In the Light of the Garden: A Novel

by Heather Burch

  Who cared about balls and festivities?

  Emily hugged her next. “I’ll see what I can do for Harold. I’ll be in touch.”

  Charity watched them leave. Dalton was knocking on the back door, but it sounded so far away. When she didn’t answer, he hollered, “Hey, you decent? I’m coming in.”

  She stared at the open doorway.

  Dalton stepped behind her. “What’s wrong, Charity?”

  But she couldn’t answer. Couldn’t do anything but give a tiny shake of her head. Something deep within was driving her to climb the two sets of stairs and go to the attic. She headed for the steps and was aware of Dalton following her. Though he didn’t say anything else, the electricity of his concern sparked across her back as she silently climbed the stairs.

  Inside the small room, Charity sat down on the twin bed in the corner, seeing this space as if she’d never been there before. This was where her grandmother came? Was it a retreat or a prison? Dalton stayed in the doorway, his shoulders nearly stretching from one side of the narrow door frame to the other.

  When she glanced over at him, he came in and sat beside her. With her hands folded neatly on her lap, she shared with him everything Jeanna and Emily had told her. Then she shared how different her grandmother had seemed on that last summer visit.

  He listened, nodded occasionally, gave her a slight smile when she asked him questions no one could answer. When she was done, he said, “No one can understand what it’s like to allow the unimaginable into your mind.”

  Charity angled to look at his face.

  “When I got word that Melinda and Kissy had died, my mind just rejected the notion. I kept saying there had to be a mistake. I even tried to call her cell phone.”

  “Oh, Dalton.”

  “Our minds work to protect us from the thing that would hurt most. But when my brother showed up at the hotel I was staying in, and the cops left, I knew the nightmare was real.”

  “How did you survive?”

  “Surviving is the easy part. It’s actually living that is practically impossible. I walked around in a daze at first, then threw myself into work. When I realized I wasn’t actually dealing with their deaths, I came here.”

  “Most people wouldn’t be self-aware enough to know they weren’t actually moving forward,” Charity said.

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’d still buy coloring books and washable markers at the store as if one day Kissy would just show up and use them.”

  “When did you start living? Or have you?” Charity asked.

  “When I sat under the weeping tree. Something changed for me while the tree rained tears. It was as inexplicable as what I was going through. Sit under the tree, Charity. It’ll help you with this.”

  She shook her head. “I just . . . can’t.” She didn’t know why.

  He reached for her hand. “Maybe one day.”

  She nodded. “This was the last place my gram was before she fell.” The door to the landing outside loomed on the far wall. Charity stood and moved to it.

  Dalton was at her side before she got the door open. There on the landing, she took in the great sea beyond, her hands spreading on the thin railing that must have been replaced after her gram’s accident. What would cause a woman to choose to die? To leap to her death when she had so much to live for? “I don’t want Daisy coming up here anymore.”

  “We can lock both doors on the way down.” He gave the railing a little shake. “Tomorrow, I’ll reinforce this railing.”

  “Thanks for being such a good friend, Dalton.” The words came from the deepest part of her. How could she have gotten through this without him?

  “We found each other. You’ve done as much for me.” The sun glistened in his green eyes.

  “In that case, I have a favor to ask.”

  “What?”

  “There’s going to be this ball. I’ll need a date.” It was a breathy admission.

  He chuckled. “What about Red? I thought he was going to ask you out.”

  She stared up at the sun. “He called a few weeks ago to let me know he was seeing the woman who owns the coffee shop in town. Broom-Hilda or something.”

  “I think her name is Briella. Why didn’t you tell me?” Dalton asked.

  Her shoulder tipped up, and she angled away from him. “Embarrassed, I guess.”

  “Embarrassed about what?”

  “About running off a man before ever even going out with him.”

  Dalton’s laughter split the air. “He gets involved with someone, and that’s your fault?”

  “I have a pretty poor track record,” Charity mumbled.

  “I’ll be your date. But I don’t have to bring you flowers or anything like that, right?”

  “You’d just steal them out of my own garden.” She cast her eyes heavenward.

