Season of the Dragonflies

by Sarah Creech

  “See,” Willow said.

  Luke kissed Mya on her cheek and then said, “I’ll call you when I’m done. I love you.” And then he vanished behind the curtain.

  Mya turned around immediately after he said what Willow thought he said, though she was getting older and perhaps her hearing wasn’t so good anymore.

  “Did he just say that?” Lucia asked.

  “He did,” Mya confirmed.

  At least my hearing is still good, Willow thought with relief.

  “How sweet,” Lucia said in a taunting voice.

  “Shut up.” Mya eased herself to the floor and Willow tossed her a pillow. She slid it under her butt.

  Willow said, “You seem so—I don’t know, harried? Shouldn’t you rest or something?”

  “Can we get you anything?” Lucia said.

  “Stop with this ‘we’ stuff, please,” Mya snapped.

  “I meant ‘I,’ ” Lucia said. “Can I get you any—”

  Mya cut her off. “I need to know something and you’re making it harder for me to ask.” She pointed her finger at Willow and said, “Are you thinking, at least even a little teensy bit, about appointing Lucia president?”

  Lucia coughed, and Willow assumed this gave it away. Mya said, “I knew it, Mom.”

  “Should I step out?” Lucia said.

  “No, obviously not,” Mya said. “You should never go, never again, not if you’re running things.”

  “I haven’t even—”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Mya said. “It’s the principle. She wants someone else to do it because I messed up and she doesn’t trust me. You let me change the formula, Mom, and even if I fix the problem, that won’t make a difference. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  Willow had hoped to have a separate conversation with Mya about all this, but that black cloud had arrived and there had never seemed to be a right time. “It happened quickly, Mya.”

  “She’s gone fifteen years and then three days she’s back and things happen quickly for you? Sorry, I don’t get it. It’s like you were waiting for her to return.”

  Mya adjusted the pillow beneath her leg and winced in pain.

  “I’m still sitting here, you know,” Lucia said. “I can hear you.”

  “I really don’t give a damn,” Mya answered. “If you can’t handle hearing this, how will you be president? You’re too soft.”

  Lucia stood up like she might leave. In a calm voice, she said, “I’ll tell you how, Mya: I don’t rush.”

  Mya’s impulsiveness had always made Willow cautious about handing over the business to her. It had weighed on Willow for years, even before the Zoe issue, but she hadn’t known how to tell her elder daughter, who had devoted her entire life to the business, that she was in the running for president only by default.

  Mya asked her mother, “How do you know she won’t get claustrophobic again and split?”

  “Sit down,” Willow told Lucia, who, after a long silence, obeyed.

  “This isn’t how I planned to talk to you, Mya, but you brought it up,” Willow said. “I’ve mentioned this to Lucia and she hasn’t said a word to me. Not one word in response. Nothing is settled.”

  Mya stared at Lucia, as if to confirm, and Lucia finally nodded. Mya said, “Why’d you mention it to her first and not me? I’ve been here the entire time. You owed me that.”

  Willow stood from the couch without another word, pulled out a drawer from her desk, and presented Zoe’s letter to Mya. “This came for you.”

  Mya read it over once and stared at the paper. She shook her head and rasped, “You shouldn’t have opened it.”

  “But I did,” Willow said. “You know, it’s one thing to tell me that I should retire, but to conspire with a client, to plot about getting me to retire early? And for what? I don’t even want to know what plans you had.”

  “I didn’t have any plans,” Mya said with deep remorse in her voice, so much that Willow almost believed her. “It’s just—”

  “Just what? Send me out to L.A. for a phony meeting? Push me in a corner to change the formula? Give Zoe the upper hand? Force me to retire? What excuse could you have for going against me like this?”

  “You don’t seem yourself!” Mya shouted. “For a while you haven’t, and I thought it’d be best, but I knew you’d never agree unless you had to.”

  Willow returned to her place on the couch and said, “I do need to retire. I’m struggling to remember small things and some big things too. I’ve been trying to carry on and pretend everything’s fine, but it’s been mounting, and I feel like I’m jeopardizing things by hanging on. But frankly, I haven’t sensed that you were ready, Mya.”

