Lilies on Main

by J. Lynn Bailey

  “Dr. Phillips, we’re on our way. Bryce is ready to deliver.” She covers the phone and says to Lydia, “How far apart are the contractions?”

  “So far, about five minutes apart,” Lydia says.

  “I’ll take Lilly with us,” my mom says.

  “Thanks, Helen,” Lydia says as she and I get Bryce into Ethan’s truck. “We’ll meet you there.”

  “Good luck, Aunt Skittle Pants!” Lilly calls out.

  In this moment, I realize how resilient children are. How watching someone in pain or losing someone isn’t as traumatic as we might think it is. I remember how Fiona and Finn were sad about their dad but not traumatized. I think they knew, even if they weren’t told directly when Katherine and I were there. But maybe that comes later.

  “Baby, our world is about to change. I mean, you’re ready, right?” I hear Bryce say to Ethan.

  “Oh, I’m ready.” He kisses her on the forehead and then once more on the cheek. “Meet you there?” Ethan says to us as we walk to my truck.

  “We’ll see you there.”

  Parker Aaron Casey was born at 11:47 p.m. Weighing nine pounds, fourteen ounces.

  It’s late. Just past twelve thirty a.m.

  Lilly is asleep on my lap while my mom, Lydia, Alex, and Merit are in the room with Bryce. My dad went home just about twenty minutes ago.

  Ethan comes down the hallway. I stand and pull Lilly to my shoulder.

  “You’re a natural at this, Aaron,” Ethan says, covering his face with his hands. “What … what if I’m not? What if I fail?”

  I smirk. “There are only two things you’ve ever failed at growing up. One, beating me in Battleship. And two, walking away from a challenge. Even if the challenge almost killed you.” I reach out and punch Ethan in the arm, Lilly dead asleep on my shoulder. “You sure as hell didn’t walk away from war. In fact, you went back twice. I don’t know much about raising kids, but I do know that Dad and Mom did a pretty damn good job with us. So, when in doubt, call Dad.”

  Ethan grins with his bloodshot eyes. “Thanks for being here.”

  “Thanks for making me an uncle. Poker lessons start Monday for Parker.”

  He laughs and walks to the door of the hospital room where his new family is along with the rest of our family and friends.

  “You get a call from Eli?” I ask before he opens the door.

  “Yeah, still searching for the hiker.”

  “He’ll be by as soon as he can,” I say.

  “I know.”

  “Send the women out, would you? They can get their baby fixes tomorrow.”

  Lilly is tucked into bed.

  Lydia is in the bedroom, taking off her top.

  Fuck.

  She turns to me as I watch her from the doorway, resting my shoulder on the doorframe.

  She unzips her jeans and wiggles out of them, tossing them in her hamper. “I’m ready for bed, Aaron,” she whispers and walks to her side of the bed where she slips off her bra and tosses it at me.

  Grinning, I say, “There’s no way in hell that I’m leaving you in bed like that, underneath the blankets, without me with you. Before I make love to you, I’m going downstairs to double-check all the doors.”

  “Thank you.”

  It’s really hard to walk away from her right now, but I have to because I made a promise that I’d keep her and Lilly safe.

  I walk past Lilly’s room and pull her door shut. I walk downstairs, double-check the doors, and walk back up. Shut the door to the stairs and lock it.

  Before I reach Lydia’s room, I slip my shirt over my head.

  But, when I reach her room and walk to Lydia’s side of the bed, she’s fast asleep, so I click off the light, gently kiss her on her neck, and walk back to the other side of the bed. I pull off my jeans and climb into bed next to her, pulling her to me, holding her as close as I can.

  Lydia is out like a light.

  “Good night, Lyd. I love you,” I whisper in her ear as I drift off to sleep.

  It’s Monday. It’s early. But I’ve got to get to work. Kissing them both on their heads while they sleep, I leave two notes. One for Lilly on her nightstand and one for Lydia by the coffeepot. Almost identical but uniquely different.

  LILLY,

  TELL SHELBY HELLO FOR ME.

  HAVE A GREAT DAY.

