The Memories That Make Us

by Vanessa Carnevale

  ‘So, what do you suggest?’

  ‘If you’re thinking commercial, you’d best replant some new ones, that way you’ll get an early and late flowering crop.’

  He gestures for me to follow him. We enter a room stacked with crates of bulbs, tubers and corms.

  ‘You take your pick, sweetheart,’ he says. ‘Anything this side of the wall you can plant in early spring and you should see some good results.’

  I scan my eyes over the labels on the crates. I reach for one of the onion-shaped corms and rest it in my palm, turning over the possibilities.

  ‘Gladdies—they’re showy bloomers. Perfect for late spring and summer crops,’ says Mason, looking at my hand. ‘Stagger the planting over a few weeks and you’ll have a steady supply of flowers in around ninety days.’

  ‘When’s the earliest you could deliver the supplies?’

  He gives me a wink. ‘Just say the word and I’ll have the truck out there.’

  ‘Great,’ I say, nodding.

  Mason reaches into the pocket of his shirt, produces a business card and hands me a pricelist.

  I wait outside for a cab, a field of possibility swirling through my head, a copy of Floral Designs under my left arm, and a bag of birdseed in the other.

  The following morning, I don’t meet Flynn at the field gate for a run. Instead, I start tidying things up in the barn: clearing cobwebs, cleaning windows, rearranging tables, sweeping the floor. The list of things to do if I do take on this task seems endless, and includes things like preparing windbreaks, checking the soil pH, and preparing the soil for planting. I’ll need to get seedlings started in the barn, and at some point I’ll need to think of how to implement an irrigation system. If I go ahead with this, I’ll have to decide whether to use raised beds or simply plant in the ground, but before I can put anything in motion, I still need to work out whether it’s possible to make an income, the kind of income I’ll need to stay here. As the figures blur once again, and my head fills with confusion, I can’t help thinking that maybe Flynn’s right. Maybe this is too big a task, and maybe a neat little cottage garden is a better, more practical option. However, that wouldn’t resolve the bank problem.

  I’d hoped Flynn might come past this morning with news regarding the figures, but as the clock ticks by, I become impatient. Grabbing my notebook and calculator, I close the front door behind me and head over to his place. I knock once and Flynn calls out for me to enter. I follow the sound of his voice to the kitchen, and that’s when I notice two uncleared breakfast plates on the table. Just then, the floral scent of perfume wafts into the kitchen as a woman steps into the room. She’s wheeling an overnight suitcase and is wearing a cashmere turtleneck jumper over a pair of tight-fitting pants, and a pair of leather boots. Her ash-blonde hair is swept into a high ponytail.

  My heart leaps into my throat. Suddenly, I have no words. I watch Flynn step down from the ladder he’s standing on, with a spent lightbulb in hand, before my attention turns back to this woman. This beautiful woman. She exchanges a nervous glance with Flynn, the kind of glance that shows me there’s something between them that I’m not a part of, and my skin pricks with heat.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you had company,’ I say, turning to Flynn.

  ‘Gracie, uh, this is …’

  The woman smiles warmly at me.

  ‘I’m Olivia,’ she says, extending a hand. Her voice, smooth like velvet, matches her sophisticated demeanour.

  ‘Gracie,’ I say, tight-lipped. My heart is racing, my cheeks already burning, and I’m sure they’ve noticed my embarrassment. I take a step backwards, my hip clumsily bumping into a chair. I extend my arms to stop it falling. ‘I didn’t mean to come over unannounced like this. I wondered if you’d … I might … come back later, or just …’ I turn to Flynn, tears starting behind my eyes ‘… see you round.’

  I head for the front door. Parrot scampers after me, wanting to follow. Flynn trails behind him.

  ‘Gracie, wait,’ he whispers.

  ‘No, Parrot,’ I say firmly, ignoring his owner. ‘Stay. Do not come after me.’

  ‘You don’t need to go,’ says Flynn. ‘It’s not what you think.’

  I wave my calculator at him to be quiet, as I start crumbling apart from the inside.