  “Good point.”

  “You’ve got two months to brush up on your dancing. I’ll let Harold know you’re going to need some pointers.” She turned and reentered the attic room.

  “How do you know I need pointers?” He followed and locked the outside door behind them.

  “I’ve caught you dancing to the radio while you were working in the garden. You have the rhythm of a rock.” She grinned.

  “Rock star, maybe,” he said as they pulled the second attic door shut, locked it and headed down to the main house.

  CHAPTER 15

  The Call

  This was dangerous, and Louise would do well to remember that. She sat on the pier, fishing pole in hand, with Harold at her side. He was as good-looking as ever. But he’d broken her heart twenty years ago, and though she was a different woman now, somewhere within her, she knew he held the power to break it again if she let him.

  “When we walked to the coffee shop a few days ago, I noticed your limp was gone.”

  It had been for years. Only in the moment right after seeing Harold had it reappeared, and that was something she couldn’t explain, but she knew it had to do with feeling self-conscious. “I worked hard to get rid of it. Years of exercise and therapy.” Of course, to Marvin Cready, the man she’d married after Harold left for the last time, the limp had been part of her charm. At least, that’s what he’d always told her. His broken bird, he used to call her.

  She hadn’t wanted to be broken. She’d wanted to be strong. So, she had become what doctors had told her she never would. Of course, Marvin still called her his bird, but his soaring one. She missed Marvin. Life was lonely. But she was strong. She’d made the choice to be more than a survivor.

  Lots of women lost their husbands. Louise figured most of them fell into two camps. The cold, stern ones with deep frowns and deeper wounds. Those women never left that place of torture, losing a spouse, knowing they might walk the earth alone for the rest of their days.

  But there was another camp as well. A place where widows first grieved, then shook off the grave clothes of solitude. Those women donned purple hats. They laughed too loud at restaurants, they fawned over newborn babies and sang songs as they shopped the corridors of Walmart. Yes, Louise would much rather be counted as one of those women. She’d gladly choose camp life over camp regret.

  “You married Marvin Cready, the commercial fisherman,” Harold said, tugging on his fishing pole.

  “Got a nibble?” She nodded to the water where his line disappeared into the surface and created an A-frame shape on the ripples.

  “Nah. Probably just a crab stealing scraps from my line.”

  Louise tipped her face to the sun. “Marvin was a good husband. Practically retired when we started seeing each other.”

  “What about your folks?”

  “I was seventy when I lost them. Both, the same year. Mama was ninety-one and Daddy was ninety-three.”

  Harold reached over and touched her hand. “I’m sorry. I know the three of you were always close.”

  “I rented out their house for a few years. But last year when Marvin passed, I decided to sell. Even as a child
I loved Marvin’s house. Of course, back then his whole family lived there. When his father retired, it became his. I always imagined living inside that pretty white picket fence.” She gave her rod a good yank when she felt a nibble. The line went slack, and she knew something must have stolen her bait. But she didn’t mind. She breathed in the ocean air, the tang of freshly cut bait, and Harold. His was a scent she’d known decades ago. A scent that would undoubtedly fill her mind as she’d drift off to sleep tonight.

  Beyond the sea, the horizon was a straight line splitting the water and sky. Above, only blue. The bluest skies she’d ever seen often followed storms. This one was no different. So brilliant it hurt.

  Charity watched as Daisy pointed out the plants and flowers Dalton was moving around in her backyard. The two women sat at the counter where one could just see the garden beyond. “How will I ever be able to keep up with the garden when Dalton goes home?”

  Daisy’s head jerked. “He’s leaving?”

  “One day. I don’t think he’s packing a bag or anything yet, but he has a life waiting for him back in Jacksonville.” Charity tried to turn her attention to the carrot stick she’d planned to nibble on. She rolled it between her fingers, but at the mention of Dalton leaving, her appetite waned. She knew she had to get used to the idea. He had another life. It was not like he could just stay there forever being her best friend. And friends was all they were. That was enough for Dalton. So it had to be enough for Charity. Even though in the deepest part of her heart . . . She huffed. “His world is there.”

