‘No way,’ I whispered, looking up at the luminescent canopy of leaves above us that cascaded down the branches like a waterfall of lights.
Blake smiled and faked a cough, while his eyes darted to the tree trunk. My eyes settled on what Blake had brought me here to see. I inhaled sharply and placed a hand on my mouth in amazement. In front of me, hanging from the tree, was a hand-painted sign with the words: Marry me?
I stood there blinking and before I knew it, Blake reached for my hand and pulled me close. He rested his forehead against mine, and lowered his voice. ‘What do you say?’
I nodded, trying not to cry. Blake was my everything. He always had been. And I’d never imagined a life without him because it was impossible to even remember a day without him in it.
He reached for my hand and slipped a ring on my finger, but I hardly managed to give it a second glance before I wrapped my arms around his neck and lost myself in a kiss.
‘Yes?’ he asked, when he slowly pulled away.
‘Yes,’ I replied, a smile forming across my lips that matched the swelling in my chest.
‘Thought so. I don’t think we should go back to the house tonight. Too many people …’ He slipped a finger under the strap of my dress and started kissing my neck.
‘Here? What if someone sees us?’
Without taking his lips off mine, he reached up into the tree and switched off the lights.
‘Better?’ he murmured.
‘Yeah, but isn’t it a little uncomfortable?’ I felt him smile against my lips.
‘There’s a blanket in there,’ he said, pointing to a small teepee, erected under the tree.
‘Pillows?’
‘Pillows too,’ he said.
‘You had this all planned out?’ I laughed, peeking at the linen folds exposing the cosy hideaway in the moonlight.
‘Practically since the day I met you.’
‘Could you turn the lights on one more time?’
Blake shook his head. ‘What now?’ he said, pretending to be annoyed. He reached up for the switch.
‘I just want to see my ring,’ I said, holding it up in front of me. I spent a few seconds admiring its detail, the way the centre stone was surrounded by tiny pink diamonds set in rose gold. They reminded me of the petals of a daisy.
I glanced up at him, and smiled. ‘Okay. You can turn the—’
Before I finished my sentence, the lights were off and Blake’s lips were back on mine. The world was perfect. I never wanted to forget this moment. I’d never felt so happy in my entire life.
My hand drops the switch, leaving it dangling from the tree.
I loved him.
I was happy. We were happy.
We had everything. We had each other. We had our whole life ahead of us.
And now we are broken.
THIRTY-ONE
The day of the harvest finally arrives on a spring day that carries the fragrance of fresh flowers on the breeze. Thanks to Tilly and Charlie, I’ve managed to pre-sell an abundance of flowers. I’m starting with the roses this morning. I was delighted to find that most of the roses turned out to be perfect for bouquets—most of them David Austins, with a few rarer old English varieties Tilly had planted many, many years ago. Charlie has already set to work setting up the empty buckets, filled with water. He’ll load them on the back of the ute to take to the chestnut stand, which has been converted to a roadside flower stall. We have weeks of harvesting and filling orders ahead of us.
I stroll through the peony field, a milkshake of colour: light pinks and creamy white buds, some still closed shut, some already stretched open, squishy like marshmallows, ready to open into puffy balls any day. On days where I’d felt tired and unsure of whether I’d have the energy to keep going, Flynn would describe this field to me. And now that I’m here, alone, I can’t help wishing he was here to enjoy it with me.
I take the snips from the front of my apron and begin to look for the best blooms to cut. As I make my selections, I’m filled with a sense of purpose so strong, so palpable, that it takes my breath away. I can’t imagine a life anywhere else but here.
Charlie toots as he drives the ute loaded with the first bucketfuls of flowers down the incline to the roadside stand. Tilly is already waiting for him, sitting under an umbrella, with Maggie keeping her company. She’ll help her manage the flowers in her own special way—by selecting stems for the mixed bouquets.
Just before lunchtime, after filling the last bucket with roses, Charlie heaves it onto the back of the ute. This load will go into the refrigerators in the barn.
