabinets. The small window at the end had been washed and cracked open, allowing fresh air in and stale air out.

  Will said, “The carriage would have been parked in the large open area. The stall doors were removed years ago, probably when it was updated for cars. We found some old bicycle parts rusting behind the building. I don’t think anyone ever parked cars in here, because we’d see old oil stains and such.”

  I was staring up and around and all over. “It looks so different now.” I looked at Will. “It actually looks usable.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Once that roof is good, the electricity can be run out here. There’s an old pump outside, but I recommend running water in here too. Install a large sink over there, especially for artistic activities. You can also have wood flooring laid in here if you’re interested in that.”

  He got it. My vision. Somehow he’d understood the plans knocking around in my head. I felt giddy and almost speechless.

  Will asked, “Want to check out the upstairs?”

  “Yes.” I put one foot on the first step and tested it, then moved up the dim stairs. As I reached the top and my head was about to rise above the level of that second floor, I gripped the railing. The roof was high enough that there was room for a short adult to walk comfortably. I imagined items not used daily had been stored here. It was empty now except for a row of built-in chests along one wall. They were simple wooden boxes with hinged tops. I lifted one of the lids. It held a jumble
of old objects. Old horse-type gear. Even a pair of dusty driving goggles. The gear was dirty but so old it wasn’t smelly. I released the lid.

  Will had climbed up and was standing near the stairs.

  “You’re right. It’s looking good,” I said. “The roofer should have the estimate to me in a few days. Will the tarps be sufficient in the meanwhile?”

  He nodded. “Yes, they’re secure. I’m glad you’re happy with the work.”

  I laughed. “Happy doesn’t cover it. I’m thrilled.”

  I returned back down the stairs, and Will followed. He said, “If there’s anything else, let me know.”

  “Of course. So much to think about.”

  “I’m sure. All good things, though.”

  “Good things,” I agreed. “Thank you, Will.”

  He left, and I was ready. Being in the carriage house, discussing business with Will, had given me time to decompress. I felt calm now. I could do this. Victoria.

  I walked past the hollies and the side porch. As I neared the front porch, my feet felt heavier, dragging a little, but I kept my shoulders back and my head up. I rounded the corner and found the bench vacant.

  The car that had been parked away from the others was also gone. I went to the front door and tested the knob. Locked.

  She’d left. Had she grown tired of waiting?

  I heard a noise and spun around. Lon had kicked some gravel while walking over to the back of Will’s truck. I was so jumpy.

  He pulled a cold bottle of water from a cooler in the truck bed. He caught sight of me, stumbled a little, and gave me a wave.

  “Lon?”

  He stopped. “Yes?”

  “Did you notice a woman here earlier? Sitting on the porch?”

  He looked blank.

  “Her car was here.” I added feebly, “I just wondered if you’d noticed when she left.”

  “No, sorry. I’ve been working.”

  I forced a shrug. “Okay, thanks.”

  “Maybe she left a note. Like in the door or the mailbox?”

  “Maybe so. Thanks, Lon.”

  He nodded and went to the backyard.

  I walked to the mailbox. It was a long trek down the dirt-and-gravel drive that bisected my front yard—the immense front yard with its towering pines and gnarled oaks. One day, after the more opportunistic growth had been cleared, this ground would be thickly carpeted with pine tags and autumn leaves year round. And one day I’d get this drive paved.

  A fox scooted by on the periphery of my vision, and a bird called at me, either singing a welcome or cursing me as an invader. The tangy-sweet scent of the pines toyed with my nose.

  There was no note from Victoria in the mailbox. I wasn’t surprised. The important point was that she’d been here and was now gone. Gone was the word that mattered.

  I thought of the leaf and dirt on my bedroom floor and the twig littering my hallway.

  Whatever the explanation for those, Victoria wasn’t the culprit. Regardless of whatever else she might choose to do, she’d never invite herself into the house without making herself known. Not even Victoria at her most egotistical would do something that rude and stupid.

  Clearly, she’d come with a purpose and had lost her nerve. If she had any sense, she’d leave well enough alone.

  As for the debris on the floor? I was sure it was nothing. But there was no reward for stupidity or willful blindness. I would follow up with a call to a security company.

  As I walked back to the house, the trees waved in a breeze high overhead, and squirrels raced each other around the trunks, and I felt at home. Was it perfect? No. Flaws? Yes, I had them. So did Wildflower House. And maybe that was part of our beauty.

  Audacious, indeed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  That afternoon I retreated to the middle room. It felt like a haven after the crazy morning. I was ready for a peaceful afternoon. I focused on my work and pushed myself to add details and thoughts to both the project plan in the spreadsheet and the business plan in the Word document. They were still wholly inadequate, but there was progress.

  After a while, the breeze coming through the open front door and flowing up the hallway teased me.

  Time for a treat. I was playing now, much like Maddie with a box of crayons, except I was using markers and colored pencils.