  Daisy dropped her gaze and mumbled, “He has a world here, too.” Daisy had grown fond of Dalton in the time she’d been there, and for a teen who’d been wandering the streets for a year, connections with other people were everything. Charity would have to walk carefully here.

  “I’d like to see him stay, too. But I’m not sure we get to make that call. Dalton’s whole family is in Jacksonville,” Charity said.

  Daisy’s bright-blue eyes settled on her. “Not his whole family.”

  Something caught in Charity’s throat. She wasn’t certain if Daisy was referring to the ones he’d lost or to the fact that they’d become an unconventional family.

  Daisy tossed her long strands of hair over her shoulder. “I know how to take care of the garden.” She shrugged. “You know, if I’m here.”

  “I love having you here, Daisy. But I also know you’re ready to call your mom. I know you miss her.” Several times Charity’d watched as Daisy picked up the wall phone only to take deep breaths while staring at the receiver. She’d then replace the phone on the wall and walk away.

  “I’ve been trying . . .” The weight of uncertainty dropped Daisy’s shoulders. “No time like the present, right?”

  Charity knew how nervous Daisy was about making that call. It could so easily go wrong. But deep in Charity’s heart, a flutter of hope had ignited. Daisy was going to be OK. Things were going to work out for her.

  Daisy’s young blue eyes filled with courage. “Let’s go sit in the gazebo while I call. It’s my favorite spot.”

  Dalton was up to his elbows in fertilizer. He watched Charity and Daisy walk out of the house and take a seat near where he was working. The wind carried their words to him, but he didn’t have to hear anything to know what this was about. Daisy, back arrow straight, held Charity’s cell phone in her hand. She must be readying to call her mother.

  Since no one invited him over, he busied himself pulling weeds from under the edge of the weeping tree. A tiny shoot caught his eye just as he was about to pluck it from the ground. “You’re not a weed,” he mumbled to the miniature, ruler-tall shoot. “You’ll never survive under here.” Dalton grabbed an empty pot, casting long looks toward the gazebo as he worked. He wasn’t eavesdropping, exactly. But Daisy had burrowed into his heart, and he knew how much bravery it must take to make that call. He packed the tiny willow into the pot by digging out a semicircle around it. After setting it beside his house, he kept a close eye on the body language coming from the gazebo. Dalton slowed his pace so he could watch the two women while he walked back to his task of spreading fertilizer.

  His heart lifted when Daisy motioned for him to come over.

  “Need all the moral support I can get.” She smiled, but it was strained, her blonde hair flying in the coastal breeze. She caught it with one hand and hit the phone button with her index finger.

  Dalton stood at the gazebo doorway. A nervous Charity sat at Daisy’s side, her fingers rubbing together in an effort to short circuit her nerves.

  Right away, he knew the call wasn’t going as well as they’d all hoped.

  “Yes, Mom. I know how long it’s been. I’m sorry. I should have called sooner. I’m in Florida.” Daisy chewed her bottom lip.

  Dalton could hear a voice coming through the phone, but the words were lost in the wind. Charity’s concern filled the gazebo, her face pinching into a frown.

  “No. Mom, I understand what you must have gone through. I’m sorry. I want to—to make things right. Could you come down here? We can talk. I’m staying with—”

  Charity cast a pain-filled glance toward Dalton.

  Daisy went on. “No. I know you don’t. But the lady I’m staying with said she’d fly you down here. If we can just talk—”

  First sadness, then anger, spread through Dalton’s system. He clenched his teeth and fists to keep himself from reaching out and snatching the phone to give this woman a piece of his mind. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t even asked if her daughter was OK.

  “I know you have work. But it would only take a couple of days. If . . . if you decide you want me to come home, we could fly back together.”

  Daisy closed her eyes. “I know I’m eighteen now.” At that moment, something changed. Daisy’s posture stiffened, her eyes going from pleading to cold. “No. We won’t send a ticket for Bud, too. Mom, are you really still with that loser?”

