Perennials Read online

  “Oh, honey. It’s perfectly all right if it is.” She smiles, looking into the kitchen where Fisher is uncovering an aluminum casserole dish. “Here’s the thing. I care about Fisher, I honestly do, but we both know he’s not the one for me. He’s wild about you, Lovey. Always has been, and . . . I just want him to be happy. That’s all.”

  “What are you saying?” The fork feels heavy in my hand now, as if every hope is hanging right here in my palm, and this one piece of silver gets to make fate’s call. Which way will it fall?

  “I’m saying y’all have my blessing. I’ve never really been the marrying kind anyway. Mama just won’t get off my back about it.” She laughs, as if my return to Oxford has set her free. “All I ask is that you take good care of him. He’s the real deal if ever there was one.”

  After supper, Mother puts her napkin on the table and her head in her hands. “I’m flat-out beat.” No one mentions the fact that she has hardly eaten a bite, yet again, nor that she coughs with every sip of tea. Instead, we suggest she get some rest, and she thanks us for taking care of the kitchen.

  As Bitsy leads her kids to the car, Blaire pipes up. “Mind dropping me off on your way home?”

  Bitsy’s brows furrow. “You aren’t riding with Fisher?”

  Blaire looks at Fisher, then at me. “Why stand in the way of a good thing? My only condition in all of this is that I don’t lose my friend. In fact, I’d like to gain one.” She gives me a hug and promises to check back in with us soon.

  Without so much as a blink, Bitsy closes her door, starts the car, and leaves Fisher and me alone beneath the great big universe of stars. It’s as if she no longer has the energy to hurt me. Perhaps she’s finally given up the fight.

  At our feet Manning rolls onto his back, requesting a belly rub, and I oblige. “He won’t leave my side. Keeps looking for Chief, whimpering.”

  “Can’t blame him.” Fisher moves closer, and my worries slow.

  “I know I’m supposed to say all the cliché things, like ‘At least it was quick,’ or ‘He went ahead to be there for Mother.’ But honestly, I just miss him, Fisher. And I’d do anything to have had more time with him.”

  When Fisher offers Manning a pat, the lab whimpers, too grief-stricken to wag his tail. “I can’t give you more time with him, Lovey. But I do have one thing.” He leads me to his truck where he lifts a thick, blue landscaping tarp. I am met with a concrete impression of the Virgin Mary, stretching end to end across the bed.

  “Listen to this.” Fisher plays a voice-mail message from his cell phone. My throat tightens at the sound of Chief’s voice, and Manning barks in response.

  “Fisher? Chief here. Hey, I was thinking. There’s one more thing I want to add to the garden. I know it’s too late for the party, but let me know if we can slip it in next week.”

  Every bone in me is lightened. Even gone from us, my father has found a way to break through, to remind me I’m not alone, that I’ve never been alone, and that I will never be without his love.

  Through the receiver, he speaks from the great beyond:

  “Here’s the story. Long time ago, Laurel’s brother was killed in a car accident. Levi, you’ve heard us talk about him. Well, Laurel and I had just gotten married, and I didn’t know how to help her through it. I was driving her over to Jackson for the funeral, and we stopped for gas. One of those full-serve places where they’d wash your windshield. I miss those. Anyway, the station was run by a widow lady who lived next door. She had a yard full of flowers, and she told Laurel she could go take a look.

  “By the time I grabbed a couple Cokes and paid the bill, Laurel was out of sight. I found her on a bench in the garden. There was a statue of Mary there. The widow woman came up behind us, noticed Laurel was crying. She said, ‘Go on and spill your troubles, dear. God hears.’

  “I went on back to the station and started checking the air in my tires, tinkering with the oil, you know, just trying to give Laurel some space. When she finally got back into the truck, she told me she wanted to build a prayer garden someday. A place where people could go to find comfort. I guess that’s what started her interest in flowers in the first place.

  “So, I was thinking, maybe you could help me add one of those Mary statues. Just a little something extra for Laurel. Let me know what you think. And then let’s get your farm back, son. You deserve it.”