  The most logical place to go is home. But instead, I run for the willow tree. And there I sit with my back leaning against the trunk, engulfed by the echo of my sobs, for what feels like hours, as I try to calculate why on earth I’m feeling this way.

  Just like the figures, the answers don’t come.

  TWENTY

  Now that spring is nearing, the days start to stretch a little longer than they usually do. This evening I’m curled up on the sofa, desperate for a distraction, but there’s nothing on TV that interests me. I tuck my feet under the covers of a chunky throw blanket, and draw my knees closer to me, where I rest a plate of honey on toast and mindlessly spend the next hour flicking from one channel to another. I’ve tried calling Scarlett, but she isn’t answering her phone. I lower the volume when I hear the front gate squeak open and the pitter-patter of steps, telling me it’s Flynn with Parrot. Anticipation sweeps through me, and I hold my breath.

  Flynn knocks the same way he always does, four taps in quick succession, and the door groans open. ‘Gracie,’ he calls softly.

  Exhaling, I call out to him, ‘In here!’ I pull the blanket up towards my chin as he lets himself in.

  Parrot jumps onto the sofa and rests his head on my lap, a welcome source of comfort.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ I say.

  He sits down beside me, but not close enough that we’re touching. ‘I know you’re upset … but the thing is—I could never stay away from you.’ He tilts his neck and searches my face for a reaction.

  I don’t respond.

  ‘I mean that, Gracie. And I know what you’re thinking and I know what it looks like, but you’re—’

  I stick my fingers in my ears, which is possibly the most childish reaction I could have to this, but I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear Flynn making excuses about why he’s been with another woman.

  ‘Save it, Flynn. It’s none of my business. You and her are none of my business.’ I slide my plate of toast onto the coffee table and go to stand up, but Flynn moves closer towards me.

  ‘Gracie,’ he whispers, extending a hand to stroke my face. ‘I care about you … a lot.’ He reaches for my hand and closes his fingers around mine.

  ‘I don’t know how you can say that when she stayed the night.’ I pull my hand away, stand up and head to the kitchen for a glass of water, so I don’t have to maintain eye contact with him. He follows me. I lean against the sink, trying to push the image of Flynn and Olivia out of my mind.

  ‘It’s really not what you think.’

  I turn around to face him. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like we’re dating or in love or …’ My words catch.

  ‘The thing is, it does matter. Because you matter. So, let me tell you about Olivia.’

  ‘I don’t really want to talk about her … it … any of it. Like I said before, it’s really none of my business.’ I reach for a glass and pour myself a water, trying to steady my hand.

  ‘It is your business. I want my life to be your business.’

  ‘Well, here’s the thing. You can’t be my business. So, whatever that was, whoever she was … it doesn’t really matter.’ I try to sound convincing. I try to push aside the feelings I shouldn’t be feeling. I try to sound indifferent. I fail at all these things.

  ‘I came to tell you that Olivia is my sister,’ he says, his voice low and reassuring. ‘She’s studying art restoration in Paris and booked an impromptu flight to Melbourne to visit my parents and she wanted to surprise me before going back. I hadn’t seen her in a few months.’

  My insides pinch. I take a deep breath as my hand wraps around my glass, the water still running over my hands. His sister? My words ca
tch in my throat. ‘What? But I thought …’

  ‘I know what you thought. You might want to switch off the tap,’ he says, a boyish smile forming on his lips.

  Relief slides over me, but I still feel unsettled.

  Flynn leans across, turns off the tap and places his hand over mine as he pries the glass from my hand. He’s standing so close to me now I can smell his aftershave and feel the warmth of his body. He stares intently at me.

  ‘Your sister,’ I say.

  He nods. ‘You care.’

  I bite my lip and nod quietly, unable to admit it out loud. ‘I didn’t come here to complicate my life. I came here to find out who I really am, so I could find a way back to my fiancé. And I really wish that I’d organised the electricity in advance, but you showed up and now you’re here, and I know barely anything about him, but I feel like I know you. I wish that I’d met you in a previous life because maybe then we could find a way to …’

  Flynn squeezes his eyes closed. ‘Stop,’ he says. He moves a strand of hair from my face. ‘Just stop. This—all of it, is going to work itself out, I promise.’

