Ashley was stunned by the magical atmosphere when they walked in. Flowers and twinkle lights transformed the school gym into a one-night paradise for the seniors and their dates. Tropical potpourri lent an exotic fragrance to complete the night’s theme. (The principal vetoed the decorating committee’s request for candles, since Tommy Hinkerman used one at the Homecoming dance to set the streamers on fire.) One by one, the three couples took turns posing for the photographer in front of a gorgeous backdrop, complete with exotic flowers Hoyt said were bird of paradise plants.
Seated at their table, the girls discussed everyone’s outfits while their dates talked about Eddie’s new classic convertible, an early graduation present from his grandpa. When the Black Eyed Peas song “Imma Be” came through the speakers, will.i.am and Fergie’s voices drew them to the dance floor.
Ashley didn’t care how graceful she looked. During all those months of relearning how to walk, this Prom was the proverbial carrot on a stick she’d held out in front of herself. She learned to walk without a cane, thanks in large part to all those hours spent with Bella Rose, her Arabian mare, with Cyril Maldonado at her other side coaxing her to take so many additional steps before leaning on her horse for support. She could almost feel her friend and mentor smiling down at her, something that gave her a combination of pride, comfort, and the sting of sentimental tears in the corner of her eye. She blinked them away. Right now she just wanted to move to the music, letting the beat guide her feet as she looked into Jordan’s eyes, his hands resting on the small of her back during the slow songs.
Punch filled Ashely’s bladder, which prompted her and the other two girls to visit the ladies room. On the way back to the gym after they’d relieved themselves and reapplied varying shades of pink lipstick, she passed one of the posters she’d designed hanging on the bulletin board near the office. The local chapter of Students Against Drunk Drivers, SADD for short, had posted over a hundred such fliers around the county.
She touched the scar on her right arm between her elbow and wrist, reminded once again of how lucky she was to be there, dancing the night away with her friends. The poster sent her thoughts drifting back to a less than happy time in her life.
On a beautiful spring afternoon two years before, Ashley left Amber’s house on her bicycle to make it home in time for supper. A blue sedan filled with college kids on their way to a ballgame ran a stoplight and plowed into Ashley’s side as she pedaled across the street. The bumper broke her left femur when it rammed her leg; the splintered bone poked through her skin between her knee and denim shorts. Thrown through the air from the impact, she landed on her right side, her head and arm hitting the asphalt with a sickening crunch she still heard in her nightmares. The doctors told her later-much later, after two surgeries when she finally regained consciousness-that it was a miracle she’d been thrown, rather than dragged under the wheels like her mangled Schwinn. No way could she have survived that.
Pins held her leg bone together, and an orthopedic surgeon worked hard to insure her arm healed correctly aligned. Broken bones held a special kind of pain all their own-a sort of intense throbbing, like a migraine in her marrow-something she found difficult to explain when her parents asked how she felt. Her neck made the injuries in her arm and leg seem like mild irritations.
Unconscious for days after the accident due to a serious concussion, she awoke to find her head stuck in a contraption that looked like something out of a bad science fiction movie. Called a halo, the metal frame sat on her shoulders and extended above her head; the top of the thing actually screwed into her skull to keep the vertebrae in her neck still while they healed. At least she wasn’t paralyzed.
Her recovery was a long, slow process, during which she coped with pain no teenager should have to go through. Medication helped during the initial weeks, but, not wanting her to become addicted to the strong narcotics, they cut the dosage back as soon as they were able. When the halo and her casts came off, the real hell of her recovery started. Rehab. Her mother couldn’t tolerate staying in the room, unable to endure her daughter’s screams as atrophied muscles worked to regain use of her arm, leg, and neck. Her father gritted his teeth alongside Ashley, and tears spilled over his cheeks on more than one occasion.
