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I’m reminded of the nights I spent with my family camping under the stars. Dad would tell his corny jokes while Mom giggled as if he was the funniest man on earth, and I’d fall asleep beside my brothers, knowing all was right in the world.
When those eyes find mine again, there’s a flood of emotion inside them. My hand twitches with the urge to reach out and offer her comfort. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her how sorry I am that she was ridiculed so savagely tonight. That she deserves better than this small-minded town and its narrow-minded people, like Wade.
But I can’t. Kissing her was a miracle. But being vulnerable? Im-fucking-possible.
I suspect that’s why my past relationships have always ended the same. Because I’ve only ever allowed myself to experience surface-level emotions, like lust, anger, and pride. Anything deeper, and I shut down.
It’d be cruel to have Molly think I’m capable of much else.
“You’ve had a long night,” I murmur instead of kissing those soft lips and easing her aches and pains. I reach for the handle and open the door for her. “Better get you home.”
Chapter Eight
Molly
Before daybreak, I park Dad’s old work truck, lovingly deemed Big Red, in front of Mom’s greenhouse. The humiliation of last night, paired with my run-in with Rowan, left me emotionally drained.
Being bullied most of my life has made me fiercely independent. Accepting help when I need it hasn’t ever been easy for me, especially not from a man like Rowan.
The rusty truck door creaks shut behind me as I walk toward the barren wood-and-glass-paned enclosure.
The boho-style structure is only twelve-by-sixteen feet, and surrounding the outside perimeter are plots of dirt and weather-worn boxes where groups of beautiful flowers used to bloom.
I think what I miss the most is the way this place used to make her so damn happy. I’ve never had a passion for digging in the soil or planting harvested seeds, only to wait weeks or months for a single sprout, but the joy it brought her was a balm I needed on the hard days. Days like when Wade and his idiot friends would torture me relentlessly, and Mom would bring me out here because she knew there wasn’t anything a little sunshine and fresh air couldn’t fix.
A knot forms in my throat when I approach the emptied shelves inside. Crouching in front of a group of cracked pots, I run the tips of my fingers over the dead leaves and debris scattered about. I lose myself in the bittersweet nostalgia of days gone by, regretting that I never shared my passion with her the way she openly shared hers.
My love for the piano started in junior high. The way the notes blended together drew me to my music teacher’s old wooden piano that she’d let me use after school to practice. Playing was everything to me, and looking back, I never told Mom how much I loved it because I didn’t want my small-business-owning parents spending money we didn’t have on a future that wasn’t meant to be.
From my periphery, I spot a solitary packet of sunflower seeds lying on a warped bottom shelf. Its corners are worn and the purple coloring of the package a bit faded, but overall, it’s in good shape. No holes, minimal dust, and the expiration date just passed the two-year mark.
I slip it inside my pocket and hug the seeds to my chest, as if putting one of the last things she touched closer to my aching heart will let me feel her again. As if, through this stray packet of seeds, she’ll know how sorry I am for failing her. How much I regret not paying more attention to her lessons.
Although, she never got upset with me for not wanting to learn her craft. She never even raised her voice if I messed something up or forgot which plants like shade and which didn’t, or which ones needed more water versus slightly damp soil.
My heart sinks at the thought that somewhere out there, she’s watched me destroy the one thing she may have loved more than me and Dad—though she’d never admit it. But no, Mom wouldn’t yell at me for letting this place go, no matter how much I wish she could.
I’ve tried all sorts of methods to save the stock in the shop, from transferring them to different pots and replanting them, to moving them around to different locations. But no matter what I do, the flowers and plants continue to wither and die within a matter of days.
I’ve watched videos and read books that are meant to guide a black thumb like mine, but nothing I do ever seems to work.
The shop isn’t profitable like it used to be, which means I won’t be able to pay Raul much longer. I can practically hear Dad telling me I should let it go, but if I do, everything Mom worked so hard for will be gone, just like her.
Never mind my pretending to have harnessed the ability to make things flourish, knowing he wouldn’t dare visit this place. Even though my intentions are good, I’ve been lying and taking advantage of him, and he deserves better than that.
I grab an old rag hanging from a shelf and absently dust off the windows. The clear pane serves as a mirror to the past, reminding me of the summer we spent building this place for her.
“Go on,” Dad said after handing me the intricately crafted skeleton key. “You can give it to her now.”
I was vibrating with excitement as I raced from my room to where she’d been kneeling in the garden out front. Sweat pocked her brow beneath her bright pink sun hat, and a smile bloomed across her lips just for me. “Oh, my. What’s this?”
Dad looked sheepish, kicking some pebbles around while stuffing his hands into his pockets. “We’ve got a surprise for you, Jeanie girl.”
His nickname for her always made me grin. Like they never grew out of that youthful phase of falling in love, and I was wholly convinced I’d never marry until I had a man who loved me the way he loved her.
I’d pulled her by her arm toward Big Red, and once Dad placed a blindfold over her eyes, we all piled in.
Not one Christmas or birthday since could compare to the excitement I felt when Mom’s eyes watered and her hand clamped over her mouth. Her gaze darted along the twinkling lights we hung from the tempered glass ceiling to the freshly soiled garden outside, just waiting for her magic touch.
