Perennials Page 22

  The down-home vibe has us feeling sentimental, which keeps Mother talking about her wedding day. She fiddles with her new ring, the diamonds so big they’d draw the attention of a thief in any other town, as she takes us back to the day she said her vows.

  “My grandmother put fresh snips of rosemary in my shoes, to bless our marriage. And then she gave me this strand of pearls, passed down for three generations before she clasped them around my neck.” She strokes the heirloom necklace, explaining it was her “something old.”

  As a child I would fidget with it while I was in her arms, letting the soft, round pearls spin beneath my fingers. I imagine the necklace will go to Bitsy and then Mary Evelyn, which is only fair. But for today, it’s still draped around Mother’s neck, where I hope I’ll always picture it best.

  “I remember your grandma pinning the zipper on my gown. It had been fickle on her own wedding day, inching down right in the middle of the ceremony.” Mother says this with stars in her eyes, as if she’s been transported right back to the bridal room, feeling the dress press against her skin. “I could hear the rich, deep moans of the organ as I dressed. And then my father . . . He slipped me a handwritten note just before I was swept away by my aunts. They each added a homegrown flower to my bouquet, tied it all together with a long satin ribbon—my something blue. I also remember a very nervous groom.” She teases Chief, then turns our way.

  “I couldn’t believe you were really going through with it, Laurel. But then you came down that aisle, and you looked at me as if I was your everything.”

  “You were.” Mother places her palm against his cheek. “You are.”

  I stack pink packets of sugar substitute. Will anyone ever vow to love me like that? Does anything real even exist anymore? Or is all we’ve got now just a world of artificial sweetness?

  “Remember our vows?” Chief asks. “The preacher talked about the story of Adam and Eve, how we are told that God pulled the rib from Adam’s side because it shows that woman and man were made to be equal partners.”

  “He said Eve wasn’t formed from Adam’s feet to be below him or from his head to be above him, but from his rib, to walk beside him.” Mother says this while smiling. “I liked that.”

  “Yep.” Chief nods. “And that the rib came from near his heart, so she would be loved by him, and from beneath his arms, so she would be protected by him. It was the first time I’d ever heard it told that way. Made sense. Still does.”

  I look at Bitsy. She turns away.

  “Remember how the preacher went on about what our vows really mean? Said men have been given certain strengths to protect our families. Never to control them or harm them.” He shifts to me now, then Bitsy. “It would have been easy to hurt you girls, your mother. But I can’t understand why a man would ever do such a thing. And I don’t have a lick of respect for one who does. Power without love? That’s what you call abuse.”

  Silence spreads between us as I keep my eyes on the table, ashamed. How did I end up with Reed, especially after Chief and Mother gave us such a healthy model?

  “You know what I remember most of all?” Chief smiles. “That first kiss.”

  Mother laughs as he leans in to plant another peck. “Can you believe it’s been fifty years?” She turns to the kids. “One minute you think you’ve got your whole lives ahead, and the next thing you know, it’s all behind you.” She shakes her head, sighs. “Time never bothered asking my opinion.”

  I tinker with my hourglass charm, wishing I could capture every grain of sand before it all slides away. Wishing I could hold our mother here and never let her go. Wishing I could go back to the start and make everything right again, keep us all together, happy, safe. Unharmed.

  We’re barely home from New Albany when Mother declares she needs a nap. Bitsy leaves, explaining the kids have plans, and Chief heads to chair a finance meeting at church because Mother won’t let him change his normal activities no matter how much he begs, always insisting, “Life must go on!”

  I use the time to check in with Brynn. “Eva?” she answers with a whisper. “One sec.” I hear the shuffle of papers, the slam of a drawer. Finally, a door closes. “Thank goodness you called. She’s blowing it.”

  “What do you mean, blowing it?” I find a seat beside Dolly P. on the living room sofa, and Brynn gives me an earful.

  “Jansana’s president and The Dragon. They’re about to draw blood.”

