The Memories That Make Us

by Vanessa Carnevale

  However you end up spending today, know that everything is going to work itself out. It always does.

  Love,

  Blake

  If Scarlett has been talking to Blake, she obviously hasn’t mentioned anything about my friendship with Flynn. I fold his note and tuck it back into the envelope.

  I’m scraping my cold breakfast into the bin when there’s a knock on the door. It’s Flynn. I know this because I recognise the way he knocks.

  ‘Come in,’ I call.

  ‘Hey there,’ he says softly, joining me in the kitchen.

  ‘Hey,’ I reply, glancing over my shoulder at him. He looks tired this morning. He hasn’t shaved, and he’s wearing the same shirt he had on last night.

  ‘Hard night?’ I ask, frowning at his dishevelled state.

  He offers me a warm smile, but it doesn’t light up his face in the way it usually does.

  ‘You don’t look so crash hot yourself,’ he says.

  I run my hands through my hair, trying to tame it. ‘Gee, thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel like a million dollars. Want a juice?’

  ‘You still look like a million dollars,’ he says, his voice low. He looks at me so intensely, and holds my gaze until I have to lower my eyelids. ‘You’re always beautiful to me.’

  The way he says it makes me want to burst into tears. ‘Today is supposed to be my wedding day,’ I blurt.

  Flynn glances at the flowers on the table and gives a small nod that lets me know he understands.

  He pulls me into his arms and I can’t help throwing my arms around him, too. He holds me close, before delivering a kiss on the top of my head, where his face remains, nuzzled into my messy, uncombed hair.

  ‘I know it’s hard,’ he whispers. ‘I’m sorry this is so hard on you.’

  ‘I wish things weren’t like this. It’s not fair on you,’ I say, my words muffled against his chest.

  ‘Don’t worry about that right now. You don’t need to worry about me.’

  I pull myself away from him.

  ‘I’m thinking that today’s the kind of day you want to spend wallowing in the hurt so that you can get up tomorrow and face the day,’ he says.

  I nod, and bite my lip, swallowing back more tears. As strange as this entire situation is, I’m grateful that Flynn gets it.

  ‘So, instead of laying those last weed mats out there, maybe we should stay in, watch movies and eat chocolate?’

  I start laughing through my tears. ‘I don’t even know what my favourite movie is.’

  ‘Does it even matter?’

  ‘It matters to me. I don’t know what I would have wanted before the accident. How do I know if the choices I’m making today are the right ones?’

  ‘Don’t you feel like things are right when you’re out there in the field? I can see it the moment the sunlight hits your face—you’re there, in your element. It’s like you’re a totally different person.’

  ‘Compared to?’

  ‘Who you were.’

  ‘But you don’t know who I was.’

  ‘All I know is that whatever you’re doing here is making you happy. It doesn’t take a genius to see that.’

  ‘What if I was happier before?’

  ‘Does it matter if you were? Doesn’t it only matter if you’re happy now? This is your life now, isn’t it?’

  Maybe Flynn’s right. Maybe the past is the past and the only thing that matters is the life I’m creating for myself today.

  He takes a long sip of juice before setting down his glass. ‘I’m going to find some DVDs.’

  ‘Jerry Lewis,’ I blurt.

  He turns around and narrows his eyes. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘The Bellboy.’

  He cocks his head, looking curiously at me, an expression of amusement on his face.

  ‘My favourite movie … is The Bellboy.’ I have no idea how I know this, but I can’t help grinning at this random fact.

  He lifts his eyebrows and grins at me. ‘The Bellboy it is, then.’

  Flynn comes back an hour later with not one Jerry Lewis film, but what seems like an entire collection. He lets himself inside, carrying the stack of DVDs in the crook of his arm, balancing precariously on top of each other, keeping them in place with his chin.

  ‘Did you bring chocolate?’ I ask, reaching for the paper bag he’s holding. He lifts it up out of my reach.

  ‘Oh, come on. You can’t do that. What did you get?’ I reach for the bag again.