  LOVE,

  AARON

  LYDIA,

  I SHOULD BE HOME AT FIVE TONIGHT.

  HAVE A GREAT DAY.

  LOVE,

  AARON

  After grabbing my travel mug of coffee, I slip out the door, lock it behind me, go downstairs, lock the downstairs door, and walk out onto the street after the short stretch of alleyway. I look at my watch, and it’s just past seven a.m. I survey our quiet downtown street, making sure there isn’t anything out of the ordinary. For some reason, a sickening feeling enters my gut. Maybe it’s because I’m tired or because this asshole who hurt my girls is out of prison. Different scenarios drum against my rational thought.

  Fucking stop, Aaron. That’s not reality. It’s your imagination hyped up with fear.

  I jump in the truck and drive to Augusta.

  What comes with the job of a game warden is a lot of driving and a lot of thinking. I have begun to think that driving and thinking are synonymous. It’s about time I go visit Sarah. I’ve mentioned Lydia and Lilly to Sarah. I know Sarah would like Lilly. In some ways, she reminds me of a younger Sarah. Maybe a little of Charlotte. Maybe it’s the same independence Charlotte had. The same I can do it myself attitude, the same curiosity.

  I think about the ring I bought for Lydia. Bought one for Lilly, too. When Ethan went with me, we searched high and low for the perfect ring for both girls. It wasn’t until the last shop when I found Lydia’s. I have a pretty good idea of how I’ll propose, too, just got to wait for the right time. I asked her father and mother. Drove to New Hampshire and asked for their daughter’s hand in marriage. I worried how they’d take the information. I’d met Gwen, spent some time with her, but never met her dad, Lee. Set in his ways, quiet, but he had been there for his daughter when Gwen couldn’t be. Gwen cried, a happy cry. Lee sat back and watched his wife as tears rolled down her cheeks, which made Lee shed a few, too.

  “If my wife, daughter, and granddaughter are happy, I’m happy. And we give you our blessing,” he said. “But don’t fuck it up, Warden. Understand?”

  “Understood, sir,” I said.

  Now, I just have to find the right time between my work schedule, Lydia running the bookstore, and life.

  I pull into Augusta, and my phone vibrates from its holder. It’s Lydia.

  Lydia: Thank you for the note. It is Lilly.

  In the headquarters parking lot, I text back.

  Me: I love you, Lilly. I hope that it’s okay to say that to you. Will you tell your mom I love her also?

  She texts back.

  Lydia: Yes, I will tell her. I love you.

  I smile, feeling warm inside. Whole. A feeling I’ve become more accustomed to since I’ve had time to spend with Lydia and Lilly.

  I’m walking inside when I see a woman carrying a bag of groceries. Her hair is dark, and she’s at a distance, but I could swear …

  I freeze. Can’t move. I stare at the woman who’s carrying the small bag of groceries. It isn’t until she notices me that she stops. Stares. Drops her groceries on the cement. I want to walk to her. Help her pick them up, but I can’t move. It isn’t until after a long moment that she bends over, realizing what slipped from her grasp, and I walk to her and lean over.

  “Sarah?”

  Twenty-Nine

  Lydia

  Will’s in the bookstore, and Lilly is back to her routine, helping me open, greeting customers as they come in. But, for some reason, she steers clear of Will when he reads in his chair. It’s as if she’s giving him space to read, to do what he came here to do. A job. Shelby has made a few appearances, according to Lilly, but it’s been few and far between. This tim
e, Will is reading One True Loves by Taylor Jenkins Reid. A book I finished months ago and loved.

  The sun is shining, and for the first time in a long time, I feel myself smile with my heart. I start to believe that Aaron is right about Brett. That he’s been out for almost a month, and he hasn’t tried to call or make contact. Maybe he’s learned better. How to treat women. But still, the thought of him sends chills down my spine.

  People can change. People can find recovery, just like my mom, right?

  The note Aaron wrote me sits by my register to remind me that true love can happen among brokenness. Among pieces. And a person can slowly be put back together; it comes with patience and time.

  Will shuffles up to the register, and I’ve noticed he’s been doing a bit of shuffling since last week. I don’t ask him about it.