  I ask Fisher to play it again. And again. Not able to get enough of my father’s voice, his thoughtful request. “Mother needs to hear this.”

  “What do you say we set up the statue first? Then we can surprise her in the morning.”

  I wrap my arms around him, and he holds me in a gentle hug. With my hip cupped close against his thigh, his comfort reaches deep within. I haven’t felt this kind of respite in decades, not since I left his arms for Arizona. But now I know. This is where I belong.

  When I finally pull away, a peace spreads between us. Together, we work to transfer the heavy icon to the top of the hill. Beside the labyrinth, we find room beneath the white oak, a bare, flat space where Mary can watch over the entire farm with her gentle grace.

  “Mother’s gonna love this.” I brush dirt from my hands and help Fisher secure the footing. Mary’s arms are outstretched, palms up and open, as if she is ready to receive our sorrows, our prayers, our pain.

  “I’ve got a couple finishing touches I want to add in the morning. Think you can stall her until about ten?”

  “Won’t be easy. She’s been spending most of her time out here.” I step back to admire the addition.

  Fisher leans in close, kisses my cheek. Despite Blaire’s blessing, I still need final confirmation, clarity. A clear conscience. “Blaire?” I ask, a life’s worth of hope in the word.

  “You,” he answers. One sweet and simple syllable. All I’ll ever need.

  When Fisher’s lips reach for mine, I surrender. All that has been spinning within me for years now steadies, stills. I finally understand what Marian has tried to teach me. How we sometimes find the right person when it’s not the right time. Or how we sometimes settle for the wrong person because we feel pressured by time. But every now and then, if we’re open to it, a few of us get lucky and the stars align. With Fisher pressed against me, I finally get it. Right now, in this perfect moment, we are one with the stars, with the universe, with all that ever was and is to come.

  THIRTY-ONE

  I’ve asked Bitsy to keep Mother occupied this morning, allowing Fisher the chance to finish the prayer garden. In the meantime, I can no longer avoid my responsibilities back in Arizona. It’s been a week since I’ve corresponded with anyone from work, so I head to the kitchen and scan the slew of e-mails and texts that have poured in since Chief left us. When I reply to an old message from Brynn, my phone rings immediately in response, signaling a video call from Phoenix.

  “Eva? How are you?” Brynn’s brows crease with worry. “I’m sorry about your dad.” She’s cut her hair, a style that makes her look a little older, more professional.

  “Love your new do,” I tell her. “And the flowers you sent were beautiful.” I extend my thanks to the many coworkers who contributed.

  She launches a caring discussion, asking about Chief’s sudden heart attack, the funeral, even the garden, everything that’s happened since our last conversation when I suggested we use an authentic social-media campaign to sell Jansana to the average Jane. “So when are you coming home?”

  I sit at the kitchen bar, looking out toward the oak where Mother would push us in the tire swing. We’d pretend to fly higher than the elephants, the treetops, the sun. “Tell you the truth, I actually kind of feel like I am home. I’m beginning to think . . . maybe Mississippi is the place for me now.”

  Wide-eyed, Brynn replies from Arizona. “Serious?”

  I smile. Shrug.

  “But what about the Jansana offer?”

  This stumps me. “What offer?”

  “Didn’t you read the e-mail?”

 
I scan my in-box while Brynn fills me in. “Basically, when The Trio got word about your father, the president gave me a call. Wanting details about the memorial service. So I took a risk, Eva. Told her everything.”

  “My work is done.” I shine a proud smile.

  Brynn laughs. “You definitely taught me to stand my ground. But can you imagine if I had to fight this bully of a boss on my own? That’s a game I’d never win.”

  “I’m on your side, Brynn. Always will be.”

  “She couldn’t believe what The Dragon had done to us. I didn’t even have to suggest it. She went straight to Mims, put us both back on the account.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Not kidding. The social-media campaign? Brilliant, Eva. And they all know it was your idea. Plus, get this . . . The Dragon is gone!”

  “Gone? As in—?”

