The Memories That Make Us

by Vanessa Carnevale

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, she can’t go on selling flowers forever, can she? Somebody’s going to need to take the reins at some point. Let’s just say, she’s been helping spread the word about the future of Summerhill in her own way. She has the highest hopes for you.’

  I take the piece of paper from Charlie, deciding I should visit Tilly to see exactly what she’s been up to as soon as I have a chance. ‘Thanks,’ I say, scanning the page, which includes the phone numbers of each future customer. I tuck it into my pocket, one small part of me hoping I won’t let them down. My attention turns to the fields. I open up my notebook in readiness for the work Charlie and I have planned for the day. ‘Should we start by measuring the fields?’

  Charlie nods and we make our way up the rise. ‘What are you planning on growing?’

  I tell him, pointing out each field. We discuss more plans—composting, windbreaks, soil conditioning and management.

  In the fields, the earliest hints of spring have appeared. We make the invigorating walk across the grass-lined slopes, and through a delicate blanket of nodding wildflowers and dandelions that skirt around the trees and line the borders of the field.

  Charlie and I are measuring the last field when Flynn joins us from the other side, with Parrot trailing behind him. Parrot starts running around in circles, excited to see me.

  ‘Hey, Parrot,’ I say, bending down to let him snuggle into my arms.

  ‘Charlie!’ says Flynn, beaming at him as he extends a hand. He turns his attention to me and I can’t help feeling a little awkward. ‘Gracie.’ He smiles down at me, piercing me with his eyes and I can feel myself blushing. ‘All ready to start your own little flower renaissance?’

  ‘I think so,’ I reply, feeling positive about things. ‘Charlie was just telling me we should reserve some space here for some green manure—we’re thinking mustard.’ I point to the far corner of the field. ‘And over there, we’ll get a compost heap going. But before any of that, we need to prepare the soil. That’s our first job.’

  Charlie winks at Flynn. ‘I’ve got the job of sourcing the manure. I’ll aim to get it delivered here by mid-next week. And on that note, I best leave you both to it,’ he says, checking his watch before leaving Flynn and me to contemplate how we’re going to move forward with things.

  ‘Where did you want to start?’ asks Flynn, rolling up his sleeves.

  ‘So, we’re really doing this?’ I clap my hands together.

  ‘Yes, Gracie, we are really doing this. Whatever it takes.’

  ‘Whatever it takes?’

  He shrugs. ‘It might help bring back your memory.’

  ‘But what if I …’ Flynn raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to continue. ‘Never mind,’ I say, pushing aside these thoughts. I open up my notebook. Flynn moves an arm around my shoulder. ‘Okay, so here’s my list.’ I point to the list Flynn made for me under FIELD PREPARATION. Mowing. Tilling. Compost. ‘We can’t do it manually though, so we’ll need to figure out how to hire the equipment we need.’

  Flynn closes the book with his free hand. ‘You’re adorable,’ he says.

  I roll my eyes. ‘You’re trying too hard,’ I reply, teasing him.

  ‘Even more adorable.’

  ‘Get to the point,’ I say, tilting my head in amusement.

  He laughs. ‘Well, I don’t think that a wagon and a wheelbarrow are quite going to cut it,’ he says playfully. ‘Not if we’re going to get serious about this.’ He looks out towards his property. ‘I think it’s time I introduce you to Polly.’

  ‘Polly?’

  ‘One of the most amazing women I know.’ He nods towards a red tractor in the distance, parked right outside the barn on his property next door.

  ‘Now that’s an expectation to live up to.’

  ‘She’s all ready to go,’ he says, pulling a set of keys out of his pocket. ‘Borrowed her from a friend. Come on,’ he says, nodding towards his place. ‘I’ll race you there.’

  Polly does an almost perfect job of mowing down the spent sweet peas.

  ‘You’re a pro,’ he says through his teeth. He’s chewing on a piece of dry grass. I turn my head to give him a smile and he leans over and grabs hold of the steering wheel. ‘Whoa there! Eyes on the patch, yeah?’

  I laugh and push away his hand. ‘What do we do after this?’

