Page 37 of Courage, Dear Heart

He smiles. “Wish I could have seen that.”

“My parents might still have some pictures.” I go silent again, and he taps my hand.

“It was during recess, and all the kids were in the school playground. I was about to go up a ladder for the slide when someone pulled my ponytail and shoved me to the side. I fell and scraped my knee. Next thing I know, CJ is there, helping me get up. And then he goes around the slide to wait for the third grader who pushed me. CJ stood right at the edge of the slide and as soon as that kid’s feet touched the ground, he slammed his face right into CJ’s elbow. The kid fell back into the slide crying. And as far as the teachers knew, it was an accident. But I know it wasn’t. He stood up for me, even though that kid was much bigger than him.”

Elliott’s eyebrows shoot up. “In first grade? How old was he? Five? Six?”

“Six. CJ was always tall for his age. Skinny but scrappy. What I didn’t know at the time was that his father was a violent drunk. And even then, CJ was putting himself between his father and his mother.”

“At that young age?”

“Many years later, I learned that CJ told his father that if he ever touched his mother again, he’d kill him. It would be easy, too. He’d either do it when his father was drunk or sleeping. And make it look like an accident. Apparently, the whole neighborhood knew his father was violent and there were at least a couple of domestic dispute arrests, but CJ never let it show, and I guess the adults kept quiet about it, too.”

Elliott presses his lips together. “That’s terrible. No child should have to live through that.”

“Sadly, many do. We became inseparable after that first day. He was the most kind, filled with joy person I’ve ever known. He was my best friend and protector. And everything was fine until high school.”

“What happened then?”

“That’s when, thanks to some neighbor’s gossip, my parents decided that having a boy as a friend was not a good thing. And worse, a boy from the wrong side of town. His father was still an alcoholic, but he no longer hit his mother. He was afraid of CJ now. My mother was always very religious, and she became obsessed with protecting my virtue from the evils of men and keeping me away from any boys. Up to that point, the few times she saw me playing with CJ at school, she didn’t think anything of it. There was always a group of boys and girls playing together. But then time went by and when I turned fifteen and got more developed and looking less and less like a kid, my mother’s need to control me resurged with a vengeance.”

“They tried to separate you?”

I snort. “They tried. And that’s when I grew a backbone. I said no. I told my parents that I’d never turn my back on my best friend, and I didn’t care if they liked it or not. My dad always followed Mom’s lead. She was running the show at home. I called them out on the hypocrisy of judging people and notloving thy neighborand how un-Christian that was.” I can still see her cheeks turn red with fury and shame as she sputtered, trying to justify her actions. I threw back in her face her favorite gossip judgment. She was always talkingabout how this or that person was un-Christian. A deeply buried petty part of me still rejoices in her reaction.

“Did you get into trouble?”

“They tried to ground me, but it would be impossible to keep CJ and me from seeing each other. We lived in a small town. It had one high school and two classes per grade. CJ and I shared most of our classes since middle school. High school wasn’t any different.”

“Is that when you two started dating? In high school?”

“Not at first, not until junior year. We kept it quiet and discreet. No one really thought anything of it since we were always together, anyway.”

“Your parents didn’t suspect?”

“If they did, they never said a word. I think my mother was afraid of saying anything else and making me rebel by doing exactly what she feared most. But it was all so very innocent, a few stolen kisses here and there. We weren’t able to actually be together until college. There wasn’t a lot of opportunity, and we couldn’t exactly go to the drugstore and buy protection.”

“You went to the same university?”

“No. CJ got a partial scholarship to the School of Arts at Columbia University. He was an amazing artist.” My gaze goes unfocused. I’m lost in memories of our early days and picnics on the living room floor surrounded by canvases and paint. I blink and Elliott watches me with a wistful look about him. “The paintings in my apartment, the mural in Jamie’s room, he did them.”

“Those are incredible. And you? Which school did you go to?”

“I went to NYU. For accounting. I know, boring.” Ishrug. “But math came easily to me, and it sounded like a solid career. Something I could do anywhere in the country. I had every intention of not returning home after graduation. I was still trying to escape. Never expected it would be to a flower shop, but it makes sense. I’ve always loved flowers and plants.”

“How did you end up with a flower shop?”

“I got a job at the flower shop in freshman year, about a couple of months after moving to New York. Leonora, the owner, took me under her wing. A month or so after that, she gave a job to CJ as well. I worked in the shop, making arrangements, and CJ ran deliveries, cleanup, whatever was needed.”

He tilts his head slightly. “Was it difficult to work around your classes?”

“Not really. We worked a few evenings and Saturdays. And Leonora was okay with us working fewer hours during mid-terms and finals. The store always closed on Sundays—it was her family day. So we had a break, too.”

“But how did you go from accounting to owning a flower shop? And living there?”

I stir my drink with the straw. “Living there came first. CJ and I were talking about renting a place together before we started our second year. My boss overheard us and offered the apartment above the store, rent-free in exchange for us fixing it up. She said she’d pay for the materials if we did the work and we’d be responsible for the apartment utilities. The space had not been used for many years and was basically storage.”

“That was incredibly generous.”

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