  “As in, don’t know, don’t care. She’s no longer our problem.” Brynn sounds ten times more confident than when I left Arizona. “The point is, karma got her. Plus, Mims mentioned you as the top candidate. Says you’re long overdue the promotion.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way. But there’s more . . . The Trio has an offer too. Full-time, permanent positions. Just you and me. They don’t trust Apogee anymore, but they’re happy with our work. Very happy.”

  I take a sip of tea as Brynn beams from Arizona.

  “They even said they’d consider a consulting contract, in case you need more flexibility for a while. Doesn’t sound like they’ll take no for an answer, Eva. This is big.”

  “Are you saying—?”

  “I’m saying The Trio wants us to leave Apogee and work exclusively for Jansana.” She breaks into our slogan with exaggerated pep: “Feel good. Do good. Be the good. Jansana.”

  “That’s a life-changing opportunity for you, Brynn. You should take it.”

  “I will!” she sings. “But you’re coming with me, right?”

  I give this some serious thought. I could probably negotiate a posh consulting contract, retire, launch the retreat center with Marian in Sedona, and travel back to Phoenix only when Jansana needed me in-house. It’s an ideal opportunity, something I would have celebrated just last month, crossing off my annual goals and giving myself a big reward. But now, everything has changed.

  “Eva? You are coming with me to Jansana. Aren’t you?”

  My voice drops with sincerity as Dolly P. comes barreling into the kitchen, wanting treats. “I don’t know how much time I have left with my mother, Brynn.”

  “But what about . . . after . . . ?” She won’t say after Mother dies, but that’s what she’s thinking.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  “I can’t do this without you, Eva. Please?”

  I smile, a genuine show of respect. “You absolutely can do it without me. You’ve just proven it.”

  “Well, even if I can . . . I don’t want to.”

  When Mother, Bitsy, and I reach the top of the hill, Fisher is already waiting for us at the memory garden, Finn by his side. The statue of Mary stands reverently between them, taller than both brothers by at least a head.

  “Oh my goodness,” Mother gasps. “How did you know?”

  Fisher plays the recorded message, holding it close to Mother’s ear. At the sound of Chief’s voice, she clasps her hands over her heart and starts to cry. Bitsy and I both wrap our arms around her frail, thin frame, and she takes a seat on the stone wall between us. She listens attentively as her hands shake with emotion.

  “I can’t believe this,” Mother whispers. “Of course he leaves me with one final surprise.” She stands again, smiling weakly, and gives Fisher and Finn each a hug. “You boys meant so much to him. The sons he never had.” Both men look away, fighting tears of their own.

  Fisher clears his throat and adjusts his ball cap. “Did a little research on this concept of a Mary Garden.” He eyes the flowers he planted this morning while Bitsy kept Mother occupied. “Hope you don’t mind, I added a few to go along with the story.”

  “Marigolds.” Mother leans low to examine the blooms. “Fabulous!”

  Fisher identifies the others too: iris, begonia, bleeding heart. Then he points to the lush green ferns that drape the white oak branch above us. “I thought it’d be nice to place her here, beneath the resurrection ferns.”

  “Very thoughtful,” Mother says, looking at me as if I’d better recognize a good man when I see one. Then she speaks in a more serious tone. “You know, when my brother, Levi, died, he was just starting to find his way in the world. Dating a nice girl, had landed his dream job at a radio station down on the coast. He was happy. Then a drunk driver swerved too far on a rainy road.” She snaps her fingers. “Just like that.”

  “Horrible,” Finn says.

  Mother nods, moving back to sit between Bitsy and me. “I was just starting out too. Newly married. Life was good. And then I got that call.” She shakes her head. “He was gone.”

  I rub my mother’s back softly as she speaks. The bones of her spine protrude beneath her summer blouse; her ribs, prominent beneath her skin. A pressing reminder that our time is short.

  “When Jim and I found that prayer garden, we were out in the middle of nowhere. Seemed almost like it had been put there just for me. I wasn’t ready to get to the house, to see my parents grieving. And there she was.” Mother points to Mary. “A statue exactly like this one. She was waiting there in the garden. As if she knew.”

  “Maybe she did,” I whisper.

