Perennials

by Julie Cantrell

  “Eva.” The Dragon answers only after I make it through her assistant’s derisive inquisition. “How’s vacation?”

  “I’m not on vacation. I’m keeping up with everything. I assure you, Jansana is good to go. There’s absolutely no need to worry.”

  “But I am worried, Eva. You must know how much is riding on this campaign.”

  “I do know, absolutely, which is why Brynn and I have made this project our top priority for more than ten months.” I stand at the end of my dresser where framed childhood photos observe the scene. What would that innocent little Lovey think of me now? Going head-to-head with a dragon.

  “Top priority? If that were the case, you’d be here working on it in person. This is unprofessional. And unacceptable.”

  “Did something happen? A complaint or concern? Anything?”

  “No, but that’s what I’m trying to prevent. You understand.”

  “Honestly, no, I don’t understand. Jansana is my primary focus. I assure you I am not going to drop a ball.”

  “I’ve got a lot on my plate. The last thing I want to do is take on a client my team should be able to handle. But let’s shoot straight here, woman to woman. You and I both know you can’t manage this properly from . . . Where did you say you were again?”

  “Mississippi.”

  She sighs. “You’ve got twenty-four hours. If I don’t see you in this office tomorrow, Jansana is mine. And I don’t have to tell you what is happening to people who aren’t pulling their weight around here.”

  The phone disconnects before I can respond, and I feel as if I’ve been talking to Bitsy. The only difference is, with The Dragon, the stakes are much higher than a wounded ego or a soiled reputation. This woman controls my career, my financial security, my retirement plan . . . my future. I no longer have the option to stay here at the farm. I need to leave Oxford, return to Phoenix, and manage this account the way I’ve been hired to do.

  TWENTY-ONE

  From the kitchen I spy my parents on the front-porch swing. Manning sleeps at Chief’s feet, his heavy body spread wide against the wooden slats, his breathing lazy and loud. Mother’s head is resting on my father’s shoulder. With a slow, soothing rhythm, they sway in peaceful silence, hand in hand, watching the sun rise over the pasture as Dolly P. curls in Mother’s lap. The lambs are chasing each other around the pond while the ewes circle the trough of fresh hay. All is idyllic here in this world my parents have built for one another. For Bitsy and for me. How can I tell them I’m leaving for Arizona?

  A knot in my gut, I make my way onto the porch. Mother has been so happy with us here together. Chief has appreciated the help with the memory garden. And I, too, have experienced my own healing from this unexpected homecoming. A huge part of me doesn’t want to return to Phoenix at all, doesn’t want to run away again. But I am no longer a child. I have to go back to my real life, finish the job I started, and move into the next phase of my journey. It’s called growing up.

  My parents both greet me, doling out their full attention. “We were just thinking we’d like to learn yoga,” Chief says.

  “Seniors at Sunrise,” Mother adds with a wink. “Mississippi Edition.”

  “Seriously?”

  When they nod, I’m elated, letting go of every other worry for the time being. I grab some blankets and spread them across the grass, eager to share this part of my life, grateful they’re game.

  “Go easy on me now.” Chief seems intimidated, surprising from a man who held a record-setting passing streak at Ole Miss, excelled in the NFL, and still maintains this farm independently.

  Mother stands beside him. “We’ve never done this, you know.”

  I ease their fears, starting by teaching them a bit about breath control. In the background a gun enthusiast is shooting off what sounds loud enough to be a cannon, and yet my parents never flinch. The explosions would terrify my Sedona friends, but in these parts, it’s par for the course. Thankfully, the birdsong helps to counter it.

  “We’ll learn some basic positions,” I explain, beginning with an easy cross-legged pose for Mother while Chief opts to leave his legs outstretched. I model a basic inhale as we roll our shoulders up and back, expanding the chest to open the lungs. Then we exhale, letting our shoulders sink down, pressing forward again to release the breath.

  We stretch the neck, shaking the head slowly with exaggerated yes nods and then a few shakes of no. I help Chief lift his chest to find better alignment, praising Mother for her excellent posture.