  The DVDs tumble to the floor. I raise my eyebrows and mouth ‘sorry’ before laughing. We both crouch down to pick them up, bumping heads on the way, which makes me laugh even harder. We gather the DVDs, before leaning back into the comfortable folds of the sofa. Flynn’s hand reaches into the bag to pull out a chocolate bar, which he hands to me without dropping his focus from the movie. I snatch it up and open it.

  ‘Don’t forget to share,’ he murmurs.

  I break the chocolate in half and hand him the larger portion. He looks down, opens his palm, grabs mine and swaps them.

  ‘I can’t make you happy today, but I can let you have the biggest piece.’

  He slides an arm around me and draws me closer to him. I watch the rest of the movie nestled against him, chocolate melting in my mouth, mourning the wedding that never happened in what couldn’t be a more unexpected way.

  TWENTY-THREE

  ‘I get you all set up and then you drop off the face of the earth!’ says Tilly, nudging past me with a bucket of flowers in hand. She rests it on her cart and places her hands on her waist. ‘Well, then?’ she says, demanding answers.

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ I say, following her behind the cart. ‘You should see the fields, Tilly, we’ve been working crazy hours getting them prepped. I’ve pinched out the tops of the sweet peas and they’ll be ready to plant out in the field in no time.’

  An array of colourful ribbons is lined up on a wooden dowel, positioned underneath the roof of the cart like a horizontal rainbow. She starts pulling a length of cherry-red grosgrain from a roll. She hands me a pair of scissors.

  ‘Snip,’ she commands, pointing at the place where I need to sever.

  I do as I’m told and help her arrange the flowers she has with her today into single bouquets.

  ‘You haven’t seen busy,’ she scoffs. ‘You wait and see come harvest time.’

  ‘That’s actually one of the reasons I wanted to see you,’ I say. I tie the ribbon into a bow and lift up the flower arrangement, adjusting the stems before handing it to her. ‘I’d like some training, you see. In arranging. I’ve got a few customers already, and I need to know how to work with the flowers—how to cut and condition them, the best way to store them, what fillers to use …’

  ‘Fine,’ she says. ‘We’ll meet twice a week, every Tuesday and every Friday afternoon until harvest. But I don’t think you’ll need me as much as you think you will.’

  Summerhill is almost ready for planting. We’ve tilled in all the rows, amended the soil with compost, and laid down irrigation lines. While Flynn finishes setting down the last weed mats, I’m trying my hand at brewing a different kind of tea—compost tea.

  My boots squelch into the ground as I haul the last two buckets of water to the barrel Charlie has provided for me. The nearest tap isn’t as close as what we need it to be, and I grumble under my breath when I almost trip and lose some of the contents of one of my buckets. Now that the barrel is full, it’s time for me to add the compost. Having an ongoing supply of organic matter to feed the soil is going to be crucial to keep our farming sustainable, the plants healthy, and costs down, so we’ve started a heap in the corner, too, the less-than-glamorous but essential part of farming. Charlie hands me a shovel and raises his eyebrows. ‘And now comes the fun part,’ he says as he drives his shovel into the heap. He tips the contents of the shovel into the barrel and that’s when I know I shouldn’t have been standing so close. The water hits my face and I suck in a breath, half sho
cked, but mostly disgusted. Charlie lets out a roar of laughter as I go to wipe my eyes and then my face. I look down at my top, the murky liquid seeping through the fabric of my red checked shirt.

  If only Scarlett could see me now.

  ‘I’m sorry, love,’ he says, trying to hold back his laughter.

  I try to appear annoyed and fail. I burst out laughing too, until tears run down my face and my belly starts to ache.

  ‘I haven’t laughed like this in … well … I’m not sure. But that doesn’t matter.’ Grabbing my shovel, I scoop up some manure and heap it into the barrel. ‘And I thought this job was just going to be about pretty flowers and happy clients,’ I mutter, shaking my head.

  ‘It’s good to see you smiling, love,’ says Charlie.

