Page 100 of When Wildflowers Bloom

With every worsening I notice, no matter how subtle, the sharp thorns of guilt dig deeper into me. Bo is watching his grandmother die without knowing.

Some days when I think about it, I know I’m doing him a favor by not letting him see what’s happening right in front of his face. Some days, I know I’m robbing him of something by not telling him. But mostly, when I think about it, the emotions are so heavy I have to lie down until the feeling passes. A tangled ball of guilt that’s so complicated, I don’t know how I’ll ever undo it.

It’s at her eightieth birthday party dinner at Bo’s house in the first week of November where I know I can’t keep this secret any longer. I have to tell him.

We’re all there, Bo even invites my dad, and Huck joins us because it falls during our usual Wednesday evening time together.

My dad and Bo stand talking about the infamous countertop—again. At some point, I expect they’ll tire of this conversation. Not yet. Huck and Lucy run up and down the stairs playing wildly, and Veda sits in a chair, smiling. It’s with both resignation and admiration she watches everyone gather to celebrate her.

She coughs into a napkin. It’s slight—not a hack—but when she pulls the napkin away, I see three bright red drops of blood staining the material.

“You okay?” I ask her softly.

She scoffs, annoyed look in her sharp eyes. “I’m still dying of cancer, if that’s what you mean.”

“And a pain in the ass,” I say without heat, crossing my arms over my chest.

She laughs, putting the napkin in her pocket, then looks at Bo. “You don’t stop loving him, Birdie. Or letting him love you.”

I pull my chin back, taken aback. “Why would I?” I ask, following her gaze to him.

She’s quiet. Then, “You’ll want to.”

Looking at him, I can’t imagine a life where me loving Bo, Bo loving me, isn’t like the sun rising or setting. Just is.

Then I remember—Veda has cancer.

My eyes drop to her. She’s in a floral shirt and black pants, hair pulled back showcasing all of who she is. “We have to tell him, Veda.”

Her breath comes out in a puff, but she nods, watching him laugh at something with my dad across the room as they each sip on a beer. “Just not today.”

Around the table, we sing “Happy Birthday” to Veda with a cake filled with eighty candles. Pointed hat on her head, face lit up byall the light representing her years on earth. A beautiful kind of sadness punches at my ribs.

She blows them all out, with the help of the kids, and smiles. Veda has suffered loss yet has lived a good life; I see it all over her timelessly lovely face.

Bo raises his glass, beaming at her. “To Gran, for keeping the world on its toes for eighty whole years!”

While we clap, she waves her hands around and stands up.

“Now I want to say something,” she says, her tone somehow both stern and joy filled. As always, the room falls obediently silent in her wake. “You don’t get to be eighty without learning a few things, and I want to say them. Bo”—she pauses, looking at him—“I love you. I was devastated when we lost your dad—a parent burying a child…” Her voice trails off until she shakes her head. “But you coming to be with your grandad and I?” She smiles wide enough her face fills with lines. “Your dad would have loved your cabins,” she says, voice cracking just slightly. “But he would have been most proud of the way you love without end.” Her eyes bounce to Lucy, then me, then back to him.

Bo reaches his big strong hand toward her twisted weak one, giving it a squeeze.

“Lucy,” she says, smiling at her, voice playful. “You are sunshine, you always remember that.”

Lucy giggles and blows her a kiss.

“Greg.” She looks at my dad. “You raised one hell of a woman.”

My eyes go from my dad—slowly—to hers. I know what this is instantly. This isn’t a birthday speech; Veda is saying goodbye.

“I told you she loves you,” Bo whispers into my ear. Ignorant of what’s happening.

I ignore him, eyes staying glued on Veda, as she turns to Huck and says, “Huck, Birdie is going to be your mom, and I want you to try really hard not to let her feed you only healthy food.”

Everyone laughs, even Huck, except me. Because a tear rolls down my cheek that my body refuses to hold on to.

“She’s going to be a good mom, Huck,” she says, and Huck gives me a blocky smile, swelling my heart as it shreds.

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