Goodbye, Orchid

by Carol Van Den Hende

  Tonight, she cared for him in his vulnerable state. In every stroke, she imparted affection. What if? The thought hung in the air above his semi-conscious state. What if we can build more memories together, new moments? What if we can reclaim a little of the tenderness?

  He became aware of the starfish clock at his bedside. The silver arm ticked forward like a sentinel that was never off duty. Its cold glint reminded him of the solid, concrete world beyond the walls that enveloped them. Only in the darkness of night could all outcomes seem possible. He looked down at himself and a clearer thought came to him, ethereal, floating before him like pure truth.

  Broken.

  He’d spared Orchid disappointments, limitations and nights of pain. Come morning, in the unflinching daylight, his constraints would lock back in place. He was an idiot to think otherwise. He’d made the right call. The clarity of his logic narrowed to that one conviction.

  CHAPTER 51

  PRICKLY THORN BUT SWEETLY WORN

  Orchid

  With little sense of time passing, bright sunshine filled the room, lightening the whitewashed walls, indicating that it was no longer early morning. Orchid stretched, trying to straighten the kinks in her back. The starfish-shaped clock ticked past eight.

  Peeved at her stiff joints, Orchid turned to check on Phoenix. He must’ve heard her stir because he pushed up to a sitting position. He looked at her and scooted back, levering with one hand to situate his rear against a pillow.

  Despite knowing that a prosthesis supported his six-foot stature the day before, and massaging his leg in the darkness, the sight of him sent a shock through her. Sheets kicked off during the night, he sat in shorts and a T-shirt, gorgeously carved like a Greek statue, every muscle etched and strong, pale ends of limbs against burnished copper linens. One well-shaped foot gone, his form ended bluntly beneath his knee, lines of scars visible. A flash of a speeding train’s metal rims crushing his flesh whipped through her mind, like a slap in the face. The way he maneuvered on the bed hinted at the everyday challenges he must face.

  The fraction of an instant flash-froze, as if captured on film. Her mouth open, back bent on her way to standing upright, her eyes affixed on Phoenix. She was unable to move, like a department store mannequin left contorted in an awkward position.

  Then the pain in his eyes as he watched her reached down her throat to rattle her from the inside.

  He yanked the sheet over to cover his legs.

  She was not going to let him think that she judged the way he looked and found him lacking. She snapped her jaw shut and straightened. Her trembling legs were the only deficit in her composure.

  “Hey there, how are you feeling?” she asked, perching on the edge of his bed. He was so close. Just lean forward and she could press a cheek to his. Then, just a turn and she could caress his full lips. The indentation her weight made caused him to roll towards her, his leg coming to rest against hers. She looked down, smoothing the sheet over the muscular thigh nearest to her, wanting to comfort away the distrust in the furrow of his brow. “All better?”

  He pulled his legs a few inches away, so they were no longer touching hers. “Yeah, better. Thanks.”

  “I’m glad. Is it always so bad?”

  “Not always. That was a bad one. Like an eight.”

  “Eight?”

  “Out of ten,” he explained. “On the pain scale, eight means excruciating or something like that.”

  “Excruciating?” It was worse than she’d guessed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wish you didn’t have to go through that.”

  “I don’t want pity, and you didn’t have to stay,” he said, ice creeping into his voice.

  “It’s not pity. I wanted to take care of you like you took care of me last time we were here,” she said.

  His glare narrowed, forecasting an end to their civility.

  “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” He threw off the sheets, then pivoted away from her and shimmied to the other side of the bed.

  “Of course not. I can see you don’t need anyone, just . . . I just wanted to be here for you.” She stood to come around to his side of the bed. He grabbed a silicone liner from the side table. She kept talking, not wanting to lose this opportunity to right his misperceptions.

  “I have a lot to tell you. I never dated Caleb, I’d never do such a thing.”

  The tightness around his eyes eased a little. “I know. I believe you.” He spoke as he rolled a gel cover over the smooth end of his left leg.

  “Good. And I’m sorry for what I said at the hospital. It was stupid and insensitive. I was only thinking about me, and I feel terrible for that.”

  He blinked, the lines around his mouth taking up whatever tension his eyes had surrendered. The hum of a nearby washing machine heightened, speeding into a final spin.

  “I need to apologize for what I said about you being worse than the guy who caused my accident.”

  “Right.” She breathed out with one short exhale.

  He shoved his leg into the socket of the upright prosthesis. “I was so angry that I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  The wash slowed, clicks announcing the change in cycle.

  “Kind of like me, at the hospital.”

  He paused to gaze at her forehead. “You all better?”

  “Yeah. The stitches came out a week ago. ”

  “That’s good, I was wondering how you were doing.” His face smoothed into a grin. “How are we always causing so much trouble?”

  “Was it a huge deal to clean up your place?”

  “Haven’t you seen? We had to raze the building to the ground.”

  “I hope you made Liv do her share, since she was the one who tripped me.” They joined in laughter. Her eyes met his.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said.