  ‘The bank called again this morning.’

  Flynn reaches for my calculator and notebook on the table. He motions to the living room. ‘Come, I want to show you something,’ he says, taking my hand.

  I join him on the couch.

  ‘I know you’re upset with me about my reaction to your plans.’

  ‘I’m not upset with you,’ I say, as I move my plate onto the coffee table. I dab my finger onto the sticky crumbs and then proceed to lick it. ‘I just … I think I wanted you to tell me it would be easy … or at least easier.’ Noticing a sticky patch on my chin, I wipe over it but miss a spot, because Flynn then licks his finger and mops up the rest of the honey. As I watch him concentrating on rubbing my chin clean, I fight the urge to move closer to him.

  ‘Yeah, so about this idea. I think it’s great, but …’ He shifts back.

  ‘But what?’

  ‘I don’t know if this is the best solution for you.’ ‘You don’t think I can do this, you mean?’

  ‘It’s not that, I think that you should maybe consider that you have a life in the city that you might want to go back to some day, and before you commit to something like this, you need to be sure of what you want.’

  ‘But I know what I want.’

  He sits there, considering me. ‘I think you’re very confused right now.’

  ‘You’re making me feel like I’m incapable of making my own decisions,’ I say hotly. ‘Why all of a sudden is me staying or going an issue for you? I want to be able to spend some time doing what I love, what I know, right? That’s what you said I should do.’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  I question Flynn with my eyes.

  He shakes his head. ‘What you want to do involves a lot of physical work. You’re on your own here and there’s only so much Charlie will be able to help you with. Maybe you could wait a few months and reassess things then.’

  ‘Going back to my old life isn’t an option.’ The rush of heat scalds my cheeks. ‘I have to find a way to do this, because I might never remember the past. I need a reason to wake up in the morning. If I don’t give this a try, then how will I ever know where I’m meant to be? If you don’t help me, then maybe I’ll just have to find someone who will.’ I cross my arms and without intending to, pout.

  Ugh, I can’t believe I’m pouting.

  ‘You’re pouting,’ says Flynn.

  ‘You’re upsetting me.’

  Flynn shakes his head and smiles. ‘I’m just trying to look out for you. This isn’t a job for just one person.’

  ‘I don’t just want to do this, Flynn. I need Summerhill to be a working farm this spring, with blooms to sell. If I can’t make the repayments, I lose it.’

  ‘Sorry I can’t tell you what you want to hear, but I care about you.’

  ‘You barely even know me,’ I whisper, mostly to myself.

  Flynn shifts closer and puts his hand on my waist, encouraging my body to move towards his. He looks at me the way someone looks at you when they can’t live without you. And when Flynn moves his face close to mine, my heart beats fast as if it’s jumping hurdles to be with him. I close my eyes as he brings his lips to mine. It’s impossible to not surrender. Flynn’s hand reaches for the back of my neck, sending a flutter of warmth through my body. His hands run through my hair as he deepens the kiss. My body softens, my worries momentarily fall away. Everything feels perfect.

  Except for the fact that this isn’t Blake, when it should be Blake.

  My eyes flick open as I pull away, breathless. I rest my hands on Flynn’s chest for a second, trying to regain my equilibrium.

  ‘I can’t. I know we did once, and I don’t mean to lead you on, but … this is wrong.’

  He closes his eyes, as if he doesn’t want to hear what I’m saying, and then runs his hand through his hair as he moves his body away from mine.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, tears blurring my vision. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  He clears his throat. ‘So am I.’

  He gathers his coat and heads for the door.

  ‘Wait. Don’t go. You don’t have to go.’

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he says flatly. His jaw is clenched and he’s avoiding my gaze.

  ‘Flynn, look at me. Please. I don’t want to hurt you.’

  He looks up. ‘I know. I understand. I wish it didn’t have to be like this. It’s just bad timing. Too soon.’

  ‘No, it’s not that. It’s just … who you aren’t. You’re not him … you’re not … Blake.’