  I consider his words. Is that the way Charlie sees me? Overly serious? Unhappy?

  ‘I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. And I intend on doing a lot more. Everything here—everything I have in my life right now, makes me very, very happy.’

  He smiles back warmly. ‘As life should be.’ He lifts his shovel. ‘I’d take a step back now if I were you.’

  We both start laughing again, just as Flynn approaches us. ‘Looks like I’m missing out on all the fun,’ he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. ‘You don’t smell so good,’ he says, peering at my clothes. ‘What’s that in your hair?’ he asks, furrowing his brow. ‘Don’t tell me …’

  ‘Mmm-hmm,’ I reply, nodding. ‘It’s exactly what you think it is. Still find me as attractive as you did this morning?’

  I rise up on my toes to kiss him.

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ he says, right before my lips meet his.

  I press gently against him. ‘Oh yes, I do.’

  Every muscle in my body aches, or at least it feels that way by the time Flynn and I finish up in the fields. I arch my back and stretch up to the sky, a gelato of varying shades of blue. We’ve spent the last few hours making some final adjustments to the sweet-pea beds: driving in stakes, fitting in the netting, and ascertaining the best way to tackle the problem of windbreaks, given the fields here are mostly bare of any trees or hedges. I circle my shoulders and reach for the hammer, driving in the last stake before calling it a day.

  ‘All ready for planting out now,’ I say, wiping the beads of perspiration from my brow.

  Flynn licks his thumb and rubs my cheek. ‘You’ve got some dirt …’ He pokes out his tongue. ‘Right here,’ he says. I gaze upwards at the same time he gazes down at me. Before I can blink, his lips are on mine.

  ‘That was … unexpected,’ I say, trying to centre myself.

  ‘Was it?’ he asks quietly. ‘I could do it again, if you like.’ He smiles to himself before turning over a crate for each of us to sit on.

  ‘I think this deserves a beer.’

  ‘The kiss?’ he says, laughing.

  I roll my eyes as I start pulling off my gloves, my clammy fingers exposed to the cool air.

  ‘You know, Summerhill really does feel like home to me, now.’

  ‘That’s good,’ he says, wiping his hands on his jeans.

  ‘And since I feel this way, maybe I should go see Blake. I mean, sooner or later I’m going to need to face him, right? Sooner or later my memory is either going to come back, or it isn’t, but at some point I’m going to need to see him, aren’t I? Especially if we—’

  ‘Is that what you want?’ asks Flynn in an even tone, which is so straight to the point it takes me by surprise.

  ‘I think it’s what I should do, and maybe that’s the right thing to do.’

  ‘But is it what you want to do?’ He looks straight-faced at me.

  I stare blankly back at him and shrug. ‘Forget it,’ I whisper, regretting my decision to bring it up in the first place. I know it can’t be easy for Flynn to hear me talking about Blake like this.

  ‘Once you’ve decided, let me know.’ He walks right past me and heads out of the barn. I follow him, but he’s quick to jump onto Polly. He turns on the ignition before throwing me a look that tells me I shouldn’t call after him or follow him.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I told you things aren’t straightforward. This is exactly why—’

  ‘I understand where you’re at, Gracie. I don’t blame you for any of it, and I know this is hard.’

  ‘You don’t have to go. Stay and we’ll talk. Figure out a way for me to right this.’

  ‘I don’t really feel like talking about this at the moment. I’ve got some things I need to sort out.’

  ‘Things? What kinds of things?’ I say, frowning.

  He clenches his jaw. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’

  He moves the tractor into gear and I’m left watching the wheels turn over the murky path.

  ‘But maybe I’m not really yours to lose,’ I whisper.

  I’m sure he hasn’t heard me over the hum of the motor, and then I think to myself that maybe that’s a relief, because deep down, I’m thinking the most honest thought of all. I’m thinking that I wish I was.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  After Flynn left yesterday, I didn’t see him for the rest of the day. That didn’t stop me thinking about him, or Blake, or how I really should consider confronting Blake. What would I say? ‘Sorry, but we need to call off whatever we had because I think I’m falling in love with another man?’ Scarlett had warned me that the way I wanted to go about things wasn’t exactly what she considered the ‘right way’. After all, it would have made more sense for me to stay, meet him, assess my feelings and then leave. But what’s done is done and now I’m going to need to face the consequences of my decision.