Physical therapy started the same week nineteen-year-old Josh Tabor was convicted of hit and run, drunk driving, possession of alcohol by a minor, and a few other charges Ashley couldn’t recall. She memorized the photo of him that appeared on the front page of the county paper and pictured his face each agonizing time she did her exercises, while her therapist coached her to move just a little more each day through searing pain. Hating Tabor more than she’d ever hated any living being, she spent sleepless pain-wracked nights wishing he’d been sentenced to be strapped to a railroad track, like in the old silent movies, and then have a locomotive rip him in half. Justice would be his feeling the agony she suffered, not having him sit in jail munching on bologna sandwiches beside the TV all day, while she was in too much pain to swallow hospital gruel.
One day the nurse put a letter on Ashley’s dinner tray, beside the untouched mystery meat and a glob of mashed potatoes the consistency of wallpaper paste. Ashley flicked off the television with the remote control built into the side of the hospital bed, then picked up the envelope, expecting it to be another get well card to add to the growing collection set up on the table under the wall-mounted TV.
She started the arduous process of opening the envelope, refusing to call the nurse in to help her. It was bad enough that the medical staff still had to help her in and out of the bathroom. She’d only been in physical therapy one week so her right arm hung practically useless, just mobile enough to get in her way. While it was in the cast, Ashley had gotten pretty dexterous with her other hand. She held the letter still with the three fingers on the pinky side of her left hand as her index finger and thumb worked a hole under the flap until it opened, then she unfolded the stationary within.
She couldn’t believe her eyes as she read the closing. With the letter crumpled into a lopsided paper cannonball, she hurled it across the room where it landed in a corner, soon to be joined by the wadded up envelope. How dare that bastard write a letter to compensate for the fact he’d nearly killed her. No way was she going to read it. Screw him!
She stared at the stark white wall across from her bed until her seething rage subsided. Her thoughts turned to curiosity. What could Tabor possibly have to say? She glanced at the letter on the floor and her hackles rose all over again. With her leg fresh out of the cast, she couldn’t even get out of bed to pick the damn thing up if she wanted to.
An orderly popped in later to take her lunch tray, so Ashley asked him to hand her the letter. Alone in her room, she smoothed the paper out and read it:
Dear Ashley Rosales,
I’m writing to tell you how very sorry I am for what happened. I know these are only words and won’t do anything to make your injuries hurt less, but it’s important for me to apologize for what I did. I was a damn idiot. Most of the accident is a blur in my memory, except for the vision burned into my mind of you lying in a twisted heap at the side of the road. That image wakes me up screaming in my cell at night.
I know you probably hate me, and you have every right to feel that way. It would be great if you could find it in your heart to forgive me one day, though I’m not asking you to. I hope you get better soon, and have a full recovery and a happy life. Please know how horrible I feel and that I’m very, very sorry.
Sincerely,
Josh Tabor
Her hatred melted into indifference, but not pity and not quite forgiveness. He made a conscious choice to drink and drive, a decision she paid for. The apology validated her feelings somehow, and let her move past the hate and get on with her recovery, mentally as well as physically.
“Come on, silly.” Amber grabbed her elbow and pulled her back toward the gym. “This night’s not gonna last forever, you know.”
Ash
ley had the time of her life. She savored every moment of happiness, knowing how easily life could slip away without a moment’s notice.
“Phone, Darce,” Charlotte bellowed loudly enough to be heard in the work room where Darci was busy putting the finishing touches on the last order of Memorial Day arrangements, these made from artificial flowers that would stay pretty longer in the cemetery, honoring loved ones who’ve passed on. “It’s Wade.”
“Hello.” Darci heard Charlotte hang up the other receiver in the main room.
“You very busy, Hon?” From the sugary tone of his voice, she could tell she was about to get even busier.
“No worse than usual. Why?”
“Last night Paxton was playing around with my stuff and he didn’t put my level back in the tool box,” Wade explained. “I promised Teresa Nolan I’d get her new kitchen cabinets finished by sundown. She’s having a fancy brunch thing tomorrow morning, so she’ll get her panties all in a bunch if everything isn’t perfect.” He’d whispered the last sentence into his cell phone.