  I sigh. “Mother always said you can’t have two alphas in the same pack.”

  “My money’s on Jansana.” As Brynn laughs, my imagination takes charge again. I’m sneaking through the African plains where two topi antelopes compete for a mate. Marlin Perkins narrates the battle scene, explaining this species’ unusual practice of female-on-female combat. Animals, all of us.

  “Is there something specific that’s got them worried?”

  “Film crew wasn’t able to secure all the locations. We’re down to the wire now. Nowhere to shoot.”

  “That’s why I always have a plan B. Did they see the alternative locations we scouted? I made a list.”

  “No.”

  “Well, here’s your chance to shine, Brynn. Present the options. Tell them there’s always a solution.”

  “Don’t you get it? The Dragon doesn’t listen to a word I say.”

  “She will this time.”

  “I’m not telling them,” Brynn says. “And you shouldn’t either. I’d rather watch the fireworks.”

  “Oh, come on. Do you realize how much money is on the line?”

  “Karma, baby.”

  “Maybe so, but I can’t sit and watch a year’s worth of work fall apart. I’ll make some calls.” Dolly P. nuzzles against me, reminding me how glad I am to be home. “Anything else?”

  “No, but seriously, Eva. I’m just not sure it’s going to work even with your backup plan. We don’t even know if we can lock down those locations now. There’s only so much we can do. Besides, you’re off the project. No contact, remember? If you interfere, you could cost us both our jobs.”

  “Think about it, Brynn. If this campaign fails, there’s no way The Dragon would ever take the fall. Besides, I want these ads to hit the air. We’ve earned that at least.”

  We end the call with Brynn promising to present the list of alternative locations and keep me posted on the progress. Then I head to my room. I haven’t had much time to myself since I arrived, and I agreed to help Chief polish his toast for the anniversary party. With his notes in hand, I get to work, shortening sentences and reorganizing his thoughtful words about Mother. I’m almost done when Fisher’s truck drives within view. One look and I’m back at the Sedona medicine wheel, trying to heal my wounds.

  May 14, 2016

  I’m speaking as if we are in a private therapy room and not on an open mountain trail. Somehow Marian has lowered my defenses, guiding me with patient prompts, helping me process a lifetime of pain.

  “Now, let’s leave that younger Eva in the past. Imagine yourself five years from now. A future Eva, a more mature and healthy version. Tell me, what do you see?”

  “This part is easy.” I smile with relief. “Retired. Living here in Sedona. Teaching yoga. Not wasting another day in the office.”

  “And who will be with you here, in five years? When you retire?”

  I draw a blank.

  “So . . .” She holds the pause long. “You plan to live here alone?”

  “Why not?” I stiffen. “You do.”

  “I’m ninety, Eva.” She speaks with kindness, no critical tone at all.

  “Yeah, but you were, what, seventy when Alton died?”

  “That doesn’t mean I’ve spent the last twenty years alone. I know what it’s like to choose the wrong man too.” When I lift my brows, she stands firm, making it clear we’re here for my story, not her own. “I’m content now, but being alone is not for everyone. We’re not solitary animals, Eva. It can wear on a soul.”

  There’s so much I want to say
to comfort her, but she speaks first. “Tell me this. What did Reed do that keeps you living in fear?”

  My throat tightens. When Marian presses for an answer, I fight the swell of tears, blinking before my cheeks feel the sting. Fear. The worst F-word of all.

  “It’s okay,” she says. “This is what we’re here for.”

  But no matter how patient Marian is with me, no matter how much I want to purge myself of Reed once and for all, I cannot bring myself to tell her what happened. Instead, I keep it locked inside.

  Marian touches my shoulder again. “You’ve done a lot of hard work today, Eva. The wheel is here when you’re ready. And so am I.”

  I sense I’ve disappointed her, which is the last thing I’d ever want to do. I can’t give her what she really wants to hear, so I find something else to confess. “You know, Marian, something strange happened this morning. At the ridge.”