  His admission emboldened her. She deserved to know. “If you missed me, why didn’t you tell me that you were hurt? Why didn’t you tell me you were in the hospital when I came back from China?”

  “You know why.”

  “Because you didn’t trust me.”

  “Because I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”

  “How did you know? You didn’t even ask me.”

  “Have you seen me? I couldn’t give any woman what she wanted.”

  “But then you dated Rina.”

  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, and I wasn’t even looking, but Rina was just who I needed after my accident.”

  Rina was just who he needed? The specter of another woman lanced her. Orchid pictured some wraithlike angel, a perfect model of patience and care. The inherent criticism in his words cut deep.

  “What do you mean, Rina was just who you needed?”

  “She had no reaction to my injuries. She just saw me as a man. She made me laugh at myself.”

  Orchid shot to her feet. “You ever think maybe I could’ve been that person? You don’t think I could’ve seen you for the amazing man you are? You know what’s crazy? You didn’t even tell me what happened! You didn’t trust me! You could’ve given me a little more credit, you know. For being more than just squeamish Orchid. Maybe remembered my good side, too?”

  His blue irises darkened. “The difference is she’d never known me any other way. You would’ve had a lot to get used to. I did what I thought was best. After we saw each other at the holiday party, it seemed like the right call.”

  “At the holiday party? What do you mean? What was best? To lie to me? To hurt me?”

  “To protect you. You don’t know what it was like after I got hurt. Things got pretty bad. It’s still not the easiest. It didn’t seem like you—” He shook his head.

  “So this is it,” her voice dropped, interrupting him, somber over having her theories verified. “You thought I couldn’t deal.”

  “That’s right.”


  “Well, aren’t I here now? Dealing just fine?”

  “Caleb said you came to apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who’s sorry. You’ve come for nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing. I’ve missed you too. Let’s try again. Pick up from before China.”

  He pushed off the bed and stood, peering down at her. “Orchid, stop this crazy talk. Don’t do this.”

  “We had something special,” she argued.

  “I’m not the same.”

  “I’m not either.”

  He shook his head and hobbled towards the toilet.

  This was her last chance. “The stupid thing is, I fell in love with you and I can’t stop.” She flushed with surprise. Did she say that aloud?

  He paused to look at her. His eyes blazed cobalt. “There’s nothing between us. I’m sorry.”

  Phoenix limped into the bathroom and shut the door.

  The washer chimed its song to indicate the end. The end.

  CHAPTER 52

  CAUSE AND EFFECT

  Orchid

  Orchid stumbled up to her room, replaying their exchange.

  Abandoned. Again.

  She was an idiot for divulging every last vulnerability.

  But this time felt different. She didn’t need him to make her happy, just as he didn’t need her to make him whole.

  Sure, she could wallow and seal herself off for another half year. Or, she could choose not to. Phoenix’s rejection was sad, especially since a part of her intuited that it wasn’t a reflection on her. Beyond the sadness, though, was strength, and the knowledge that she’d survive—even thrive. Her well was deep. She could love again.

  For now, she had to go face him and his family.

  Orchid tore off her yoga outfit and pulled a dress over her head. She could do this, take part in one last meal. She’d take the high road.

  The streams of silver and vanilla-hued fabric fit her perfectly. For Easter, the season of rebirth, she’d chosen an outfit that wasn’t black, a feat considering her wardrobe. She slipped her feet into silver heels and strode over to the mirror to re-apply makeup over puffy eyes.

  A knock at the door. She calmed herself with a lungful of air, then tore it open to find Lucy and Harry.

  “Wow, I love your dress,” Lucy said.

  “Yours, too,” Orchid said, glancing at the spring green floating chiffon. It wasn’t one she’d ever wear, but the color and style suited Lucy.

  “Ready?” Harry asked, offering each of them an arm.

  “Sure. I’ll be your shield for any stupid comments, right?” Orchid said dryly to Lucy.

  “That’s right!”

  Downstairs, the table was set more ornately than a Martha Stewart Living shoot. Pale lavender linens complemented cream china and robin’s egg blue walls to create the feeling of being inside a Fabergé egg.

  “Betsy, you’ve outdone yourself,” Orchid said, touching cheeks with the hostess.

  “Oh, thank you,” she said, beaming. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Not bad,” she said, stretching a back made sore by the awkward angle of the armchair.

  Caleb strode over. “I bought you guys time this morning,” he said with gruff pride. “You were asleep in Phoenix’s room and I figured you’d want to talk, so I had the rest of the crew leave for Easter Mass without you.”

  “Thanks.” Orchid stretched upwards to throw her arms around his neck when he stepped back, one hand up.

  “I also straightened everyone out that we never dated, so you don’t want to start rumors, do you?”

  “You’re the best, thanks,” she said, backing up to allow proper distance between them.

  Orchid hesitated and then walked over to Veronica. “Good morning, Mrs. Walker. How are you?”

  “I’m well. I understand you spent the night in Phoenix’s room?”