  ‘We move onto the next field,’ he replies, pointing to the field reserved for the dahlias.

  ‘This is fun,’ I say, over the loud thrum of the tractor.

  ‘Knew you’d love it,’ says Flynn, moving his hand onto the wheel to steady it as we make our way into the next field. Polly makes her way through them all, until the vibrant green layer of grass is stripped from the earth, and the fertile soil below becomes exposed. I turn off the ignition. Flynn jumps out the side of the tractor and extends a hand to help me down.

  ‘We did it,’ he says, a satisfied look on his face.

  ‘Yep,’ I reply, wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans. ‘We’re one step closer to where we need to be. Should we measure out the spaces for the weed mats?’

  Flynn takes a long sip of water. ‘No, I think we should call it a day and have something to eat. I’m starving.’

  ‘Oh, of course. Sorry, I shouldn’t expect you to stay back and help with that, too.’ Flynn’s standing there with a smirk on his face, as if he’s waiting for something, so I feel like I have to continue. ‘Thanks. For today. For helping me work out what we need to do here. It’s … nice of you. To be here for me.’

  ‘You done? Can we go eat now?’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Uh, yeah. I already told you I’m starving.’

  ‘Well, I’ve still got a lot of work to do. I’m guessing I can fit in half an hour before it starts to get dark.’ I toss him the keys to Polly. He lifts one hand and catches them without looking away from me.

  He takes a step forward and wraps an arm around my waist. He smiles as he leans forward to kiss me. ‘I’m heading home for a shower. I’ll come past later.’ He lets go of me and starts to walk away, an irresistible smirk on his face.

  ‘Okay, so … I guess I’ll see you round,’ I say. I glance over my shoulder at him. ‘Tonight, after my long, hot shower.’

  Now I’m the one smirking, and blushing, and trying to stifle back a laugh. I throw my head back and look up at the pink sky that seems to stretch forever.

  The sky is blushing too.

  Flynn’s timing is impeccable, arriving as I step out of the shower, which turned out to be more of a quick dash under the water before it even had a proper chance to heat up. I’d become sidetracked in the kitchen.

  ‘Let yourself in!’ I call. I wrap myself in a towel and pull the shower cap off my head, my hair falling down my shoulders.

  ‘Are you cooking something?’ he calls. ‘I can smell something—is that smoke?’

  ‘Oh my God!’ I call, racing out of the bathroom. I’ve completely forgotten about the roast I had in the oven. Water trails behind me and onto the floorboards as I patter into the kitchen, almost slipping as I race towards the oven. Flynn reaches out a hand to steady me.

  The roast is already on the sink, plumes of smoke emanating from the charred block of meat. I stand there, staring at it, stunned.

  ‘Oops,’ I mouth, cringing as I turn to look at Flynn. And that’s when I notice that my towel has slipped and Flynn is staring at the naked flesh of my thigh that has become exposed. His hand is still on my upper arm.

  ‘I think this is more proof that I really am a terrible cook.’

  ‘Looks that way,’ he says, releasing his grip. His eyes are still on my naked thigh. I pull my towel across to cover the bare flesh, and blink at him.

  ‘So, uh, should we order in?’ I say sheepishly.

  ‘No need,’ he says coolly.

  ‘Honey on toast?’ I shrug.

  Flynn chuckles. ‘Sounds perfect.’

  I go to move forward, but Flynn’s standing in front of me
. I move right as he moves left, and we bump into each other. Heat rises to my cheeks.

  ‘Oops, sorry,’ he says. Now his body is so close to mine, I can smell the mint on his breath and the scent of his aftershave— a fresh, sharp, masculine blend which is impossibly distracting, despite the acrid scent of smoke in the kitchen.

  I gaze up at him, as he dips his head slowly, moving closer to kiss me, his hand skimming over the naked flesh of my back. I might have just got out of the shower, but my body has no trouble keeping warm. Everything tingles as Flynn’s kiss ignites something in me, and before I know it I’m returning the kiss. He pulls away slowly and smiles lazily at me. My hands grip the towel in front of my chest. ‘I really should get changed,’ I whisper.