‘Looks like we’re done for the day, Charlie,’ I say, pulling off my gloves. After lunch, I’ll continue the day’s work in the barn, making arrangements for the orders that have come in. This has become one of my favourite parts of flower farming—witnessing the connection between customers and fresh blooms.
‘If you don’t have any plans tonight, why don’t you come over for dinner?’ asks Charlie. He’s been asking me this every few days, but I’ve only accepted his offer once or twice.
‘It’s okay. I just plan on having an early night. There’s a movie on TV I’ve been looking forward to watching.’
‘Oh really? What’s the name of it?’
‘Sorry?’
‘The movie?’
‘Um … can’t remember.’
Charlie tsks. ‘Would you just go back and see him?’ he says, shaking his head at me.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your light’s a little dimmer since you came back from Melbourne.’
‘I miss him, Charlie. But I don’t know that letting him back into my life after what he did is the right thing to do.’
‘I can understand that. But have you considered whether not letting him back in is the wrong thing to do? Flynn’s a smart man, Gracie. He’d have known what he was doing and what kind of trouble it could have gotten him into. The way I see it, he wasn’t going to let you go without a fight. And isn’t that the kind of man you want in your life? One that can’t bear to live without you?’
I inhale a deep breath. ‘Maybe,’ I reply.
Charlie tilts his head. ‘We’re just having quiche and salad—nothing special. But it would mean you wouldn’t have to eat alone. What do you say?’
I smile, and shake my head in defeat. ‘I’d love to come to dinner.’
Later that evening at Charlie’s, Lara says a quick goodbye and lets us know the table’s already set and the quiche is in the oven. Maggie doesn’t recognise me, but her face lights up when I present her with the flowers—a delicate pink spray of tightly cupped Heritage David Austins tucked away amongst some dusty miller and eucalyptus.
‘Should we put them in water?’
She nods, eyes bright.
‘Where do we keep the vases, Gerry?’ she asks. I look around, but there’s nobody in the kitchen except for me and Charlie.
Charlie motions to one of the cupboards and taps it. ‘This one, love.’
I question him with my eyes. He shrugs in response, a pang of sadness visible in his expression.
Maggie rummages through the cupboard and turns to me, smiling, as she hands me a coffee mug.
‘Oh!’ I say, somewhat surprised. ‘This vase is just perfect.’
Charlie exchanges a grateful look with me, and once I manage to trim the stems to a suitable length, we place the mug of flowers in the middle of the table as a centrepiece.
We sit down to eat and once finished, Maggie rises from her chair, declaring she’s ready for bed. ‘Is Mum coming tomorrow?’ she asks.
Charlie sets down his knife and fork and goes to stand. ‘She’ll be here bright and early in the morning.’
Maggie smiles and turns away.
‘Goodnight, Maggie,’ I say as she starts shuffling out of the room.
‘Night, dear.’
‘I’ll be back in a bit,’ whispers Charlie. He weaves his arm through hers and helps her down the corridor.
I
’m washing up the dishes when he re-enters the kitchen.
‘Who’s Gerry?’ I ask.
‘Her brother,’ he replies. ‘Gone twenty-two years. And her mother’s been gone over thirty.’
‘You lie to her about her mum coming to visit. Why do you do that?’
Charlie reaches for a tea towel and rubs a plate dry. ‘What else am I supposed to do? I do it for the same reason you stuck those flowers in a mug and called it a vase.’
I dry my hands and meet his eyes. ‘You lie to her to make her feel safe.’
‘Yes. But more than that—I lie to her because I love her.’
‘And under these circumstances it makes it okay,’ I say.
Charlie keeps his eyes trained on mine. ‘Gracie, darling— sometimes when you love someone so deeply, lying is the only option you feel you have. It doesn’t always make you a bad person.’