  “What?” Mya slammed her hand on the floor. “I’ve been ready for the past few years, just waiting for you to give me more responsibility. I can’t believe you’re telling me this now.”

  Willow said, “I’ve seen a spark in Lucia since she’s been home; that’s the truth. I see it in her and I have to follow my feelings, Mya. So I spoke up exactly when I felt it, and you weren’t here.”

  Mya bowed her head and took a deep breath. Willow watched her chest fill and then fall. “So what’s there for me? Travel the world for the rest of my life? Snap photos? Shop? Did it occur to you that I wanted this job more than anything else?”

  “It did,” Willow said, her entire motherly constitution softening for her daughter. “Of course it did.” Mya looked wholly like the toddler she once was, the girl Willow adored who sat at the kitchen table and pretended to play poker against her.

  Mya refused to look at Willow anymore, and she couldn’t blame her. This was all very difficult. Mya turned her stare to Lucia, and Willow did the same.

  “So I can talk now?” Lucia said.

  Mya tossed up her hands. “I guess so, you’re the boss.”

  Lucia tightened the corners of her mouth. “I haven’t been sure.”

  This response surprised Willow. “And now?”

  “And now I think I want this,” Lucia said.

  “Well, grand,” Mya blurted. “Sure glad you came to a decision. It has to be one of us, and clearly I can’t be trusted, even though every single decision I’ve ever made has been in the interest of the company. Can you say the same for yourself, Lucia?”

  Willow said, “The business chooses,” before Lucia had to respond.

  “What a bunch of bullshit,” Mya said, and stood up from the floor. She wobbled when she put pressure on her right leg, then grabbed her crutches. “Maybe it’s my time to go. Lucia had her time away, so why not me?”

  “Maybe it is,” Willow replied, and Mya’s face dropped. Some time away would be replenishing for Mya, but it would never happen. She was too attached to home.

  “Now, hold on,” Lucia said. “You didn’t let me finish.”

  Mya said, “I need a bath.” She sounded defeated.

  Lucia stood and walked to Mya. “I want to share this with you.”

  “I don’t need your charity.”

  “That’s not how things are done,” Willow said. “Too many cooks in the kitchen ruin a soup; that’s what my mother always said. That’s what Grandmother Serena knew and believed, and you can’t just go and change it now.”

  Lucia faced Willow head-to-head: “Changing the formula isn’t the way things are done either, but you agreed to that. And I won’t accept the position if I’ll be heading it alone.”

  Willow absolutely shouldn’t have given the girls this ammunition against her. And now she fully understood Grandmother Serena’s point—change one aspect of the business and the rest is vulnerable. Each president had made the same difficult decision. Serena had chosen Lily because she was the elder, and her younger sister owned a bakery in town and lived close by but didn’t work for the business. Iris had too much anxiety about people and decision making to run the business, so their mother had never questioned her choice to appoint Willow. Now, as president of Lenore Incorporated, Willow had the right to choose, and she knew better
than to give her daughters equal power over the company—frightful arguments and poor execution would result from that dynamic.

  “Mya?” Lucia said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s that or nothing,” Lucia said, and Willow couldn’t believe she was being that forceful with her sister. Lucia was president. There wasn’t a doubt in Willow’s mind anymore. Lucia wouldn’t share the job.

  Mya turned for the door.

  “Creative director,” Lucia offered.

  Mya limped away on her crutches, and Lucia went to hold the curtain open for her. Clearly Lucia had been thinking about a lot more than she’d let on. One thing seemed certain, something Willow hadn’t anticipated: Lucia wanted to see a change in the business. But how big of a change? Willow never intended for a mass overhaul. Mya sometimes mentioned expanding the line of products and becoming more visible as a way to protect the perfume from inquiry. Visibility was not a part of the business plan, only absolute discretion, and Willow had always doubted Mya’s ability to adhere to that principle.

  Lucia planted herself in Willow’s chair behind the desk. Willow said, “Your acting skills come in handy from time to time.”