  ‘Or not,’ he whispers back. He cups the back of my head with one hand, his fingers trailing through my hair, as his other travels to my hands, which are still gripping the towel. He gently pries my fingers away, one by one, without releasing me from his embrace. His mouth presses against mine more firmly as the towel drops to the floor, exposing me completely. My heart is hammering in my chest and I’m almost out of breath. I tear myself away, a gasp escaping me.

  ‘I don’t think it’s right to do this …’

  ‘Shh,’ he whispers, guiding my hands to the hem of his t-shirt. ‘I promise you it’ll be okay.’ With his hands over mine, he guides it up over his head, exposing his torso.

  ‘But I think—’

  He takes my hands again and this time wraps them around his neck. ‘You think too much. Don’t think.’ He kisses my neck, slowly, purposefully. I inhale deeply, a series of staccato breaths. As much as I want this, I can’t seem to find a way to relax.

  ‘You’re still thinking,’ he murmurs.

  I flick my eyes open and laugh nervously, my brow creasing slightly. ‘Sorry, I just …’

  ‘Close your eyes.’

  I close my eyes, and surrender to the anticipation and excitement. Our lips meet again. Flynn’s tongue searches for mine, and I’m suddenly weak at the knees, all thoughts and doubts falling away entirely.

  ‘Hold on,’ he says, lifting me up in one quick motion. My legs wrap around his waist. ‘Do you trust me?’

  I open my eyes and nod. My heart feels like it might explode. Flynn smiles back, his eyes looking at me in a way that makes it impossible to not bring my lips back to his.

  Yes, I trust you. I totally, utterly, completely trust you. But not only that. I think I love you.

  Morning comes too soon, light streaming through the shutters in the bedroom, nudging me awake. My body is enveloped by another’s, which doesn’t belong to my fiancé. I blink my eyes into focus as my cheek rests against Flynn’s naked chest. I lie there, savouring the moment, watching the rise and fall as my hands lightly skim the bare skin of his torso. He stirs gently and rolls his body to face mine as his hand glides over the curves of my waist. I resist the urge to nestle my body closer to his and instead, I wait a minute so before wriggling away. Taking a deep breath, I sit on the edge of the bed, pulling the sheets over me. Blake’s t-shirt is lying on the floor beside Flynn’s jeans. I bend over and pick it up, bringing it to my face, feeling the softness of the cotton against my skin. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

  Flynn starts to stir.

  ‘Gracie?’ he says, sitting up. I glance over my shoulder at him, unable to hide the streaks of tears that are gliding down my face. His eyes travel to the t-shirt I’m holding in my hand. It hangs limply, void of life force.

  Flynn rubs his temples and runs a hand through his messy hair. He stands up and pulls on a pair of boxer shorts.

  I close my eyes, feeling the sting of tears. I hang my head, taking a moment to think of something to say. But what is there to say?

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought I’d feel differently, I thought I’d be able to give you and I a chance, but I don’t know if I can.’

  Flynn sits down beside me and brushes the loose strands away from my face.

  ‘Do you feel anything for him?’ asks Flynn, pinning me with his gaze.

  I feel myself grimacing. ‘No,’ I say.

  ‘Okay,’ he says, reaching for my hand. He strokes my face. ‘Do you feel anything for me?’

  I try to hold back the swell of emotions. ‘Yes. I do. But I …’ I take a deep breath. The only way I can make peace with this is if I tell Blake the truth, hoping that somehow he’ll find a way to understand.

  ‘I think it might be better if we put things on hold … until I get a chance to speak to him. I don’t think this is fair on you, either.’

  He places a finger against my lips. ‘You don’t need to feel bad about this—or us. Let’s enjoy this while we can. So, no thinking this morning. Just …’ He plants a kiss on my mouth. ‘Relax.’ He smiles. ‘Okay?’

  I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his body against mine as he guides me back onto the bed. I nod. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I totally want to relax with you this morning.’