  Orchid blushed. “Um, not like that . . . I was—”

  “I know. I didn’t mean anything. Just, actually, thank you for helping him.”

  She exhaled. “You’re welcome.”

  “Was he better by the morning?”

  She nodded, throat tight remembering his calm sleep and then the finality of his rejection. “Once he fell asleep, he seemed okay. I wanted to stay just in case he needed anything.”

  Veronica relaxed. Orchid could see the caring mother behind her tough exterior.

  Betsy came to take her sister by the arm. “Brunch is served!”

  Orchid ended up between the Walker brothers, Caleb on her left, Phoenix on her right. The tempo of her heart as he settled beside her told her that his dismissal had done little to cool her ardor.

  Prayers weren’t awkward. Orchid didn’t experience the nonchalance Veronica exhibited during the previous day’s benedictions.

  Instead, holding Phoenix’s arm was as intimate as holding his hand.

  George made his rounds balancing the fat bottom of the green bottle. “No empty glasses,” he admonished.

  “Happy Easter,” he said as he refilled Orchid’s flute, waiting for the bubbles to subside.

  “You too.”

  Betsy observed them. “What do you normally do on Easter?” she asked Orchid as George moved to Caleb’s glass, perpetually empty.

  “Um, sometimes I go to my friend Mandy’s house.”

  “Where do your parents live, dear?”

  “My parents died when I was younger.” Based on experience, she tried to keep her tone matter of fact.

  “Oh dear! I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Surely you have other family. Grandparents? Siblings?”

  “I’ve got an uncle in California and an aunt and grandparents in Florida,” she said, gesturing expansively to make it sound like more than it was.

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “I actually just became reacquainted with my uncle. He was pretty young when my folks died,” she said. “He’s invited me to move to LA to work on a family business.”

  “Are you moving?” Caleb asked.

  “Maybe,” Orchid said, realizing all options were viable now. “Except, my company’s offered me an assignment in China.”

  She could sense Phoenix staring at her profile. What does it matter, since there’s no ‘us’ anyway?

  “Well, that’s exciting,” Betsy said. “Which will you pick?”

  “I’m pretty excited about both,” she admitted, hit afresh with the memory that nothing held her in New York.

  “Definitely, go to China,” George boomed. “LA for family, or working in the fastest growing economy? No contest.” He launched into stories of deals he’d made in Asia, and the talk turned away from Orchid.

  Following the meal, Caleb stood to thank his aunt and uncle. He and Orchid would be the first to leave. “We’re going to ride in daylight,” he said.

  Each person offered a hand or a hug in farewell. Except Phoenix, who’d disappeared into the underbelly of the house. Goodbye.

  Riding behind Caleb back to the city, Orchid compared her expectations for the weekend with reality. She’d hoped to see Phoenix, check. She wanted to speak with him, check. She needed to apologize for misunderstandings, check. Most of all, she’d mined deep, sifted through the wreckage of her past to find the best person she could offer, and opened every last vulnerability to hold back nothing, to give all. Every . . . last . . . dream.

  Hopping off the bike in front of her building, Orchid expressed her gratitude tinged in melancholy. “Thanks. You did your part, but I guess it wasn’t enough.”

  Caleb looked at her from under bushy brows. “No?”

  She shook her head, looking down. “I told him how I felt, and he had nothing for me in return.”

  “Sorry, babe. You were expecting more?”

  “Yeah. I thought
there was more.”

  “Me, too, actually.”

  She looked up, knowing it changed nothing. Still, she wanted to hear someone else say that she’d had reason to hope. “Really?”

  “Why else would I go to so much trouble?”

  “Yeah, why did you help me?”

  “Well, it’s not all for you,” he said. “I get the feeling that my brother’s holdin’ himself to some impossible standard. I’m trying to give him a chance, too.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, intuiting an echo of truth she couldn’t articulate.

  “Ever since the hospital, seems like he’s been trying to be someone for us. He was always holding it together, even when we barely could.”

  “That kind of breaks my heart,” she said.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “You’re a really great brother, you know that?” she asked, briefly flinging her arms around his neck. “I guess this is goodbye for us, too. Take care of yourself, and Phoenix.”

  He gave her a quick squeeze, and hopped onto his bike.

  Caleb and Orchid leaving hollowed Phoenix’s insides. He looked down, numbly predicting he’d see a gaping cavity devoid of life-giving organs. After they’d left, Veronica claimed the empty spot on the sofa next to him and twined her arm with his. “I’ve missed you,” she said. “Everything okay?”

  “Nothing time won’t fix,” he said, oddly heavy considering his innards had been suctioned out.

  “Is it over that woman?”

  “She’s not a bad person, Mom.”

  “I was about to tell you the same thing. So how come she came to see you, then left with your brother?”

  He sighed, exhaustion weighting every word. “She has a history that makes the two of us impossible, but I’m the only one honest enough to see it.”

  “Caleb told me about it.”

  He leaned back, closing his eyes. She pushed a lock of hair off his forehead.