  Lucia pursed her lips. “I was going to tell you.”

  “I bet,” Willow said.

  “It’s for the best,” Lucia said, and her energy was so much larger and brighter, as if she were using the family perfume for the first time.

  The phone rang. Lucia picked it up without letting it ring twice and without asking Willow if she should answer it in the first place. “Lenore Incorporated,” she said, and then her voice softened. “Oh, hey.”

  “Is it Ben?”

  Lucia nodded. “Sure,” she said. “See you then.” She hung up. “He wants us to come there.”

  “How’s he sound?” Willow asked.

  Lucia stood up. “Like Ben.”

  “What’s that sound like?”

  “I don’t know. Like Ben.”

  “Like a hurricane or a breezy day?” Willow persisted.

  “Let’s just go.”

  “I should change.” Willow stood up.

  “Why?”

  “Look at me,” Willow said, and left the office. From behind her, she heard Lucia say, “But I’m driving.”

  CHAPTER 24

  The Infection

  HOW COULD LUCIA explain that she hadn’t premeditated accepting the title or offering Mya a new position as creative director? Her decision didn’t arrive until she was placed in the spotlight of Mya’s anger. Her older sister had always been the better of the two. She was free-spirited, arguably more attractive, more gifted, and better with the flowers and perfumery. The idea that Lucia could be president of Lenore Incorporated was like a little girl’s dream of being a princess, a fantasy so false even a three-year-old knows deep down that it’s impossible.

  Lucia could point to her trip abroad to Grasse and Paris to study perfumery with Mya during their summer break. Lucia had been only a freshman in high school, and Mya far outperformed Lucia in every skill, from the fieldwork, to the extraction, to the creative expression of blending unusual oils together for a scent of paradise. Their mentor, Mr. Dubois, had a passion for talent, and he lavished his attention on Mya. And each time Willow called for a progress report, Mr. Dubois began with Mya, and Lucia could hear her mother’s proud voice through the phone. Sometimes Lucia didn’t even go to the shop and ended up at a café in town eating too many pains au chocolat and drinking her fill of café au lait. Each afternoon Mya returned to their apartment above the House of Dubois smelling like jasmine. She filled the one bedroom of the apartment with the joy of knowing just what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. The scent of her made it difficult for Lucia to sleep during her time in Paris.

  Her only fond memory of that time was a weekend in London when she attended a play in a golden baroque theater on the Strand. Mya didn’t have the patience for theater, so Lucia decided she could have her own focus. She returned home with the desire to make a life for herself outside of the perfumery. The business was Mya’s to inherit. Sure, Lucia assumed the money would be there if she needed it, and it was a relief not to worry about her retirement, especially while she tried to break through as an actress. But maybe that security had hampered her. Often this thought crouched in the back of her mind: she needed to be on the verge of losing everything. The closest she’d come to having nothing was when she landed on the cabin’s doorstep a few days ago.

  At least, Lucia told herself, she strove for a life of love and passion, just like Great-Grandmother Serena. Even if her attempt was misguided. Even if she eventually failed. Maybe that path had led her directly to this moment. Maybe that was exactly why the business had chosen her.

  Willow returned to the office in a belted cobalt-blue dress with a strand of pearls from Paris and a gold cuff bracelet on each wrist, her silver-white hair in a French twist. “You know Ben lives on a farm?” Lucia said, reminding her.

  Her mother had outdressed her to go see Lucia’s ex-boyfriend. Willow had never cared much for modern appliances or the newest luxury sedan model, but she did spend her money on clothes and accessories and travel. Her closet was a mix of vintage Chanel, Balenciaga, Cardin, and Saint Laurent. She never let Mya and Lucia borrow from her. If the girls had shown any interest in fashion, she would’ve invested in their wardrobes also, Lucia had no doubt, but they both disappointed her in that way. Neither of them had any sense of style.

  “Doesn’t hurt to look nice,” Willow said. “Makes me feel in control.”

  Lucia, on the other hand, had changed into a pair of worn-out jeans from high school, one size too small, and a red T-shirt from the Gap. “Should I change back?”