  As they straighten their sternums, I cue them to pull their belly in to meet the spine, holding their palms together at the chest before pressing them overhead, then down and around, inhaling and exhaling with each full extension and rotation.

  We continue through a beginner’s session, twisting the torso, stretching the spine, strengthening the core until they feel comfortable with the basics: tabletop, cat pose, cow pose. Then I challenge them by diving into puppy and downward dog. Chief struggles with these, as well as the forward fold, so he is relieved when we move up to mountain pose, where we focus on rooting down to the earth and rising up to the sun. When we strike volcano, lifting our arms to an upward V above our heads, I’m reminded of Brynn and our power stance back at Apogee, but I push those thoughts aside and try to stay right here in this beautiful moment with my parents.

  “Remember to breathe.” I exaggerate my inhale and exhale as we rotate through warrior I and warrior II. Chief insists he can handle both, despite his tricky knee, but I keep the hold brief, just in case. Finally, we wind down with a relaxing child’s pose, where we focus on a few final moments of meditation.

  Regardless of gunshots and nearby farm equipment, my parents stay focused. It’s bound to be one of the most peaceful moments we’ve ever shared. That’s the paradox, isn’t it? I can stay here and actually live the life I am trying to sell to the world. Or I can go back to Arizona, sit in my cubicle, stare at a computer screen, and produce a campaign that encourages other people to live the very lifestyle I’m experiencing right here and now without a single Jansana product in sight.

  I teach my parents another bit of lingo as I end the session with a bow of honor. “Namaste. The light in me sees the light in you.”

  “Namaste.” Mother nods toward each of us reverently. “I like that. I don’t know why I’ve never tried this, Lovey. I could definitely start my mornings like this. You should move home, teach all our friends. They’d love it.”

  “You think?”

  “Found muscles I never knew I had.” Chief holds his chin high and proud.

  The three of us rest now beneath the trees, the morning breeze cool against our skin, the hollow thrums of yellow-bellied sap-suckers and redheaded woodpeckers echoing out between trees. “You really should consider the idea, Lovey. You could live here at the house, take over the farm. Build that flower business you always talked about when you were younger.”

  “The flower farm?” I recall my childhood dream. “You remember that?”

  “Sure I do,” Mother says. “You had a whole notebook with plans and price lists. Just like your father with all his goals. Truth be told, I always hoped you’d grow up and do it.” She smiles, then laughs a little. “Kind of selfish on my part, I guess. But I thought it’d be fun.”

  “You never told me that.” How might my life be now if she had?

  Before we can discuss this idea any further, Bitsy arrives, staring with puzzlement as she drives up the lane. It’s clear she’s trying to figure out why we’re sitting on blankets in the middle of the yard like schoolkids.

  “What on earth?” she yells from beneath the shagbark hickory, already agitated as she exits the vehicle and darts our way.

  “There goes our moment of Zen.” I laugh, but it’s true. As soon as Bitsy arrives, the energy shifts. I now understand what Marian says about positive and negative forces, how every living being emits a charge and how our own state of mind can be altered by those we allow close to us.
“Surround yourself with positivity.” That’s what Marian teaches. Another of her mantras is, “Find positive people and think positive thoughts. Then you will do positive things.” I imagine Marian would say Bitsy is a squall of negativity and that I would be wise to keep my distance, kin or not.

  As I watch Bitsy race toward us, anger brewing within her, my instinct is to flee the storm, find shelter. Especially after her rude behavior last night at the restaurant. But instead, I consider what Pippi might do. I choose to stay. I stand and offer my sister a hug, hoping we can start anew today. She rejects the offer, of course, but I won’t let her negative vibe sink me.

  “You just missed our first yoga class.” Mother helps me gather the blankets.

  “Yoga?” Bitsy’s eyes dart anxiously despite the frail smile she holds in place. “I thought you didn’t believe in all that stuff, Mother. You’ve said it before. How you don’t understand why Lovey got sucked into all this New Age nonsense.”

  I laugh. Surprisingly, Mother does the same.

