by Sarah Creech
“Just like those blueberry fields,” he said, and smiled at her with all the knowing of the teenage boy he once was. She wasn’t expecting this from him, more like “The flower’s completely dead. Your family’s business is finished.” But this? No matter how preoccupied she was, she could remember how she never picked the blueberries because she liked watching his back muscles contract as he bent over and stripped the bushes of their bounty. He would bring those ripe, warm berries to her mouth and feed her, and when they kissed it tasted of summer juice. The blueberry field was one of their favorite places to make love. She might’ve forgotten some moments they shared, but not that. Obviously, he still remembered too. They stared at each other’s sunlit faces. It had been ages since she’d had sex, and all Lucia wanted to do was wrap her legs around him and hang on. To hell with Vista, she thought, though instantly this made her feel bad—but he’d mentioned the blueberries for a reason.
He anxiously looked through his work bag and said, “I left something, I’ll be back.” He set down the hedge sample he’d uprooted, the stems slightly flaccid, and turned to walk back to the rows from which he came. That’s when Lucia saw it, and it made her whip her head around in disbelief—the green flowers leaned after him like children reaching out for a parent. She wasn’t imagining anything. Lucia hopped down next to the hedge sample. The flowers leaned in Lucia’s direction now. Their roots were no longer in the ground; they moved. They absolutely moved. She bent down next to a flower and held out her hand, and the green, dying blossom stretched out to meet her and rested in the palm of her hand. She’d heard the stories. Her mother made this happen when they were girls, but the flowers had never moved for Lucia or Mya. Ben had to witness this or her mother wouldn’t believe her—the flowers couldn’t be dying if they were still moving. She stared after him, at his tan neck and the buzzed hair on his head.
Lucia called, “Ben, wait up,” and ran after him. He stopped and turned, waiting with a confused and frightened look on his face, like some disaster had occurred. She had every intention of stopping and speaking and telling him to come back to the flowers and see, he had to see what they were doing—this was what she willed—but she couldn’t stop running; she had no control. Ben held out both arms, and Lucia put both of her arms around his strong neck and felt his soft hair underneath her fingertips, and before she could kiss him first his mouth was already on hers and her body exploded with warmth. They kissed and stroked each other; Lucia kept her eyes closed, but then she felt him watching her and she opened them. His eyes wrinkled at the sides as he smiled. She smiled back, and out of the corner of her eye she saw something move like the flight of a dragonfly.
“Did you see that?” Lucia said, and Ben looked over, then shook his head and brought Lucia’s mouth back to his. She kissed him again but still stared over at the flowers. He followed her eyes over, and then they both pulled away from each other.
“Did they just do that?” Ben asked incredulously.
“I think so.” Lucia didn’t know what to do. She wanted to kiss him again because it felt so good after so long, but she also wanted to test the flowers. But he went first and kissed her with more passion than he had before. He stopped only when the flowers closest to them leaned over and brushed against their legs.
He jerked away and said, “Holy shit,” and the flowers immediately retracted.
Lucia was too elated to feel scared, but Ben looked frightened. “Lucia,” he said quietly, like the flowers might hear him.
She moved away from him and said, “I know.” She bent down to touch the flowers and they didn’t move, but then she reached out for Ben’s hand and he interlaced his fingers with hers. When she reached out again, the woody stems bent like rainbows, and the green petals lifted to Lucia. Ben squeezed Lucia’s hand, and the flower continued to rise. The green on the petals began to recede just slightly, and the scent emerged.
“This can’t be explained.” Ben looked up like he needed an escape route. “No rational answer, not a single one.”
Lucia stood up from the flower and it moved back; the leaves began to turn green and thick again, and the smell vanished. Lucia reached out to Ben, put her hand on one of his cheeks, and kissed him again lightly, then let her hands move under his shirt and up to his smooth, contoured chest. He kissed her back.
“Like an experiment.” Lucia cast her eyes down to the grass.
“You mean . . . ?”
Lucia nodded.
“Right here?”
“Here,” she said, and Ben kissed her neck and then her collarbone and quickly lifted her shirt off her body like all he’d needed was her permission. He removed her bra and kissed each breast softly, cupping them in his hands. Lucia closed her eyes in deep pleasure and guided his body to the ground.
CHAPTER 31
Onset and Past
JAMES HELD HER hand on the walk but didn’t try to kiss or hug her, and Willow refused to be the one to initiate it after the night they’d spent together in the L.A. hotel room, a night she had been sure she wouldn’t forget for as long as she lived, like some smitten schoolgirl. But now she couldn’t remember if she’d kissed him first, if he’d asked to stay or if she’d asked him. It had been only a few days, but she couldn’t remember, and this made her too anxious to concentrate on romance.
Instead, they talked. About the flowers and Willow’s grandmother Serena and how she discovered the plant that first time in Borneo and how deeply in love she had been with her husband, and about Willow’s mother, who’d died widowed but still very much in love with Willow’s father. The word “love” kept coming up in every context except between Willow and James. Yet she felt a deep urge for James, like she had when she first met him. Now her knees ached, and she mourned all those youthful years when she could’ve been in love with James and had a successful relationship like her mother and Grandmother Serena had.