  “Well?” I ask as he sets the book on the counter.

  “I really like this one, Lydia. You’ve outdone yourself on this one.”

  “I knew you’d like it. Have you met Jesse yet?”

  “The younger version of Jesse, yes.”

  I ring up his book and give him the total. He hands me the cash.

  All of a sudden, Lilly comes out of nowhere and crushes herself against Will, almost taking him to the floor.

  “Lilly!” I cover my mouth.

  Will smiles and puts his hand on her back. “Well, that was quite the hug, Lilly.”

  Lilly pulls back. Smiles. “That wasn’t from me. That was from Shelby. She said to give you the biggest hug I could. And, when I asked her why, she said, ‘Because my daddy needs it.’”

  Will doesn’t move. By the look on his face, he’s having trouble breathing.

  “Will? Are you all right?”

  I walk from behind the counter and reach out to touch his shoulder, but he’s having trouble speaking. I’m confused. Very confused. And I’m not sure how my daughter’s make-believe friend is calling William daddy.

  And then Will lets out the biggest, gut-wrenching cry, which turns to laughter, which turns to silent tears. He covers his mouth with his fist as he stares at Lilly and then to the invisible spot next to Lilly.

  “You tell Shelby,” he chokes out, “that I have missed her every day of my life.” His voice shudders with emotion. He nods at my Lilly, trying to control his tears, his emotions.

  “She can hear you, Will. Tell her yourself,” Lilly whispers.

  Pain, sorrow, and love reach his face again just as relief settles in his eyes, his shoulders, his neck. It’s as if he’s been given good news, and all that’s left is the relief that will trickle out in the days, weeks, months that follow.

  Confused but wrapped up in the beauty of this moment, I’m not able to ask questions; I just embrace what this moment is offering.

  The bell rings. A customer enters the bookstore.

  Lilly does her job.

  Will leaves.

  And I’m left standing in front of the register.

  Will doesn’t make it very far out the door before he collapses.

  “Lilly!” I scream. “Call 911!”

  “Cancer?” I whisper in the hallway to Dr. Phillips.

  “He denied treatment. And it’s gotten the better of him. I’ve never seen someone endure the kind of pain that this man has.”

  I think about the emotional pain that Will’s experienced in his lifetime. The things he’s shared with me.

  “How long—how long do you give him?”

  Dr. Phillips shakes his head. “Honestly, Lydia, I don’t see him making it out of here alive. The cancer is in his bones, in his blood.”

  Think, Lydia. Think.

  I nod. Trying to wrap my head around what just transpired in the last three hours. I called Aaron, and it went to voice mail, which means he’s probably busy with work.

  “I’ll be by in an hour or so to check in with him.”

  “Thanks.” I grab both my elbows and walk back into Will’s hospital room.

  To my surprise, he’s awake. His big white smile covers his tired, weary eyes. “Come on, Lydia. We can’t all live forever. You know that.”

  I sit down in the chair next to his bed. “You’ve known about this and not told anyone?”

  “It won’t change the outcome, Lydia.” His voice is hoarse, raspy, as if his vocal cords have been rubbed against sandpaper.

  “But at least you wouldn’t have had to go through all of this alone.”

  His brown eyes peer back at me. “You’re right. But how fair would that have been to Audrey?”

  He’s right. I sigh, drop my head, and stare at the small flicks of gold in the all-too-white floor.

  “Lydia, I want you to go to my house and get something.”

  I pick up my head.

  “In the drawer next to the phone in the kitchen is a manila envelope. It has two letters. One for you and one for Audrey. Will you get them?”

  “Yes. Where do you live?”

  “At 162 Magnolia Road. The door will be unlocked.”

  “Okay. Okay.” I stand. “Do you need anything else?” I almost feel callous for asking. As if to say, I know you’re dying but any last-minute items?

  “No, just the envelopes.”

  “I’ll be right back. And … please don’t die.” I know this is the wrong thing to say. I know it. But I can’t help it. I just need a few more minutes with Will.

  “Go on.” He shoos me out the door.