On the drive home, I try to imagine what life might have been like for me if Flynn was the one who lost his memory. Would I have let him go? I can’t know for sure, but what I do know is that I fell in love with the same man twice. Charlie drops me off home to my empty cottage, where I flop onto my bed, hold Flynn’s t-shirt near me, and in the early hours of the morning, make my final decision. There is no doubt in my mind that Flynn and I were meant to be together. And it’s up to me now, to not let him go.
Approaching my apartment, I’m in the back of a cab where the driver, Thomas, tells me about how he made a choice to leave a career in acting for one driving a cab. ‘I was miserable. Starving and unhappy, and a real wet bag of sand to be around,’ he says brightly. ‘See, there’s more to cab driving than meets the eye. There’s good and bad of course, but we see people,’ he says, chattering away. ‘You can learn a lot about people by the way they behave in the back of a cab,’ he says, tittering. ‘It makes the day go by, but I feel happy in this job. I like the freedom, and the conversation, and I might never cross paths again with the people I meet, and they might never remember me, but in the time I can get them from Flinders Street station to the Docklands, I bet I’ll have found a way to make ’em smile!’ he says, pointing his finger in the rear-view mirror as he grins at me. I can’t help smiling back.
‘You found your purpose.’
‘That’s right.’ He winks. ‘And when you’re doing something you love, and you’re surrounded by the people you love and could never live without, then it’s a very good day, and an even better life.’
I glance out the window to the place I used to call my home as Thomas pulls up.
‘Thank you, Thomas,’ I say, handing him some cash. ‘I will remember you.’
Thomas beams at me, before winking. ‘That’s what they all end up saying.’
Flynn answers the door after what feels like forever. He buzzes me up and Parrot lunges towards me as he opens the door.
‘He’s always preferred you over me,’ he says, shaking his head.
‘You took him to Scarlett and Noah’s after I got home from hospital?’
Flynn nods. ‘There’s so much to tell you.’ He motions to the living room. ‘Come through.’
We make our way into the living room, but neither of us sits.
I clear my throat. ‘You stayed away.’
He clenches his jaw and nods.
‘I missed you.’
‘I did the wrong thing by you,’ he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
‘I should have given you a chance after the accident.’
‘You were scared.’
‘You were hurting.’ I blink in quick succession, trying to hold back the tears. ‘The accident split our lives apart. It must have … it must have been so hard for you. To stay away and then make a decision to come to Summerhill, and you might have lied to me, but I would have cheated on you. What kind of person does that make me?’
‘Cheating on someone who had become a total stranger to you overnight? You’re human, and nobody is going to judge you for any decisions you’ve made after the accident—least of all me. It was harder for you, Gracie. So much harder for you. You lost everything.’
‘Only I didn’t. I found you. I found you because you never gave up on me. You never gave up on us.’
Flynn’s eyes are damp. ‘I shouldn’t have done what I did.’
‘You fought for me, Flynn. You fought for me, and you fought for our relationship. You knew what you were risking by coming to Summerhill, especially since you were also trying to keep a business afloat, and yes, I’m upset that you lied to me, but you showed me that I could never live without you. And if you didn’t do that, I would have spent the rest of my life wondering whether I was meant to end up exactly where I was meant to end up—with you.’
Flynn takes a deep breath. ‘You’re everything to me, Gracie.’
‘I’ve changed though, haven’t I?’
‘In some ways you have, but deep down you’re still the same person, only you’re more real, now. Those things you used to be able to do—like multi-tasking, and cooking fabulous meals, and managing to work long hours on little sleep while achieving more promotions than anyone else in your company—none of that matters. None of that makes you who you are. You’re special because you’re kind, and caring, and you always choose to see the good things in life. You know how to make people smile. You know how to make people feel things. You always have, only I don’t think you knew it.’
‘It sounds like I was chasing the wrong things. How am I different now?’