  I’d sketched in the rough heart of the property, including the house, the driveway out front winding up toward the main road, and the grounds in the back to include the creek, with a pencil. The top border was the creek. The woods on either side were fuzzy borders because I was estimating where the nooks were located. The house was in the middle, and then the public road was the bottom boundary. Proportions were relative and largely optional. This was more of an interpretation than a true—

  Mel called out, “You in here, Kara?”

  Like mother, like daughter? Or was it a regional thing wherein a friendly callout was more neighborly than banging on an already open door?

  “I’m here,” I called out, standing. As I exited the middle room, I pulled the door closed behind me. “Is Maddie with you?”

  “She has a playdate today.”

  I shook my head at the bags in Mel’s arms. “Not more food? I can’t keep up.”

  Mel laughed. “Not for you. This is different. My fridge gave out. I could fit most of it in the backup fridge in the garage, but not all. You mind?” She nodded toward my refrigerator.

  “Whatever fits. In fact, there’s a lot we can pull out if we need to make more room for yours.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.” Mel gave me a wry look. “Is something wrong with your AC?”

  “No. I like the fresh air. It stays pretty cool in this house. Sometimes the heat builds up in the late afternoon, and I kick the AC on.” I reached to take a bag from her.

  “Not that one. Take the small one that’s about to break my pinkie finger right off my hand.”

  I did as instructed.

  “That one’s for you,” she said.

  “For me?” Inside the bag I now held was a weighty block of something that smelled like heaven wrapped in waxed paper. I breathed in the aroma as Mel set her bags on the table.

  “It’s fudge. I make crazy-mad-good fudge.”

  “Yum. I’m sorry, Mel, for what I said. I appreciate all the food you’ve given me over the past month and a half. You’re an excellent cook.” I stuck my nose inside the bag again and breathed. “But this? This is different. This is fudge.”

  She opened the fridge door and then the freezer and gave it a cursory inspection. “You ain’t eating much of anything as far as I can see. Not even when it’s gifted to you on a silver platter. Well, in foil and plastic, anyway.”

  I looked at her, staring at her thin arms and her scrawny build.

  Mel made a rude noise and said, “I see you looking at me cross-eyed, but it’s my metabolism. It keeps me skinny. I’m fit because I’m always moving.”

  “And that’s not me?”

  Mel laughed again, this time with a little more mirth.

  I said, “I’m pretty busy around here, you know.”

  “No, you are not.” Mel paused to fold the paper bag and reach for the next. “Though I give you credit. You are trying. I can see stuff is happening. But as for the food—you’re skinny because you aren’t eating. It’s natural enough. I’ve seen it before with grief. You’ll get past it, Kara, but in the meanwhile you’ve got to watch your health. If you get any skinnier, you’ll be able to disappear by turning sideways.”

  She glanced at my face and then stopped. “If I’m nagging, I apologize. Guess I forgot I wasn’t your mama.”

  My hand went to my throat. “No, you’re not my mother, and I’m glad. You didn’t know her, or you’d understand my meaning. You’re my friend, and I’m grateful. You need to stop worrying over me. I’m a grown woman, and I’m reasonably smart. I’ll be fine.”

  She faced me squarely. “I’m pushy by nature, and I’m worried about you. And Mad
die Lyn too.” She quickly added, “But only a little. Miss Maddie will be fine.”

  “Nicole said something similar.”

  “This is a big time in a child’s life, you know. Getting ready to start kindergarten. Seth gone. I know time heals, but it passes differently for a child.” She looked at the stack of containers she’d removed from the refrigerator and shook her head at me. “I won’t say another word about food after this, but you need to eat more and get out and about. As for me and Maddie Lyn, Seth will be back soon, and then we’ll all be better.”

  “Love goes a long way, Mel. Just love Maddie and be there for her. My advice, inexperienced though I may be as a parent, is to encourage her to talk about her feelings. I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it, and it’s still with me.” I pressed my hand to my heart.

  “About your daddy dying? You know I’m always a willing listener, Kara. No need to keep that stuff inside.”

  “I mean about my mom leaving. Encourage Maddie to talk about her mom and her uncle. Better for her to annoy people by going over the same things over and over than to have her draw her own conclusions . . . conclusions drawn by a five-year-old’s brain and experience.” I turned my back to reach into a cabinet to get a glass. “Thirsty? Can I offer you water or tea?”

  Mel kept silent. She was waiting, I knew. Waiting for me to face her again. I had to, so I did.

  “I have grieved, too, Kara.”

  Of course she had. I opened my mouth to respond. Mel raised her hand, motioning me to stop.

  “I have grieved. For my husband. For my daughter, Patricia, Maddie Lyn’s mom. Not so very many years ago, I buried my parents. Mom went quickly. Daddy didn’t. He died slowly. The grief was the same but with a longer introduction.”

  Mel pulled a chair away from the table and half sat, half fell into it in a slow, controlled motion. I was holding on to the counter. I hurt inside, though the pain was hard to define. It was an old pain overlaid with fresher grief.

  She said, “I’ll take a sip of water, after all.”

  I poured her fresh water from the pitcher in the fridge and set the glass in front of her. She ran her thin fingers down the side, relishing the chill, and then she nodded.