  His mouth twists into a satisfied grin. ‘Good,’ he says, lifting the quilt over our heads. ‘Because I’m totally not in the mood for a run this morning.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Mason is stepping me through the entire process of what’s going to be involved in bringing the farm back to life. He gives me a quote on the irrigation system, at which I gasp and try not to appear as shocked as I actually am.

  Then there are the smaller expenses, but expenses nonetheless. Like the buckets, and flower conditioners, and paper sleeves, wires, tools and twine. Those items alone total several hundred dollars. After I dip into my savings, I won’t have much left for living expenses.

  We reach the barn, where we gather to discuss the first supplies. I take a deep breath and reel off my order: ‘Five hundred dahlia tubers, three hundred gladioli corms and a variety of seeds—California poppies, zinnias …’ I finish relaying it, snap my notebook shut and smile nervously at Mason, who tucks his pen behind his ear and tells me he’ll deliver the seeds and raising mix later today so I can start propagating them, and will arrange a truck to deliver the tubers and corms in a few weeks. In the meantime, Flynn, Charlie and I will need to prepare the fields so they’re ready for planting.

  Mason hands me a copy of the order form before leaving. He drives away, his truck rattling down the driveway as I lean against the barn door and wonder: How on earth am I going to pay for them?

  On the day I’m supposed to be getting married, I oversleep. Rolling out of bed feels like too much hard work, so I lay there for several minutes, tucked under the sheets, staring out of the bedroom window, light streaming through the slits in the shutters. It bounces off the walls, casting tiny rainbows on the ceiling. Over the past three weeks, Summerhill has undergone a transformation. Thanks to Flynn and Charlie, the majority of the flower beds are prepared, the soil is conditioned and the barn is filled with masses of seedlings all waiting to be planted out.

  I shower and dress and make my way into the kitchen when the phone rings. It’s Scarlett, calling to check on me.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I tell her, not really sure of what else there is to say. I don’t really want to broach the topic of Flynn with her. ‘How are you? All okay with the pregnancy?’ I ask, as I place two slices of bread in the toaster.

  Scarlett rambles on about already suffering from interrupted sleep due to bathroom visits, her ever-expanding waistline and the condition of her hair and skin, but my attention is focused on the mailman outside, who’s carrying a delivery of flowers. I open the front door before he has the chance to knock.

  ‘Delivery for Gracie Ashcroft,’ he says, handing me the bunch and pulling out a consignment note. I sign for the delivery and bring the flowers inside, where I set them on the kitchen table.

  ‘Gracie, are you there, did you even hear a word I said?’ asks Scarlett, still on the phone.

  ‘Uh, yeah, pregnancy sounds like it’s treating you well,’ I say, tugging at the card that’s wedged between the cream and soft-p
ink roses—David Austins—that are emitting the loveliest scent into the room. Wedgwoods or alnwicks? I press my nose to one of the cupped blooms. Heavenly. Definitely alnwicks with those delicious raspberry notes.

  ‘I just told you I don’t want any more children if I have to go through any of this again.’

  I stifle a laugh. ‘Sorry, it’s just that a delivery arrived for me.’

  ‘Let me guess—bulbs and seeds.’

  ‘Nope,’ I reply, pulling the card from the envelope. ‘Flowers from Blake.’

  Goosebumps appear on my skin, but I try to ignore the prickly sensation, listening to Scarlett’s reassuring words about how all the gardening I’m doing will be a great distraction for me.

  We say our goodbyes and I turn my attention to the stove and watch the butter coat itself across the frying pan, the scent of animal fat infiltrating the kitchen. I crack two eggs and watch them turn white, before flipping them onto a plate. I open the note. The eggs grow cold as I begin to read.

  Dear Gracie,

  Today’s going to be a hard day—at least it will be for me.

  I’ve been doing some thinking, and I want you to know a few things. I spoke to Scarlett the other week after she visited for the weekend and she told me how you were feeling. The last thing I want you to feel is guilt. None of what happened is your fault. I know it must be hard for you to feel anything for me except a sense of obligation to feel something for me. So, I’ve been thinking … how about we make a deal? For the time being, trust yourself enough to see where life takes you. I’m going to stop writing for a little while, until you can figure out where you want life to lead you.