  She nods, as if she’s not surprised.

  “I think I may have had a vision.” I feel ridiculous. A vision? What does that even mean? But with Marian’s persistent prods, I spare no detail. I describe the grandmother, her white feathers. The final message, I am strong. “What do you think?”

  “I think . . . you are growing.” Marian puts her arm around me fully now. “Be open, Eva. The answers will come.”

  I find a stash of stationery and write my friend.

  Dearest Marian,

  Thanks for understanding my extended stay in Mississippi. No doubt, the Seniors at Sunrise are in far better hands with you.

  The fiftieth anniversary party is less than two weeks away. Mother and I have been planning our floral arrangements. This seems to have turned Bitsy a deeper shade of green, but I’m glad to have the extra time with my mother.

  On a side note, I’ve reconnected with an old friend. His name is Fisher, and I’m trying to remain “open.” It’s terrifying, but as you say, “Fear is the foe.”

  As for the retreat center, I’m honored to play any role you’ll allow, and I’ll do all in my power to help you accomplish your goals. Sedona had better realize what a treasure they have in you. I sure do.

  Much love,

  Eva

  As I sign my name, I realize no one in Arizona calls me Lovey. And no one in Mississippi calls me Eva. The split hits full force. What if Reed wasn’t the only one living a double life? What if I’ve been living a lie all along too? Have I been separated from my true self, pretending to be someone I’m not?

  All these years I have worked so hard to do the right thing. Build a successful career, make good friends, buy not one but two investment homes. Live a frugal life, never asking for help from anyone. Day by day I have worked hard, with goals and to-do lists and a very specific plan, just as Chief taught me to do. But where has it gotten me? Halfway across the country in a life that’s not my own. Maybe I truly have become an invasive species growing wild in foreign soil. There is only one word for such a thing. I’m a weed.

  “It sure does get lonely when the sun goes down.” Fisher approaches the hammock where I am lying beneath the stars. I don’t get up. I’m too entranced by the sliver of the moon. Like a switchblade, its slim, sharp tip seems capable of delivering a fatal wound, and yet it lures me with a light that’s not its own. The shine is a mirage, a mere reflection of the sun’s generous gift, but there sits the moon, resting high in its noble position, stealing the light of another so it can offer the world what it thinks we want to see.

  Fisher draws closer, so I make room and pat the hammock, inviting him onto the fabric sling. We lie opposite one another, our feet on the grass, our eyes toward the black velvet sky. It’s a platonic, safe position, and yet my body reacts.

  “This is nice.” He lets his arm rest against mine. “Whatever this is.”

  “Whatever this is,” I echo, hoping for answers. Above us, a canvas of constellations—each one a story reaching out across space and time. “You worked late today.”

  “Trying to get that garden wrapped up in time for the party. Think your mother has caught on?”

  “Don’t worry. She won’t blow it for herself.”

  He gives the hammock a nudge, and we sway, slowly, as he presses his foot, straightens his knee, bends again, repeats. “We’ve still got a lot of catching up to do.”

  “Yeah, I’ll let you go first.” I watch that moon, thinking of danger.

  He laughs, then whispers, “On second thought, maybe some things are better left unsaid.”

  His long, lean body stays close to mine, and the warmth is soothing, despite the humid summer air. Fireflies light around us, and the coyotes have begun to howl in the distant dark, a pitch-perfect pairing with the sounds of the owls. Makes me think of my elf owls back in Phoenix, and the wall of thorns around my heart.

  “We could’ve had a good life together, Lovey.”

  My spirit sinks with regret. “I was scared, Fisher. Weren’t you?”

  “Sure, I had fears. Plenty of ’em. But never a doubt.”

  This brings a jolt. “Fisher, listen.” I turn from the stars in the sky, trading them for the ones in his eyes. “I’m not the kind of girl who gets in the middle of another relationship. If you’re dating Blaire, you’re dating Blaire. Period.”

  “It’s not that simple, Lovey.”