  “It’s just Ben.”

  Lucia removed her feet from the ottoman in her mother’s office and stood. “You’re right. It’s a farm.”

  Willow smiled and said, “Here,” and handed Lucia the keys.

  They walked through the kitchen and then to the front door. The porch had been abandoned by the dragonflies, at least for the moment. Lucia closed the door behind them. An SUV drove up. Lucia didn’t recognize it. Willow walked over to the driver’s-side door and hugged the woman who stepped out, then gestured toward Lucia.

  Brenda ran over and said, “Oh my goodness, it’s been too long. The city girl. Come here, darling, you look so good.” Why Lucia had expected everyone to still look the same after all those years, she didn’t know, but the wrinkles on Brenda’s face, the whitening of her hair, and the pudginess at her waist shocked Lucia. She’d been only forty when Lucia moved away and was an avid hiker and caver. Beauty dwindled so effortlessly.

  “I love it,” Brenda said, “seeing you two together.”

  “You’ll be seeing more of her,” Willow said.

  “Best news all year.” Brenda shook Lucia’s arm. No matter how old she was, Brenda’s energy was as high as a teenager’s, always had been. Would she become Lucia’s assistant when Willow retired, this woman who had babysat Lucia and taught her to braid hair in the second grade? Delegating to her would feel so strange, but she couldn’t train someone new. Lucia was the one who needed training, and Brenda could help her.

  Brenda held a portfolio underneath her arm. “I can come back,” she said.

  “Not necessary,” Willow said. “Can we do this out here?”

  “Sure.” Brenda had a knack for making every idea of Willow’s sound perfect. Willow walked to the gazebo next to the small lily pond, and Brenda and Lucia followed. They all sat together at a cast-iron table, and Brenda slid the portfolio across to Willow.

  “She won’t get bored?” Brenda nodded at Lucia.

  “I don’t think so, do you?” Willow asked.

  “Not a bit.”

  Willow opened the black folder and scanned a printed report. The sun shone through the paper and Lucia could see a lot of numbers spliced with intermittent notes. Not looking up from the paper, Willow said, “Brenda worked up two new contrac
ts for a young model and a brilliant tech entrepreneur. My happy selection.” Willow licked her thumb and turned the page as if everything was secure and new clients were a boon. Lucia could tell that Brenda had absolutely no idea what was happening with the flowers, or with Willow’s memory.

  Brenda turned to Lucia. “Your mom’s the best.”

  “Oh, stop.” Willow cast down her eyes. Brenda was the closest thing to a spouse her mother had ever had. “The financing came through?”

  “Grace has private cash sources, Texas oil money or something. That’s how she started her first Web business, so she’s all taken care of,” Brenda answered. “But Leya’s not in quite the same position.”

  “Will she accept a loan?” Willow asked.

  Her mother’s interest rates were significantly lower than the banks’, whether she loaned to her community or to a young woman like Leya who didn’t have the benefit of being born into wealth. For new clients who needed assistance, she offered an initial loan to begin using the first bottle of perfume, but thereafter most clients could pay biannually or in full. No woman had ever defaulted—no payment meant no more product, and before a client paid her mortgage, she paid Lenore Incorporated. This was a business lesson Willow had drilled into Mya and Lucia.

  Brenda swatted at a yellow jacket darting in front of them. “I think so,” she said. “It’s never a problem.”

  “Can she handle it?” Willow said.

  “Says she can. She’s a grown girl, and we can’t hold their hands or anything, right? They’re lucky to get this opportunity.”

  Willow was second-guessing in a way that Brenda clearly hadn’t expected, and Lucia waited for Brenda to call her on it.

  “You’re right,” Willow said. “You’re always right. They never go broke on the product.”

  “Not a single bankruptcy, Willow, you remember that, okay? It’s a good thing you give them.” Brenda sounded like a life coach. How many roles could one woman play? “I’m looking at one more contract coming up,” she reminded Willow, “but then it’s quiet.”

  Willow organized the papers and slid them back in the portfolio. She tried to hand it back to Brenda, who said, “That’s your copy, like always.”