  Helen came to get Lilly from the hospital for me, so I text Helen on the way to Will’s house and give her a quick update.

  The sun is beginning to set, and before I know it’s his house, I see a beautiful garden and assume it’s his. The house number reads 162. In his yard, there’s not a weed in sight. The orange lilies, the pink magnolias, the purple violets, and the red peonies absorb the sun’s rays.

  I open the door to his house and immediately feel as though I’m invading his privacy. The house smells of freshly cut roses and coffee. And there’s a certain tranquility in the air that I can’t quite articulate. I walk into the kitchen and see the drawer next to the phone. I pull it open, and inside is the manila envelope.

  On top of it is a picture of his family. Put together. Arms around each other. Loving. Smiling. Peaceful. Before his daughter’s death. Before his alcoholism was set in motion, before his daughter Audrey made herself scarce among his drunken stupors. And before Elena passed away.

  I grab the picture, too—not because I have to, but because I feel an overwhelming sense that I need to.

  Quickly, I take the big manila envelope and the picture. I walk to the front door and leave.

  Back at the hospital, I walk to Will’s room. My stomach is in knots as he lies there. Eyes closed.

  “Oh my goodness.” I run to his bedside. “Will?” I whisper.

  Nothing.

  “Will?” I whisper louder.

  Nothing.

  “Oh, God. William?”

  His eyes shoot open. “I’m not dead, Lydia. I must have dozed off.” He turns his head to me.

  I cover my heart and collapse into the chair. Hand him the envelope. Weakly, he opens it up.

  I slide the picture across the bed to him. “Saw this on top of the envelope. Thought you might want it, too.”

  Will stares at the photograph and takes it between his fingers. Smiles. Again, relief meets his eyes. “This was a good day.” His voice is still hoarse. As if the cancer moved, quickly swallowing him up into nothing but a shell of a human. But he fights.

  From the envelope, he slides out a letter addressed to me. “This is for you.”

  The other envelope is addressed to Audrey.

  “Will you give this to Audrey for me?”

  “Do you have a number for your daughter? I can call her.”

  “No, no. She’ll be here,” he whispers, shakes his head, and stares at me dead in the eyes.

  The nurse comes in. “Well, hello there, William.” She nods to me. “This is to help with the pain.”

  I want to a
sk Will if he’s in pain.

  She gives him a shot with a needle through the IV.

  Within seconds, Will is relieved. His body relaxes, and his eyelids struggle to stay open.

  I reach over and touch his hand. Feel his long, measured breaths as the medicine does its job.

  Once he’s asleep, I pull out my letter and read it.

  Thirty

  Lydia

  Dearest Lydia,

  I wondered what the moment would be like for most of my adult life. The moment I saw you. The moment I listened to your words. Would your hand gestures be different? Would your mannerisms be the same? Would the heart have changed you?

  Sometimes, in life, we don’t get to see our second chances come to fruition. Sometimes, we don’t get to see how there’s beauty in death. Beauty among insurmountable pain. Loss cannot be explained. Or defined. It cannot be calculated or compared. Every single one of us is different.

  When my daughter died, so did I. I sold my soul and ran from the pain because it was easier. I left my wife and my other daughter because I just couldn’t deal with life. I missed moments because I was so wrapped up in myself. I allowed my grief and fear to run over me like raging waves blown by the wind.

  I’m not proud of what I did that day at the hospital. Back then they didn’t have the security that they have now with documents. I took records I know I shouldn’t have. I took your name down along with your mother’s and father’s names because I knew, one day, I’d have to know. Grief colors our thoughts, our actions. Like seeing things through stained glass, images of our reality somehow become distorted. And by no means am I making excuses for myself or for what I did.

  I’ve never been more grateful than I am today as I write this letter to you.

  When I walked into the bookstore that day, I knew you were Delana Harper. I knew you were the one who had my Shelby’s heart.

  Chills ripple across my skin. A sob is stuck somewhere in my chest. I cover my mouth as tears start to spill upon the handwritten note.

  I just had to see for myself how my daughter’s heart had fared. Had to see what you looked like. Had to see what you’d done through the years.