“Well, we wouldn’t want that.”
“If you could swing by the house and then bring it to me, I sure would appreciate it. It’s the new level with the laser on it, and I think he left it in the laundry room. He was playing alien invasion and the washing machine was supposed to be the White House.”
“No problem.” Darci grabbed a notepad to jot down the address. “Be there in about half an hour. Love you. Bye.” Yep, lucky for Wade she liked running her hands through his thick blonde hair, and the way his mustache tickled when he gave her a goodbye kiss each morning. Otherwise, she might not be so eager to drop everything for him. She really didn’t mind too much, since Charlotte could run the place while she was out.
Surely enough, Wade’s fancy new level was on top of the washing machine beside a toy space ship. She smiled and imagined Paxton, his sweet little face twisted in mock seriousness as he defended the planet from a bunch of little green Martians.
Mrs. Nolan answered the doorbell when Darci found the house. “Hi, I’m Wade’s wife. He wanted me to drop this thing off for him,” she explained, holding up the tool.
“Come on in. He’s in the kitchen, just through those doors. You’ve got to see the beautiful cherry cabinets he made for me. Oh, the girls from the book club will be so jealous when they see them tomorrow.”
“I’m glad you’re happy with the cabinets. I know the sketches he showed me were to die for.” Darci’s heart swelled with pride to see how satisfied Mrs. Nolan was with Wade’s work. “Your garden is absolutely spectacular, by the way. Do you tend it yourself or do you have a gardener?”
“Thank you, dear. No, I enjoy my flowers too much to let anybody else have all the fun. Except for my son, of course. He comes over every Sunday afternoon and helps with the hard jobs and weed pullin’ where it’s snaky. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”
“Oh, no thank you. I need to be getting back to the shop. I’ll just run this to Wade and be on my way,” she said, remembering the level she held in her hands. “It was nice to meet you.”
Darci walked to the kitchen through the living room, past a display of family photographs arranged on the sofa table. Nice looking relatives. One vaguely familiar man with sandy brown hair filled quite a few picture frames, some with him on horseback and one of him hugging an older gentleman she assumed to be his father, though she didn’t see any family resemblance.
When Darci headed back to her car, she couldn’t help but stop to take one more look at the gorgeous border around the Nolan’s yard. Tinged with just a hint of red, leaves the size of garbage can lids blended beautifully with the lilacs growing on one side and the sweet peas that scrolled up the fence to the right. That plant would be the perfect thing to fill in a corner behind the greenhouse. She stopped herself from going back to ask the lady of the house what it was called, since she figured it wouldn’t exactly make her look like a knowledgeable florist. No, she would look it up in one of her gardening volumes back at the shop.
Petal Pushers’ Plant of the Month for May is
Bird of Paradise
Strelitzia reginae
Perennial
Common name: Crane Flowers.
Brief description: A native to South Africa, this unusual blossom looks like a bird in flight or a bird’s head and beak, depending on how you look at it. The blooms are usually yellow, blue, and orange. The plant can reach four feet in height, with foliage that resembles a banana leaf.
Symbolism: freedom and faithfulness.
Trivia: These beautiful plants are actually poisonous, so please keep them away from children and pets.
Growing instructions: This plant is more of a challenge, but well worth it. They need moderate to bright sunlight, and heavy waterings to keep the soil moist. If grown outdoors, it must be brought inside when the temperature falls below fifty degrees. Use a quality peat-based potting soil and fertilize regularly. Bird of Paradise plants don’t usually flower until they’re about five years old.
Uses: Birds of Paradise are unforgettable in a landscape, make an extraordinary houseplant, and are beautiful in flower arrangements.
Tools & Tips: We just got a shipment of Garden Journals in at Petal Pushers, just in time for Mother’s Day. These handy little books let you keep track of what you plant where each year, keep notes about everything garden related, sketch out new ideas, and make lists of plants and supplies you need to pick up on your next trip to town. Garden journals make excellent gifts, or a nice treat for yourself.