When they returned to the cabin, Willow knocked the mud off her hiking boots against the bottom porch step. James copied her even though he had opted not to step in the mud at the bank of the pond, a place he insisted he wanted to see rather than the fields of flowers. Willow hadn’t been in the mood to see the flowers either. Before stepping into the cabin James said, “I don’t think your daughters approve of me.”
Willow laughed. Perhaps returning to the house reminded him of the girls; he hadn’t mentioned them once during the walk, not even when they passed Lucia and Ben. “They’re not sure what to think of you.”
“My mother never was either,” he said. “The loud one, that’s how she thought of me.”
This was the first time he’d mentioned his childhood. “I was the reliable one,” Willow said.
James took Willow by the arm as they entered through the red door, the wrens shooting out of their nest of eucalyptus branches. James ducked out of their way. “Do they do that every time?”
“Almost,” Willow said. “But only if they like you.”
James slowly inched his way around the door like more might fly out if they spotted his movement.
“Want some tea?” Willow said, and left him at the doorway peering into the empty nest. Willow removed the loose-leaf green tea from the cabinet and kept an eye on James as she prepared their cups, but he didn’t notice, as he was too busy inspecting the framed pressed-flower arrangements decorating the walls.
“It’s quiet,” James said. “No daggers in the room.”
“I’m sure they think you’re my boyfriend,” Willow said as she filled the kettle at the sink, “and they’re mad I didn’t tell them. I know my girls.”
“Is that far off?” James pulled out one of the wooden chairs at the table and sat down.
“About as far off as China.” Willow flashed a small smile at him. “I don’t date.”
“Me either,” he said. “Too busy.”
“Exactly.” She secured the top on the kettle and lit the stove.
“But then there’s you,” James said, “and the whole not being able t
o stop wondering what you’re doing or where you are. And now I know. This place is beautiful, Willow. I see why you hate coming to L.A. The land rolls on like a woman’s curves.”
Willow said, “I might not’ve described it that way, but I’ve always loved it.” The teakettle boiled and began to whistle, so Willow pulled it off the stove and filled her white porcelain teapot. Sharing space with James felt natural to Willow, as if they’d carried out this morning routine before.
Willow offered a teacup to James and placed the pot in the center of the table.
“And when you retire, will you stay?” James said.
She sat down next to him. “Who made up that fantasy?”
“It’ll happen,” he said. “Maybe you don’t want to retire.”
Willow tried not to stare at his mouth as he talked. She couldn’t help wondering about those lips and wanting to feel them against her mouth again, but she didn’t want to let on. She said, “Maybe I’ll buy an island, just a small one.”
James laughed. “Move-in ready, complete with a landing strip?”
“Nothing else will do,” she said.
“I want to hire a captain for my yacht and just go.”
“That sounds fun too.” Willow checked the teapot to see if the leaves had finished steeping. As she poured his cup she said, “You can sail over to my island and visit.”
“Thank you.” James brought the tea to his mouth, took a small sip, and put the cup down. “But what if I want more?”
“There should be more in the pot,” Willow said, peering into the teapot and checking the level once more. “There’s still some.” She took her first bitter sip and then squeezed a lemon slice and dropped it into her cup.
James laughed and placed his hand on top of Willow’s, and it was so warm and so large that she couldn’t see her hand anymore. “I meant with you.”
“Oh,” Willow said. “Oh.”
“Oh, no? Or oh, yes?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“What good will retirement be without companionship?”
She paused for a moment. “I’ve been with people for as long as I can remember. Mya’s never left home. Some time alone might be nice.”
“Maybe for a year or two, but then what?” James wouldn’t let her hand go.
Willow didn’t know why she was arguing for something she didn’t really believe. She didn’t want to be alone, yet his offer had come so suddenly and so directly that she didn’t know how to respond except to push him away. A little bit of romance would’ve been nice. This felt more like a negotiation. “You hardly know me,” she said.
“Not true,” he said. “I know the younger you, and that’s how we’ll live in retirement.”
“I don’t even know if you have kids.”
“Catching up gives us something to do while we sail,” James joked, but Willow shook her head, because this wasn’t good enough.
“I hate sailing,” she said.
He rested against the chair back. “Two kids, five grandkids, two ex-wives,” he said, like he was listing off his résumé.
“Really?” she said. “You must be difficult to live with.”
“I am,” he said. “But I’m good at other things that they didn’t appreciate.”
“That’s a worn-out excuse.” Willow finished her cup of tea.
“How about I show you and we can discuss this more later?” James moved his hand now to Willow’s thigh, and this made her cough. She wiped some tea from her lips and said, “James?” her southern accent so suddenly prominent that even Willow noticed it.
“May we go to your room?” he said.
“But you haven’t finished your tea.” Willow’s heart felt like a drum tattooing in her chest.
“Willow,” he said flatly.
“What?” she said in a panicky voice.
“Show me your room.” James stood up with his hand outstretched for her to take.