  Mother nods again. “It was the first time I had stopped to think since the phone call.” She pauses. “I’ve never told anyone this.”

  She eyes Fisher and Finn, unsure, before continuing. “It makes no sense, I know, but sitting in that garden, crying, I heard Mary speak to me. Just one word. ‘Surrender.’”

  We all listen patiently, without questioning. Without doubt.

  “To be honest, it made me angry. How dare she tell me to surrender? But then Mary spoke again, clearly. And this time she said, ‘Let go, Laurel. Everything will be okay.’”

  “I hate it when people say that,” Bitsy argues, standing to move around the garden. “Because it’s not okay. That’s the lie, Mother. Levi died too soon, and it’s not okay. Chief has gone just when you need him most, and it’s not okay. My husband has destroyed our family, and it’s not okay. None of these things are okay, and they never will be.”

  “You’re right, Bitsy. I don’t mean to say it’s all okay. But in that moment, I stopped trying to make sense of such things. I stopped fighting the loss, demanding explanations. When I did that, when I surrendered, I felt the anger and fear leave me. Just like that.”

  Bitsy looks at the Mary statue, then at me. When she turns back to Mother, she begins to cry. “Well, I’m not like you, Mother. I am scared. And I’m angry too. And I’m certainly not okay.”

  “We are all scared and angry sometimes, Bitsy. We’re allowed that.”

  “But you want me to accept something I can’t. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “When I say I surrendered, I don’t mean to say everything was fine in an instant. Some days it still gets the best of me. But Levi’s story, my story, your story—they’re all connected, you see? Always have been. Always will be.”

  Even with the men here, Bitsy cries a little harder now, her breaths rushed and shallow. With each exhale she is taking off the masks and crowns that have kept her caged for decades. I sense she is finally breaking free.

  Mother taps the seat, encouraging Bitsy to sit again. “I read the other day that they now believe there are trillions of galaxies in the universe. Trillions! Maybe even more. Did you know that?”

  Bitsy stays quiet. I lift my eyes to the trees where two squirrels bark from the canopy. So many forms of life around us. What a minor part we play.

  “Think about how infinite this creation really is,” Mother continues, as if reading my mind. “Sometimes I like to take a st
ep back, use the wider lens. Helps me realize how small my problems are in the grand scheme of things.”

  “Doesn’t make me hurt any less.” Bitsy leans against the stone, wipes her tears.

  Fisher moves to sit beside me, a comfort I accept with gratitude.

  “You have no idea what Whitman has done to our family,” Bitsy says. “I don’t deserve that. The kids surely don’t.”

  Mother pulls Bitsy into a hug. “Of course you don’t deserve it, honey, whatever it is.” Then she pulls back to make sure she’s listening. “No one deserves to be hurt. No one. Lovey didn’t deserve a monster like Reed. Fisher and Finn didn’t deserve their father leaving. Look at Finn. He surely didn’t deserve to be burned in that fire. No one deserves it, Bitsy, but we all suffer. That’s the only guarantee we have in life. Pain.”

  “You haven’t suffered like I have. You don’t know.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know. But when I hurt, I try to accept the pain as a lesson. Let it teach me.”

  I listen, learn.

  “Think of it this way.” Mother leans to pull one of her bright-pink zinnia to hand. “When a flower blooms, its seeds will scatter. Right? Well, let’s say some of those seeds land in a parking lot. Others land in a fertile field. Is that fair? No. Some will have real disadvantages, greater challenges.”

  “But they all can grow,” Finn says. “As long as they find a healthy place to root.”

  “Bingo!” Mother points Finn’s way, giving him the win. “Some may have to settle for a crack in the pavement. But once a seed takes root, it can find its way to the light. Become all it was born to be.”

  Mother hands me the bloom, a bright-pink mound of petals, each the size of dragonfly wings.

  Bitsy looks at us with frustration, as if we still don’t understand. “Don’t you see? Even if the flower manages to bloom, some people will stomp it to bits just because they can.”

  “She’s right about that.” I pass the zinnia to my sister.

  “But others will go out of their way to water it,” Fisher counters. Finn nods.