  Deciding that I owe him some degree of honesty, I write him a letter, the last letter I’ll write until I finally muster up the courage to face him.

  Dear Blake,

  I couldn’t sleep last night and it wasn’t because I was thinking about the accident, or my life before. It was because I was thinking of the road ahead. I love it here in Summerhill. I wish I could describe to you how much I love it. It’s like life is at my fingertips, like I’m about to witness the world come to life with every growing flower.

  I don’t know how to make this any easier for you, but I’ll come to see you soon and that’s when I’ll explain everything.

  Gracie

  I fold the letter and place it in the back pocket of my jeans before heading out to the field to meet Flynn. I place two straws into a couple of mason jars where fresh lemonade bubbles away, and place them on a tray. With my spare hand, I grab my hat and pull the door closed behind me. Although it’s crisp outside, the sun’s out. It blurs my vision, but I don’t have a free hand to shield my eyes so I squint, trying to work out where Flynn is.

  ‘Hey! Over here,’ he calls, as I approach the field. Flynn’s standing there, shirtless, and several feet in front of him is the newly constructed frame of a hoop house.

  ‘What’s this?’ I say, surprised. A polytunnel will make all the difference to our blooming windows, allowing me to extend the growing seasons. If Flynn’s still upset about yesterday, he’s definitely not showing it today.

  ‘A hoop house,’ he says, grinning. He tucks a screwdriver into his back pocket.

  ‘I know what it is, but … you’re building this for me?’ I ask, still holding onto the tray. The glasses wobble as I set them down on the wagon. ‘I don’t have the money to—’

  ‘It’s taken care of. This is going to make life a lot easier for you, and I figured you deserved life to be a little bit easier for you right now. I know how much all of this means to you.’

  ‘I’m glad you came into my life,’ I say, looking down at my feet. ‘I don’t know why you did, or why things are turning out this way, but I’m glad you’re here.’

  Flynn wipes his face with his discarded shirt. ‘I want you to know that I’m really sorry about yesterday, and I want to be able to right this.’

  ‘Really, this isn’t your fault. If anyone’s to blame for this entire situation, it’s me. I�
��m the one who’s complicating things, not you.’

  ‘I know we’ve been working really hard, but I’m going to find the time to go see him before the peony harvest,’ I say decidedly.

  He bites his lip. ‘Okay,’ he murmurs, nodding.

  ‘So, we have a bit more time—to see if what we have is … worth risking everything else for.’

  Flynn swallows hard. ‘You’re worth the risk.’

  Now that everything is prepped, the gladioli are ready for planting. Flynn and I are in the barn, sipping on cider while Flynn’s trying to figure out the quickest way for us to plant the hundreds of corms that are on tomorrow’s list of things to do. I’m poring over a mail-order catalogue lusting over the ranunculi, those quirky long-stemmed flowers that sit upright but not stiffly, delicate like poppies and beautifully cupped like roses. I’d chosen the double-bloom varieties in a range of pastel colours, thinking they’d be more popular with brides, thanks to Tilly’s sage advice. I’ve been meeting her twice weekly, learning how to handle flowers, create posies and garlands and centrepieces. She has taught me to always have a rose-thorn stripper handy, to always snip stems on an angle, and to always keep harmony and balance in mind. When I’m with her and with the flowers, time seems to stand still and I always go home feeling like my heart is open a little wider. Yesterday, I came home with two things. A bouquet of roses and gerberas, and a flower crown, which I’d somehow remembered how to make without Tilly showing me. I was so delighted with the outcome, I brought home fresh flowers to experiment with that evening. Now, I have four crowns on the barn workbench that could do with finding someone to wear them.