The girls could walk in at any moment and hear them, and she’d be mortified, and then there was the issue of her not having had regular sex for the past ten years. All this caused Willow to hesitate. She felt palpitations like the kind leading to a heart attack. What if she forgot what to do? She wasn’t flexible anymore. What if her thighs seized up with cramps and she cried out and had to stop? Or what if her vagina simply didn’t work anymore? Too dry, maybe, and she hadn’t planned this, so she didn’t have any coconut oil to assist them. Didn’t she worry about all of this that night in L.A., or was she so drunk that it never occurred to her? Why couldn’t she remember?
When she didn’t take his hand, he finally let it fall on her head; he stroked her hair and she leaned into his pant leg. “We can just nap,” he said. And the more he stroked her head, the deeper she moved against his body, and the smell of his skin and the bergamot and oakmoss and lingering neroli from his cologne made Willow’s body warm to him. She breathed deeper and took him in and had no idea what was happening to her. This man she’d known for such a short amount of time felt so much like the man she was always meant to love. Immediate. Undisputed. Outrageous. And he seemed to feel the exact same way about her. She rolled her cheek against his leg and then looked up at him, and he cupped her chin in his hand and she said, “I’m not too tired.”
“You’re not?” he said.
She said, “My room’s got the best bed in the house.” She stood up and kissed him on the mouth, then said, “I’d like to show you.”
TUCKED TIGHTLY BENEATH THE COVERS, Willow’s body felt drugged and buoyant, like a leaf floating in a pond. She’d awoken to the sound of a tree branch tapping at her window. James slept beside her, snoring lightly and with a small dribble of drool on the pillow. She’d lived alone for so long that a sight like that would’ve been reason enough to make her turn away from anyone else but him. She kept her arms by her sides and rested there, motionless, afraid to move for fear of rousing him. She hoped he’d want to have sex again, because she couldn’t believe what she’d been missing out on all these years. It’s not like she hadn’t had good sex before, but she’d forgotten, and not because her memory was bad. Too long without a good thing, even just a few days, apparently, makes anyone forget. She’d forgotten like she might a cholesterol pill—missed one and didn’t even realize it.
James’s deep breathing made one stray hair on his pronounced forehead fly up and then back down, and the longer she watched this the more convinced she became that she wanted to see this exact peaceful sight each day when she woke up for as long as she had good health. She reached over to move the hair away from his brow, and the moment her skin touched his, his eyes opened. “It’s okay,” Willow said softly. “Go back to sleep.”
He said, “Can’t,” and pulled her closer to him. She snuggled against his warm body and put her head on his soft patch of chest hair.
“That’s what I needed,” he said, and played with her earlobe.
She kissed his rib. “Let’s go.”
He said, “Just need a minute.”
Willow said, “I mean let’s travel together. Retire and roam the world. Twice. Three times over.”
James swept Willow’s hair to the side so he could look in her eyes and said, “Serious?”
“Very,” she said, and nothing had ever made her feel sixteen again quite like this. It was like she had another stretch of youth before her.
“Think about it, if you need time.”
“I have,” Willow said. “I’ve thought about it for years. I just needed you to come along.”
He squeezed her.
“Plus, I have so much money that I never spend,” Willow said. “It seems shameful, really. Some economy could use it.”
His stomach caved in when he laughed. “How much is so much?”
“You can’t imagine how much,” Willow said. “That much.”
“So you’ll be my sugar mama?”
“Guess so,” Willow said.
James tickled her hip.
“But there’s one thing.” S
he needed to tell him. Had to tell him. It was only fair.
James readjusted the pillows behind him and sat up. “I’m joking. I’ve got my own funds, don’t worry.”
“No,” Willow said, “nothing like that. It’s just . . . Well—I think you should know that the only reason I’m retiring right now is a problem I’m having.”
“Come here.” James draped an arm around Willow’s bare shoulders and pulled her closer. Her instinct was to be on the farthest side of the bed while she told him. “What’s that mean?”
“Some days are okay,” she said. “When I’ve rested enough and don’t have a lot of stress to deal with. I’ve had a good stretch recently since Lucia came home and agreed to take over the business, but for the past few years I’ve been forgetting things.”
“I forget things too.”
“But not like this,” Willow said. “I forget names all the time. I sometimes forget where I’m going when I’m driving, like to town or somewhere familiar with a set destination in mind, and suddenly a place I’ve seen my whole life looks totally foreign and it takes me a long time, hours sometimes, to figure out how to get home, and I panic and I weep. I hadn’t told anyone until it happened at night after I went to see a movie in town and I couldn’t remember how to get home. I had to pull over and sleep in the truck. A police officer who I’ve known since he was a boy found me. It was utterly humiliating. I’ve told my assistant.”
James held her tighter. “But not Mya?”
Willow shook her head. “Mya and Lucia are both suspicious. I haven’t told them how bad it is yet. But I feel like you should know before you really decide to be with me.” James began to shake his head but Willow said, “I mean it, I don’t know how long we’ll have, and I could end up forgetting you altogether. Maybe soon, maybe not. I forgot the first time we met, and I’m so scared that’ll happen again. That I’ll forget everyone I love and it’ll hurt.”
James didn’t move and he didn’t protest. “You’ve seen a doctor?”