Page 137 of The Temptation of Truth
I rub my chest as if it’s possible to massage away the ache, but I can’t. I don’t know how I let this happen. I don’t know how or why I didn’t see it, the risks, but I can’t go through that again. I can’t.
I slow when I come to a fork in the trail, so I pull my map out of my back pocket and look it over. There’s an orchid house tothe left, and though I know it’s a terrible idea, that’s the direction I head.
It’s like stepping into another world when I push through the doors. The room is heavy with the scent of blooming flowers, and it’s humid and warm, like a tropical forest after a rainstorm. The only sound I hear as I walk farther into the place is the distant trickling of water and thetap tapof my boots on the stone floor.
All around me, orchids of every shape, size, and color seem to float on the thick air. Perched in baskets, climbing up moss-covered branches, nestled among ferns. Everywhere I look are jewel-toned purples, electric pinks, and soft whites freckled with magenta or gold. When I stand in the middle of the room and turn in a slow circle, it’s like a being in a giant kaleidoscope.
It's enchanting and peaceful, and Aurora would love it.
I wish she was here, and then I hurt all over again, because she’s with her husband. I don’t know what they’re talking about. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Is she actually going to divorce him, or will I return to the house to discover that she’s caved and gone back to him?
Maybe I’m just an experiment.
Maybe she was just exploring her sexuality, and I just happened to be the lucky plaything within reach.
It’s not uncommon. People get a little bit of freedom—go to college, go on vacation, go on a rock and roll tour without their husbands—and their inhibitions loosen. It’s like sampling at an all you can eat buffet. If it looks good, you try it. It happens all the time. Hell, it’s happened to me many times over the years.
Maybe that’s all I am to Aurora. A temporary excursion.
I frown.
No. That’s not Aurora. That’s not the kind of person she is.
But she did say she wasn’t gay, and it’s obvious that she doesn’t know what she wants. How could she? She’s beensheltered, and she’s confused. She’s spent four years being beat down by her fuckhead of a husband, and I was the first person to build her up.
What if she doesn’t actually likeme, she just likes the idea of me? She just likes the way I make her feel?
My shoulders droop with the thought, and I turn to leave, but my attention is caught by an older woman half hidden in a thick patch of ferns, and she’s watching me. I smile awkwardly and give her a wave.
“How can someone be sad in the Orchid House? That’s what I’d like to know.” She waves her hand in the air, then points at me. “It’s paradise in here. You can’t be sad in paradise.”
“Do you work here?”
“I tend to the orchids, and the orchids tend to my soul.”
I huff a laugh and turn to leave, but then I think better of it, and walk toward her instead.
“Actually, could I ask you a question about that?”
“About orchids or souls?”
“Orchids.”
“Ask.”
“I have a friend who has a moth orchid that isn’t doing very well. She can get it to bud, but not bloom. Do you have any advice?”
The lady’s brow furrows in thought. “It’s hard to tell without looking at it. How’s the root system?”
I shrug. “Good, probably. My friend knows a lot about plants. She’s doing everything she can to help this one thrive, but it refuses.”
The lady hums and gives me a sage nod.
“Sometimes, they die because we love them too much. Sometimes, they bloom because we finally let them breathe.” She gives me a wink and lowers her voice to a whisper. “And that goes for orchids and souls. You’re welcome.”
She leaves me standing amongst the ferns without another word, and I think about her advice for the rest of the day, and well into the next.
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