  “It’s not like we’re out here doing devil worship, Bitsy. You can calm down. Can’t be all that different from your Barre class, I’m sure.”

  Finally! Mother stands up to Bitsy. I help Chief to his feet, and he hands me his blanket. Then he puts his arm around my sister and says, “What d’ya say we grab some breakfast?”

  We all agree, making our way to the kitchen while a familiar whitetail returns to the strawberry trellis, nibbling her own morning feast. Manning doesn’t even bother barking. According to Mother this deer has been a daily visitor for two years running and has become the lab’s loyal friend—a good reminder that there is more to life than Jansana or Apogee or The Dragon’s dreadful demands. And yet I have responsibilities I can no longer ignore. I have to tell my parents about work. No more dancing around it.

  “I’ve really enjoyed being home with y’all.” I crack eight eggs into a bowl while Mother mixes flour and milk for a batch of biscuits. I don’t know how to tell them I’ve booked a flight for this afternoon.

  “I do wish you’d move back to the farm, Lovey.” My mother leans near and kisses my shoulder, both her hands covered in sticky dough.

  “Me too,” Chief says, pouring water for a fresh pot of coffee.

  Bitsy sets the table and stays silent.

  “Well, actually, that’s something I need to talk to y’all about. I spoke with my boss this morning. Seems I need to fly back sooner than expected.”

  “How much sooner?” Mother’s blue eyes are fixed on me, causing my stomach to churn.

  “Today.”

  Chief hits the brew button and turns my way. “What are you saying, Eva?”

  Ugh. He’s using my real name again.

  “You can’t just up and leave,” Mother argues.

  I sprinkle some cheese and pepper into the eggs, saving the salt for after they’ve been scrambled. “It’s this Jansana campaign I told you about. I’ve got a new boss, and she’s threatening to pull the account from me if I’m not back in the office by tomorrow. That’s bad enough as it is, but she’d likely pull it from my partner too. Even if I chose to suffer the consequences, I can’t let Brynn pay the price.”

  Mother shakes her head in protest. “You’re telling us you’re flying back to Arizona? Today?” Her voice is tight. So much for the yoga-inspired calm and all that positive energy.

  “Listen, Mother. I want to be here. More than you know. But I can’t win. Either way I’m letting someone down. If I stay, I could lose my job. And without this deal, I may never have the financial freedom to retire.”

  My argument doesn’t seem to sink in. She lifts her hands in the air, upset, and I’m at my end. “Honestly, Mother. Don’t you think you’re being a bit unreasonable?”

  She stares as if I’m speaking a different language, making no sense. It’s yet another moment when she seems completely incapable of seeing things from my perspective. “You know what?” I set the whisk down. “You and Bitsy have no clue what it’s like for me. You’ve never had to make it a single day on your own.”

  Their glares burn through me, and Chief jumps to their defense, giving me a gruff, “Hey, now,” but I don’t back down.

  “Not to mention you’ve all got the flexibility to travel anytime you want. When’s the last time any of you came to visit me in Arizona?”

  No one says a word. They all know it’s been years, and they know there’s no excuse for it either.

  “To be frank, I don’t think it’s fair. I don’t ask a thing from any of you, but you act as if I’m doing something wrong because I’m not living solely to serve y’all. I tried to tell you it wasn’t a good time for me to visit. I dropped everything to fly here without any notice, but now I’ve got to go back to Arizona whether you like it or not. I’m sorry, but I’ve got a job to do. You’re more than welcome to fly back with me.”

  This leaves my entire family speechless. Bitsy stares at me with what could almost be described as a smile, knowing I have once again become the source of disappointment and she can now return to being the favored child.

  Chief gives Mother a concerned look. “Sit down,” he says, with a voice so authoritative no one dares question him. When I hesitate, he says it again, even louder. I leave the eggs half whisked in the bowl, and Mother moves to wash her hands, the sticky ball of dough unfinished on the bread board. She carries the hand towel with her as we gather around the table, the sound of chairs sliding across the wool rug loud as thunder. Chief has taken charge, and we do as commanded, despite the buzz in my ear telling me to run.