  Click. They all heard it. It was a mother slamming the door shut on the child she gave life to. Daisy slowly lowered the phone, her face frozen.

  Movement at the sleeping porch caused Dalton to look up. There, Harold handed a fishing pole to Louise and made his way to the group gathered on the gazebo.

  Daisy stared at the wooden floor. Charity slipped an arm around her shoulders as a single tear dropped onto Daisy’s lap.

  Dalton sent a long look to Harold, who nodded and spoke when no one else seemed able. “We caught dinner.” He raised a hand to his forehead and looked out over the vast expanse of water beyond them. “I suppose there’s no better place to be than an island in southern Florida. Sand, sunsets . . . in fact, I was telling Louise earlier just how blessed we all were to be here. To have one another. We might not be blood, but we’re kin, just the same.”

  Charity gave him an appreciative smile. With great effort, Daisy looked up slowly and met his eyes.

  He winked and pointed a crooked finger at her. “Family, girlie, is the people who stick by you. Thick or thin. And real family, well, nothing can keep them from you. Not even a hurricane.” He tipped his fishing hat and started back toward the house, then paused. “We’re having shark for dinner. It’ll be on the grill in thirty minutes.”

  They watched him disappear into the house. Daisy threaded her fingers together on her lap. “She doesn’t want me.”

  Dalton’s gaze went to Charity, who seemed only barely able to hold back her emotions.

  Charity grabbed Daisy’s hand and squeezed. “We want you.” She turned and held Daisy’s hand to her heart. “You have a home right here for as long as you want it. I didn’t want you to leave. In fact, I had to argue with myself even to encourage you to call. Daisy, I was so scared when you were lost in the storm. I’ve never felt anything like that. Please. Please, will you stay here? At least for a while, until you decide what you want to do. We can get your high school records, and you can get your GED. Then we could look at colleges.”

  A tiny spark entered the deadness
that had been Daisy’s eyes. “I never thought I could go to college.”

  A sound, half relief, half laugh, escaped Charity’s lips. “You can.” Tears filled her eyes. “Whatever you want to be, Daisy. I’ll make sure you get to.”

  Daisy smiled, but right on the heels of the freshly opened joy came the mistrust. That was something Dalton understood. A year ago, the universe had pulled the rug out from under him. He knelt in front of Daisy, his eyes intent on her. “I know people have let you down. And I know it’s hard to trust. But I’m giving you my word that we’ll make sure you go to college if that’s what you want to do.”

  He could see the war. Her chin quivered, that hard outer shell cracking. She fought it. “You’re going back to Jacksonville, and when you do, who’s to say I’ll ever hear from you again?”

  He frowned and cast a quick glance at Charity, wondering why his home in Jacksonville had been a topic of discussion. “I’m not making any plans right now. I’m here for the next two months at least. And when I start thinking about returning home, you’ll be the first to know. I swear it.”

  Daisy held his gaze for a long time. “Trust is scary.”

  He reached out and took the hand that was locked with Charity’s. “It is. But living without it is far scarier.”

  He wanted to hug her. But maybe that would be too much. She was still skittish, and he didn’t want to force her beyond her comfort zone. Instead, he squeezed her hand and let her go. “Come on, kiddo. I want to show you the new plants I got for the front of the house.”

  Charity stood. “The front of the house?”

  He and Daisy had already started to walk away. “Yeah. You’ve got the whole island coming in two months. You really want a naked front yard?”

  He heard the thump as Charity plopped back down on the gazebo seat. They both turned to look at her. She was ghost white.

  Daisy tipped a shoulder. “She’s not so good with social.”

  “Well, we’ve got two months to whip her into shape.”

  Charity was practically bursting to tell Harold the news about the dance studio. She’d also considered pressing him for some details about the argument he and Gramps had all those years ago, but whenever she started to, something stopped her. Somewhere in the caverns of her heart, she knew the discussion would only cause him pain. Besides, what did it matter? Gramps was willing to forgive him. She should leave it alone. She’d learned a hard lesson with Daisy about minding one’s own business. Daisy was doing great, though. She’d even taken a job at the coffee shop downtown.