‘You’ve slowed down. It’s like you’re in rhythm with your own life. You laugh more. You see things differently.’ A hint of a smile lights up his face. ‘And you struggle to tie your own shoelaces, and you’re hopeless at maths, terrible with directions, even worse at cooking. But you know what? I wouldn’t trade any of this for the person you were before. Because you are more beautiful and special to me now than you ever could have been. I love you for who you are, and who you could be.’
Flynn sits down on the sofa and motions for me to take a spot beside him.
‘After your mum passed away, you threw yourself into work, you were doing these crazy hours and we stopped going to Summerhill on weekends. My place next door? That belongs to my parents—my family would spend entire summers there. Anyway, you put Summerhill on the market the month after the funeral. It’s like any memory you had of life there was too painful for you to come closer to. We were happy, Gracie, really happy. We had everything to look forward to, but when it came to work, your career—you just couldn’t seem to find a way to be happy. You kept chasing promotions, yet you always complained about work.’
‘Well, I’ve got to admit, styling doesn’t really seem like an appealing job to me.’
‘Took me by surprise the day you accepted that job. I mean, you’re talented and smart, and so hard-working, it didn’t surprise me they hired you, but you were the one that wanted to move to the city. You thought it would offer us more. More of what, I don’t know. But I’d have been happy setting up a practice in Summerhill.’
‘There’s something I need to know. What caused the accident?’
Flynn trails his fingers through his hair and lets out a breath. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. ‘I was driving. We were arguing.’
‘Over what?’
‘Over Summerhill. You were about to tell me you didn’t want to move to Daylesford when we had the accident. It was my fault—I wanted to make the move and was pushing you to give me a final answer. You’d initially agreed to it, but I had a feeling you’d changed your mind.’
‘Scarlett told me I moved to the city after you graduated. Why didn’t I want to stay in Summerhill?’
‘You thought there was more to life than living on a farm. You were tired of the slow pace of life out there and your mum—she had always worked so hard on the farm and she told you once that she wanted more for you. So, I think the move was your way of trying to find something else.’
‘Only I didn’t find it.’
‘No,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘And with the wedding approaching and the lease coming up on our apartment, we’d come to the decision about moving about a month before the accident. We’d been talking about it for months. I thought it would be good for us to, you know, settle somewhere and start a family in a place that we both spent so much time in and loved so much. You were going to take Summerhill off the market, but you kept putting it off. I knew deep down you weren’t happy about the idea.’
‘I love Summerhill.’
‘Me too. Maybe deep down you just needed more time. You wanted a lot more money for Summerhill than what it’s worth. I think that might have been because you didn’t really want to let it go.’
‘Wow,’ I say, taking it all in. ‘I can’t imagine living anywhere else but there. So … where does that leave us, then? Are you … is it still somewhere you want to move to?’
‘Well, about that … you might have to twist my arm,’ he says.
‘I’ve still got your toothbrush.’
He grins. ‘I think you just earned yourself the last piece of chocolate.’
I wrap my hand around Flynn’s. I squeeze. He squeezes back. I squeeze three times.
‘I love you too, ladybug.’ He pulls me closer to him, and holds me in his arms, drinking me in with his eyes, as he wipes the traces of tears from my cheeks. I close my eyes, inhaling his scent.
‘You smell like your grey t-shirt did.’
He laughs. ‘I’m wearing my favourite aftershave. I kept that bottle here. You recognise it?’
‘Yes,’ I say, laughing through the tears.
Flynn smiles back. ‘There’s so much to tell you, ladybug. So many beautiful things about our life together.’
‘I want to know everything I never wanted to forget.’
I lean forward and press my lips against Flynn’s, feeling the sense of comfort sweep over me, knowing, finally, that who we end up with, is exactly who we’re supposed to end up with.
THIRTY-TWO
One month later
‘That’s the last load,’ I say, lifting a bucket of the first flush of dahlias onto the back of the ute, a splash of colour covering every last inch of space. Charlie gives me a thumbs-up sign and turns on the ignition.
The Memories That Make Us Page 26