Vera Thompkins ordered another Bird of Paradise plant last week. She’s Webster County’s expert on this plant, since she has two others at home she’s kept alive since her daughter gave them to her as a birthday gift nine years ago. Vera’s the one to ask if you need advice on your Bird of Paradise. She works over at Golden Days Retirement Home and loves to talk plants during her afternoon coffee break.
Chapter 6. June
The old tree is shook
White blossoms slowly float down
Dancers in the wind
~ Alexandra Kim
Sparrows in the trees overhead chirped as dappled sunlight illuminated the grass underfoot. With Hoyt’s help, Darci set plants around, finding the perfect place for each in the border that encircled Golden Days Retirement Home. The mild weather, which hadn’t climbed above the breezy lower eighties, made it a joy to come to work.
Darci stood back and scrutinized the layout before planting any slips in the soil. The red impatiens and monkey grass, which would sport small purple florets later in the season, were the perfect choices for the border. Their bright blooms over the dark green foliage should be visible even to people with failing vision.
Along with the beds edging the retirement home, they set red Knock Out roses around benches placed on either side of the yard. People could sit and enjoy their perfume just out of reach of the thorns. A sidewalk running from the front door to the street divided the lawn down the middle. Another thing on Darci’s To-Do list was to line either side of the walkway with perennial herbs. Fresh thyme, sage, oregano, and lavender would bloom in various shades of purple, white, and pink throughout the season and smell heavenly as residents strolled past them. They’d easily bounce back if stepped on, plus the cook could snip pieces off whenever she liked for tasty additions to fresh soups and casseroles.
The fresh summer air and the scent of rich dirt filled Darci’s lungs and made her feel like she was in her own little corner of gardener’s heaven. She grabbed her trowel and went to work planting the impatiens and monkey grass while Hoyt tilled around the edge of the sidewalk. She almost felt sorry for Charlotte, stuck in the shop on such a beautiful day.
On her knees in the middle of the border, Darci had the strangest feeling someone was watching her. She just couldn’t shake the sensation. Why anyone would take an interest in a chubby florist, she had no idea, but hoped the new highlights Donovan finally talked her into last week weren’t to blame. Pretending to s
tretch, she stood up and turned around to face the yard behind her. No one glanced her way.
As she reached for another clump of monkey grass, an elderly woman caught her eye. Perched on a lawn chair under a tulip poplar some distance away, she gazed in Darci’s general direction from under cover of the shade tree. The lady noticed that she’d been spotted and immediately feigned interest in the open magazine on her lap. Darci paused a minute, planning to wave if she looked back up, though she never did. Must be either shy or ornery, Darci decided, then shrugged and went back to work.
With the plants set, she spread pine mulch around them and filled in the border. The lady in the shade was watching her again. Darci approached her, intent on making a little small talk before she started on the herbs. “Hi,” she said, still about five yards away. “Isn’t this a nice day we’re having?”
Startled, the woman jumped up, grabbed her cane, and ambled toward the rest home as quickly as her limp allowed. Her gaze on the ground ahead of her, she offered a timid wave when she hurried past. The magazine she’d been reading fell to the ground in her haste to get away.
Darci picked it up. “Excuse me, Ma’am. I think this is yours. Ma’am?” The woman ignored her, but limped faster.
“Here, I’ll take it to her.” Another resident who’d been sitting on one of the benches came up to Darci and took the magazine. “And don’t take it personally. That was Mrs. Guthrie and she don’t talk to anybody.”
“Thanks. I was afraid I forgot to wear my deodorant this morning,” Darci said, smiling at the spunky older lady who stood in front of her wearing rolled up jeans, sandals, and a big straw hat.
Poison, Perennials, and a Poltergeist (The Petal Pushers Mystery Series) Page 7