“Right. Which is what you should give her when you tell her how you really feel. Bring her a bag of bulbs. You can’t plant them now, obviously. They have to be planted in October. Buttell her you’ll be there to plant them and, when they bloom after a long winter, they’ll bring color to the garden. Year after year.”
“Does she have some planted in the garden already?”
“No. She says they’re ordinary and too predictable.”
I had to laugh. “I don’t know about this plan. If she doesn’t like them, isn’t that the wrong choice? Although, I admit you’re right. I’m definitely a daffodil.”
“But they’remyfavorite flower,” Annie said. “I ask her every year to plant some, but she blows me off. Says there’s no space in the garden. Which is not true. Anyway, my point is—she knows they’re my favorites. Which will mean something to her. Trust me on this. She’ll get it.”
“So what do I do?”
“Come over tomorrow morning. We can make a bed for the daffodils,” Annie said. “And then you can present her with a bag of bulbs with the promise that you’ll plant my favorite flower in the fall and be there to watch them bloom in the spring.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It seems kind of light for an apology and plea for another chance.”
“You tell her why you’re doing it. Because I wanted them. She’ll understand.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you in the morning with my gardening gloves on,” I said.
“I’ll be ready.”
24
DELPHINE
By the time I got home from work I was exhausted and hungry. And sad. Annie was in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. Her hair was pulled on top of her head in a bouncy pony tail and her cheeks were pink, as if she were excited about something. We had our weekly dinner with our friends that evening. Annie was looking forward to it, but I was dreading the whole thing. I hadn’t yet had the heart to tell them the outcome of my talk with Dorian. They’d all seemed so hopeful. But as usual, the pessimist had been right.
“Hey, Mom. How was your day?” She tugged a dish towel off the handle of the oven, drying her hands.
“Long,” I said. “You?”
“It was awesome.”
“That’s nice to hear. Any reason?” I asked.
“Not really. Just feeling grateful for my life. And you.”
“I’m grateful for you too.”
A sense of relief washed over me. She’d been pretty solemn since Dorian and I had broken up. Or whatever it was that we’d done. Regardless, since then, she’d seemed dull and listless. Polite, as always, but reserved.
I’d done that to her by allowing myself to believe that a second chance at love was possible. The guilt of it sat on my chest like a swallowed stone. However, given her attitude this evening, it seemed as if she’d moved on. I was glad. Even if it meant I was out here—marooned—on Sad Island by myself.
“Where’s Poe?” I asked. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.
A spark of something—maybe guilt?—flickered in her eyes. So small I'd have missed it if I weren't her mother. “You’ve been gone a lot. He’s here.” Annie tossed the towel over the oven handle, too casually. “Probably sulking because you were at work all day.”
As if summoned, Poe wandered into the kitchen.
“There you are.” I knelt to pet him and he immediately started purring and then flopped onto his back to show me his tummy. “Are you mad I had to leave the house so early this morning?” I asked him. He peered at me from his prone position with what seemed an almost accusatory glint in his eyes. My gaze drifted to the pads of his paws. Were they always that pink? I gently brushed my thumb over them. They seemed rough. A waxy residue in the fur of one leg smelled faintly medicinal. A burr scab, healing, maybe? “Did he get outside?”
She didn’t answer for a second or two.
“Annie?”
“Um, yeah. Earlier. He got out and was wandering around the garden.”
“Poe, you’re not allowed out there,” I said. “There are too many creatures who would love to have you for lunch.”