  I turn back to the moon, wishing away every sharp and dangerous thing that has ever threatened my vulnerable heart.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “Happy anniversary!” Bitsy and I greet our parents with breakfast in bed—a tray of homemade waffles, poached eggs, and coffee. I give my sister credit. “Bitsy made the eggs.”

  “And the coffee!” She nearly yells this, and Mother startles. Then smiles.

  Bitsy and I have spent the morning taking wide circles around each other’s territory, like cats, maintaining the truce while under Mother’s roof. Chief now pulls the serving tray into position, and Mother accepts the coffee, her favorite verse inscribed across the mug: Perhaps this is the moment for which you have been created.

  From the foot of their bed, I press against the antique mahogany frame. Is my sister’s heart responding like mine? Is she, too, swelling with gratitude that our parents share such a special bond, while at the same time grieving the fact that we were not so lucky in love? Is she thankful we have this moment together as a family, while also sad our mother’s time is narrowing?

  Chief slices into his buttermilk waffle, pairing it with a few mixed berries and declaring it delicious. Mother nibbles her poached egg and repeats his praise, although she coughs when she tries to swallow, reminding us all that time is not our friend.

  I give them each a hug and make my way upstairs where I brush my teeth and throw on a comfortable outfit, eager to finish the floral arrangements for the party. But before heading for the barn, I accept a call from Brynn.

  “She took me off the account. I’m blocked from everything.” Brynn sniffles between clipped phrases.

  “What in the world?” I sit on the edge of the bed. Then stand again. “She said she would leave you on it. We discussed this.”

  “Well, that’s not what she did. I took your advice. Presented the alternate location list. But I copied The Trio on the e-mail. Figured it would help because we’re so short on time. That’s what set her off.”

  “Of course. If you’d gone straight to her, she would have presented the list to Jansana and taken credit. All would be well. She wants you to be her flying monkey.”

  Brynn exhales, still crying. “Said she’d handle everything moving forward. Said I’m lucky to still have a job.”

  It takes a lot to make me angry, but I will fight for those I love, and Brynn is like a sister to me. “Just as we feared. Now that we’ve got all the work done . . .”

  “Yep. She’ll end up with all the money too.” Brynn’s tone suggests I’m not the only one who is fuming. “We should talk to The Trio. Be up front.”

  I give it some thought. “I think it’s time to take this to the next level.”


  “Samson? No way. He’ll say we cause too much drama, turn around and give the account to a man. I’d go straight to the top. Call Mims.”

  Brynn doesn’t realize how fiercely Apogee clings to the chain of command. “Would be a risk,” I say, trying to find a better solution.

  “And counting on Samson wouldn’t be?”

  Outside, turtles are coming out to sun near the pond, squirrels are launching their morning hunt for nuts, and birds are flying free. What I would give to escape these ridiculous problems we make for ourselves. Corporate politics, such silly games. “It’s time to make a plan. Can you still access the shared work folder?”

  “I’ve got it open now. I’ve already made fresh backups of everything.”

  “Perfect. We need to act fast. They’ll slay us if they sense weakness.” The more confident I sound, the steadier Brynn becomes, so I outline our strategy. “You’ll have to visit the alternate locations. Work with the film crew. Do whatever it takes to secure the shoots.”

  “No way, Eva. If she finds out, I’m gone for good.”

  I let this stir for a minute. “Okay. Then we’ll have to plead our case. Make a timeline. Document everything. Prove we’ve earned our keep. And one more thing . . . Delete the shared folder.”

  “Delete?”

  I clear my throat, trying to convince myself this is a good idea. “If she wants the information, she can come to me. I’m done letting the bad guys win.”

  Brynn continues shuffling papers, stapling, clicking keys. Her voice is muffled from holding the phone in place with her shoulder. “She doesn’t play by the rules, you know. This’ll never work.”

  “Just remember, we’ve got one thing she hasn’t got.”

  “Morals?”

  “That too.” I laugh. “But I was going to say we have each other.”