  Flynn opens his mouth to speak only to close it once more. ‘I really better go,’ he says, turning away from me.

  ‘I’ll see you round?’

  ‘Yep,’ he replies, without looking at me, before turning his back and heading for the front door. I glance over my shoulder, stealing a glimpse of him through the fog of tears. I can almost swear his eyes are damp too.

  The door clicks shut and I’m left in a bubble of silence, wishing for him to turn around and come back. So much is riding on the decisions I need to make about my new life. Choosing Flynn over Blake, Summerhill over Melbourne. There is so much that could go wrong. And despite all my reading, I still don’t know the first thing about irrigation or compost tea.

  The following morning, I’m sitting on a bale of hay in the far corner of the barn, listening to the constant chatter of cockatoos and parrots outside. My hands are still wrapped around a mug of coffee that has grown lukewarm when Flynn shows up, hands in the pockets of his jeans. He hasn’t shaved, but I like this look on him.

  ‘You didn’t show up for our run,’ he says. He looks thoughtfully at me, maintaining some distance. I almost wish it wasn’t so, yet the further apart he stands from me, the closer I want him to be.

  I shuffle off the bale of hay. ‘I went on my own. Needed to clear my head.’

  ‘I know what it’s like to want something so badly that you can’t afford for it not to work. To have everything on the line for this one thing, that if it doesn’t work, you’re going to be left doubting what the point of anything in your life is.’ He pauses. ‘So, if this is what you really want to do, then maybe you should at least give it a try. And who am I to stop you?’ From behind his back he hands me a notebook, a gentle smile forming on his face.

  Between the pages are sketches of the fields. I flick through the subsequent pages, and there they are staring back at me. The calculations I’ve been trying to figure out. How many dahlia tubers to plant, how many gladioli corms to purchase, how many peonies I can estimate might bloom. Everything I need is here, within these pages. And on the last page, finally, an estimate of how much profit I might make over the next six months if this plan is to work out.

  ‘You really do think this is possible, then?’ I ask, looking up at Flynn, who’s smiling at me.

  He briefly closes his eyes in reassurance. ‘Yes, I think this is poss
ible,’ he says. ‘It’s not going to be easy, but I’ll do whatever I can to help you. You won’t lose it, Gracie. I won’t let you lose the farm.’

  I stare at him in surprise. ‘You don’t have to help me beyond this point, Flynn. This is enough,’ I say, holding up the notebook.

  ‘You jump in, I jump with you,’ he says.

  ‘You’re the best kind of friend. And … I’m sorry about last night.’

  He pinches his nose. ‘I understand. Don’t worry about it,’ he says. ‘I need to take care of a few things today, but why don’t we talk about it over dinner tonight?’ His gaze rests gently on me, waiting for me to respond. I sigh, unsure of whether this is a good idea. ‘It doesn’t have to be anything more than dinner if you don’t want it to be,’ he adds, sensing my hesitation.

  ‘Let me guess. You know a great spot.’

  He winks at me. ‘Now it looks like you’re getting to know me,’ he jokes.

  I stand up and give Flynn a hug. ‘This means a lot to me,’ I say, patting the notebook.

  ‘I know it does.’ Then, without a word, he crouches down and ties my shoelaces.

  ‘You really don’t have to do this,’ I say, staring up at the ceiling, embarrassed.

  ‘I want to,’ he says, standing up. He holds back a smile. ‘There’s still so much you can do, still so much you can be, Gracie. Even if you can’t tie your own shoelaces as quickly as the rest of us.’

  ‘I want things to go back to normal,’ I murmur.

  ‘They will. We’ve just got to give it time.’ He wraps his arm around my shoulder and presses his lips against the top of my head. ‘See you tonight,’ he says, letting go of me.

  Before I can contemplate the fact that he said we, or the fact that I almost wish he never let go, he’s halfway down the driveway.

  Flynn shows up just before seven, freshly shaven and showered, wearing a pair of leather lace-ups, dark jeans and a shirt underneath a blue V-neck jumper that accentuates the sapphire of his eyes as well as the muscular tone of his body.