Page 31 of The Lost Hours
Despite herself, Lillian grinned. “That’s certainly one way to put it.” She ducked her head, hiding her eyes under the brim of her hat. “I used to have a friend who gave the flowers personalities, too. It used to annoy me.”
She looked up to see Earlene watching her steadily. “Was she a good friend?”
“The very best. She was like a sister to me.”
“Are you still friends?”
Lillian shook her head. “She died recently. But we’d had a falling-out a long time ago, so we hadn’t kept in touch. It was a . . . misunderstanding.”
Earlene was silent for a moment, staring at the drooping moonflowers, their glorious blooms hidden until nightfall. “Do you regret not mending the misunderstanding before she died?”
Lillian closed her eyes, the heady mixture of the gardenias and ginger lilies making her feel faint. If she’d ever allowed herself to feel regret, it would have left her paralyzed—afraid and unable to move forward. No, regret was an indulgence she wouldn’t allow.
“I don’t believe in regret. I’ve always thought that regret is as useful as trying to stop a flooding river with your hands. It’ll keep you busy, but you’ll still drown.” Lillian sat back, letting her ramrod-straight spine touch the sun-heated back of the bench. “I’ve always thought that regret was just another word for fear, and I’ve got no patience for that, either.”
Lillian felt Earlene bristle next to her. She hadn’t meant to alienate another person, although it had become apparent to her recently that she’d become incredibly good at it. She supposed old age really did have its perks, after all. But not Earlene. Earlene was a mystery Lillian needed to figure out. And she loved Lillian’s garden, especially the silly moonflowers.
Earlene clasped her hands tightly together. “I think you’re wrong. I think regret is a way to atone for past sins.”
“Nonsense. Go plant a tree or adopt a puppy if you want atonement. But regret is just another way of saying ‘I quit.’ ”
Earlene turned to Lillian, her brows drawn together and perspiration dotting her nose. “Then you must have led a very boring life with little to regret.”
Her earnestness and fire surprised Lillian; she’d been wondering if what she thought was glimpses of personality hiding behind the wounded victim persona was just in her imagination, and it was almost gratifying to see that it really did exist. But her words brought memories back to her—memories of Annabelle, and Josie, and Charlie. And Freddie. The grief that always seemed to float around the periphery of her vision shimmered for a moment, tightening around her heart until she thought she couldn’t breathe. She pressed her fingers around the angel charm and let it work its soothing magic.
“No,” she said softly, facing Earlene to look her in the eyes. “Quite the opposite, actually. I just choose to live my life in the present.”
Earlene’s mouth formed a perfect “o” of indignation. They stared at each other for a long time before Earlene stood. “I’ve intruded on your morning long enough and I need to get to work.”
“Oh, don’t leave in a huff. Why don’t you sit back down so we can agree to disagree for now, and we can talk about my beautiful flowers? Maybe you can tell me more about why you like the moonflowers. Who knows? Maybe I’ll find a reason to like them.”
“I doubt it,” Earlene said, almost out of hearing. But she sat down anyway, her chin jutting out with a mixture of stubbornness and indignation.
Lillian ducked her head, hiding her face under the brim of her hat so Earlene couldn’t see her smile.
I sat on the bench next to Lillian in the garden for a long time as we talked about the merits of each of the flowering blooms, all placed according to their scent and color scheme to create a feast for all the senses. Lillian appeared to enjoy argument, always playing devil’s advocate when I’d question her as to why she didn’t use a particular plant and chose another one instead.
“Because I learned from a gardening master. The friend I was telling you about before. When I was about thirteen I got very sick and couldn’t leave my house for a long time. As I was slowly getting better, she dragged me out of my bed and warm blankets and brought me out here to where the gardeners had a boring English boxwood garden. She helped me recuperate by refocusing my attention on getting things to grow, and showing me how to plan and choose. I don’t know if it was the distraction or fresh air that made me better, but my friend had taught me an important lesson.”
I knew who she was talking about, of course, and it was almost like sharing a memory. The first day I’d come to live with my grandparents after my parents died, my grandmother took me out to her garden. I’d wanted hugs and sympathy, but my grandmother instead gave me lessons about the life-giving properties of the soil and how to coax living things to erupt from the dark earth, sprouting life and color and scent where nothing had been before.
Most of the time we’d spent together in those first fragile months had been spent in her garden. I’d resented it at first, wanting to be allowed to retreat into my grief. It had taken me a long time to realize that by placing a beloved rose clipping in my hand and telling me to plant it, my grandmother had given me the deepest part of her heart. But then my grandfather put me on the back of a horse and I quickly forgot my grandmother’s gentle teachings as I began my pursuit of invincibility.
I found myself searching Lillian’s face, wanting to be recognized. “What was the lesson your friend taught you?”
Lillian looked at me with familiarity and for a moment I thought she did know who I was. But then I realized that she was seeing her childhood friend again, and maybe even recognizing a part of me that reminded her of Annabelle.
“That there are no troubles in life that can’t be sorted through or solved by spending time in your garden. And, for the most part, I’ve come to believe she was right.”
I thought back to the barrenness of my grandmother’s garden at the Savannah house and felt a wave of shame and ingratitude overcome me. I couldn’t blame its neglect on my grandfather;Annabelle had chosen me to spend time with in her garden, after all.
I focused on the sun flare roses that bordered the outer edges of the garden’s brick paths, like yellow lights marking a stage. I looked down at my once-capable hands—hands that had done nothing recently but flip through old books and tap on computer keyboards. Maybe if I’d turned to my grandmother’s garden instead, I would have found the answers I was still looking for.
“I just might have to agree with you on that one, Miss Lillian, if only because I was once told the same thing.”
I felt her staring at me, but I refused to meet her gaze, afraid to give too much away. “My aunt had a garden in her Savannah house—the house I grew up in. I’ve allowed it to go to weed. But being here, it reminds me of how much I used to enjoy it.” I looked up at her, blinking into the sun. “I was thinking, maybe, if you didn’t mind, that I might be able to help out in your garden. It seems a lot for just one person. I won’t change anything, unless you want me to. Just tend it.”
A soft smile lit the old woman’s face. “I’d like that, Earlene. I’d like that very much. I can’t do much garden tending anymore because of my arthritis and I was just sitting here wondering if I should hire somebody or let it go to weed. But here you are, and it looks like you could use some dirt under your fingernails.”
