Page 43 of When Wildflowers Bloom

“Yes, in here,” her muffled voice calls, prompting me to push it open slowly.

Despite the fact the lights are still off, the bedroom glows from the morning light pouring through the sheer white curtains. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed in a powder blue nightgown massaging her hands. Her bright white hair is wild around her face. She looks like a sleepy version of her. Angelic.

“Hey,” I say softly, walking in. “Everything okay?”

Her eyes narrow. “Can’t a woman sleep in every now and then?”

I squint at her, trying to understand what she isn’t saying, and sit on the bed next to her.

We sit in a heavy silence. Looking at her, there’s nothing obviously wrong other than the fact she slept later than usual, but I know by the way she sits—lets me sit—there’s something.

“I wasn’t snooping, but I saw the medicine,” I finally say. “A few weeks ago.”

She nods subtly but doesn’t say anything.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

This time, she smiles and looks at me sideways.

“Getting old is a real son of a bitch.” She pats my knee. “How about some breakfast?”

I force a smile back, knowing better than to push for anything more.

“If I’m making breakfast, you’re wearing the gloves while I cook,” I say, nudging her gently before standing up.

“Birdie,” she calls as I’m walking toward door, making me pause. “Don’t mention this to Bo, please.”

I want to argue, but the look on her face tells me I won’t win. Instead, I just nod, trying not to think about what I’m promising as I walk to the kitchen and start making her coffee.

Huck is waiting on my porch when I get home but there’s no blocky smile. He doesn’t even look at me when I drop onto the step next to him. He looks how I feel.

“I wonder what the strongest insect in the world is,” I say, staring at the sky.

“Rhinoceros beetle,” he says flatly.

The dog whimpers from behind the door. “I wonder if we should walk the dog.”

He doesn’t answer, just stands up and waits.

George Strait on a leash, we start walking, in silence.

“I found out today my friend is sick, and I don’t know how to help her,” I tell him.

Huck hops over four cracks in the sidewalk. Finally, “I found out today that I can’t keep living with Miss Alice.”

Whatever is happening with Veda vanishes from my mind with that sentence. I’ve known it was coming, but somehow, hearing it come out of Huck’s mouth crushes down on me like a rockslide.

I’ve watched movies where something tragic happens and adults hide their emotions from their kids. I’m not a parent; I don’t know anything about how to raise a child or why that’s what people do, but at that moment, I don’t care. A sheen of moisture covers my eyes, and I don’t try to hide it.

I reach my hand out toward his, and today he takes it.

“Huck wonders if I could live with Birdie,” he says, looking up at me.

The tears that well in my eyes fall in one drop then two as I look at him. I desperately wish it was easy as just saying yes.

“I don’t think I’d make a very good mom,” I say, looking at the dog as he sniffs around the tree.

Huck steps over another crack. “I think so.”

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