  “Lovey, I know you think we’re being too demanding.” His tone is serious, too serious. “But there’s something you don’t understand.”

  Mother locks her hand in Chief’s now, her eyes on him too. They glaze as he lowers his voice. “Last month your mother was diagnosed with late-stage esophageal cancer.”

  My neck tenses, and my voice fails me.

  Mother forces a smile, her pale eyes suddenly tired and sad.

  “Did you know this?” I question Bitsy. She shakes her head but reveals zero emotions. None.

  “We wanted to wait and tell you both after the party,” Chief explains.

  Mother takes over. “I knew things would change once we told you. I wanted to enjoy a happy stretch of time with my girls while I was still healthy enough to do so.”

  “Still healthy?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

  She sits straighter, her head held high now with a resiliency that both inspires and dismays me. “I’m saying I refuse to give this disease a single day more than I have to.”

  I shoot questions like arrows, fast and straight. “What’s the prognosis? How long have you known? Is this why you haven’t been eating?”

  “It’s not good,” Chief says, a crack in his voice. “Stage four. It’s already metastasized.”

  My fists clench with worry, and my jaw barely bends at the hinge. “You can beat it. Right? What’s the plan?”

  She shakes her head. “I’ve decided not to fight it.” Mother stays calm, her mind already made up.

  “Not fight it?” I turn to Bitsy for backup, but she is stone-faced. Stares at the floor.

  “I’ve watched too many friends go down that road,” Mother says. “They end up in so much pain, withering away with tubes and treatments. It’s not how I want to leave this world.”

  “Well, that’s not an option,” I argue, a bold defiance. “You have to fight it. Look at all the people who are able to get well. You could go into remission, gain years of time. You have to try.”

  Mother smiles and rubs my hand. “It’s okay, Lovey. I understand. But please put yourself in my position. The doctors say there is less than a 10 percent chance I could beat this, and even then, it’s unlikely I’d stay healthy for more than a year. Two at most. I’d rather spend the last few months doing all the things I love with the people I love. Not wasting it in doctors’ offices and hospital rooms. It’s not my nature.”

  “Bu
t the cancer will make you sick too, Mother. There’s no avoiding that.”

  “True, but I don’t want to fight the tides. And I surely don’t want to lose my hair. Nothing good ever comes from that.” She laughs, giving us her best Dolly Parton accent as she references her vanity.

  “I can’t believe you’re making a joke of this.” I look at Chief. “It’s not funny.”

  He nods.

  “We need to get a second opinion.” I continue my charge. “And a third. I know a natural medicine expert out in Sedona. She’s supposedly healed a lot of people, people who had been told there were no other options. I’ll call her. We can go today.”

  “We’ve already done all that,” Chief says. “It is what it is.”

  Mother looks at me with sad eyes. “This must be very hard for you girls. I’m sorry. I remember when my mother died. There’s no easy way to handle it.”

  I wipe my eyes, determined not to cry. Not to accept this. Chief takes one of my hands in his. Mother takes the other. Bitsy stays distant, but Mother pulls her hand in too, joining the four of us together.

  “We don’t have a lot of time left,” Mother says. “So I am begging you, please don’t waste another second. I can’t leave my family fractured. I won’t.”

  It’s all I can do not to sob, but I give Mother the smile she craves, a weak but honest longing to please her. Bitsy keeps her gaze on the table. I’m not sure she’s heard a word.

  “Promise?” Mother challenges us both, tugging our hands and demanding a response.

  We nod, each of us in our own time, and Mother sighs in relief. “Family First.”

  There is a hum between us, a buzz of hope, and I want to believe that if we stick together, just like this, we can heal Mother. We can heal us all.

  TWENTY-TWO

  If I want to save my career, I should be packing my bags and heading to the Memphis airport before lunch. Instead, I’m walking out to the memory garden in search of Fisher. When his ball cap appears above a leafy althea, my entire body steadies. He smiles when he sees me climbing to the hillside garden where he works.