Falling for You

by Lisa Schroeder

  I flew through the door, grocery bag in hand, anxious to see Mom. She and Dean were watching television, like they’d never left.

  “Where have you been?” I asked, trying desperately not to sound as angry as I felt. “And why didn’t you call?”

  Mom sat there, cuddled up next to him. She rubbed his arm and gave me a weak smile. “I’m sorry, baby. We had some business to take care of in Vegas. We were gone longer than we thought. But we’re back, and everything’s all taken care of. Right, Dean?”

  He grunted and then shushed her. Using the remote, he turned up the volume a couple of notches. He disgusted me, and I almost started to tell him so. Mom got up off the couch and waved at me to follow her into the kitchen.

  I set the grocery bag on the counter. “Mom, do you know how worried I was? It was like you’d vanished from the face of the earth. I didn’t know if you were dead or alive!”

  She craned her neck to check on Dean, then pulled me farther into the kitchen. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t let me call. He got himself into some huge gambling problems. But he’s paid the men off now, and Dean swears he’s done. Said he’s gonna go out and look for work tomorrow.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “That’s what he did with my money? Spent it gambling?” I felt like I might throw up. “So, what, he went to Vegas and fixed his gambling problem with more gambling? Great, Mom. And you really think he’s going to stop now? After he’s had a winning streak?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “I believe him, Rae. Let’s give him a chance, all right?”

  “What about your job? What are you gonna do?”

  A look of satisfaction crossed her face. “All taken care of. As soon as we pulled into town, I went and talked to my manager. They gave me my job back, starting Monday.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I should have felt happy that things were suddenly looking up, but it felt like the universe was rewarding them for running off and leaving me in the dark.

  I pointed to the pile of bills on the counter. “Who’s gonna pay those?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “We have to figure that out, I guess. At least we had enough to get the electricity and cable back on, right?”

  Dean came into the kitchen then. “Rae, what’s for dinner?” He started rummaging through the grocery bag. “Oh, good, you got some hamburger and buns. Fry some up for us, would ya?”

  All I could think of to say was, “You’ll have to eat it without onions. I thought I’d be eating alone again.”

  “It’s good to have us back, isn’t it?” he said as he pulled Mom to the couch with him.

  Good? While I was thankful to have my mom back, it felt like one nightmare had abruptly ended only to have another one take its place. And this time I didn’t simply dislike the darkness. I was frightened by it.

  the hospital—8:04 a.m.

  Fingers touch me.

  Cold fingers. Like plastic.

  Where am I?

  Mom, are you there? Who’s there?

  I hear beeping. And footsteps.

  There’s pressure on my arm.

  My eyes don’t want to open.

  “Can you believe all of those people?” a woman with a high-pitched voice asks.

  “Isn’t it incredible?” a man replies, his voice smooth as sherbet. “I caught the news early this morning. The footage they showed? It was one of the most moving things I’ve ever seen.”

  “Temp’s ninety-nine point three,” the woman says. “BP a hundred over seventy. I know. A sea of people, far and wide, holding candles. So amazing.”

  “Apparently students at the high school organized the whole thing,” the man says.

  “I think half the town must have kept vigil last night.”

  “It’s all up to her now,” the woman says.

  A cold hand squeezes mine.

  Did he say half the town?

  So tired . . .

  one month earlier

  the pink house

  IT WAS A WARM MARCH DAY WHEN I GOT THE NEWS. SHORTLY after I arrived at the flower shop, Nina handed me an envelope with my name on it along with Full Bloom’s address. It was stamped, “From the Law Offices of Steel, Lawson, and Greer.”

  I turned the envelope over in my hands, trying to imagine what could be inside. It looked so official. My instincts told me it was bad news.

  Nina and Spencer stood close by, waiting to see what I’d do. “I’m afraid to open it,” I told them.

  “Would you like me to?” Nina asked. I nodded. Slowly and carefully, she opened the envelope, while Spencer held my hand. It took only a few seconds before she said, “Oh dear. Rae, I’m so sorry. It says Ella Perkins has passed away.”

  It took a second for the news to hit me. Ella? Ella was gone? Spencer leaned into me and I let him wrap me up in his arms.

  While he held me, I tried to get it to sink in. Ella. Dead. I’d never see her again. It made me so sad, because I’d only begun to get to know her.

  “Who was she, Rae?” Nina asked when Spencer finally let me go.

  I wiped a tear away from the corner of my eye. “I met her when I delivered flowers to her a while back. She sort of reminded me of my grandma. I stayed in touch because I liked her so much.”

  Spencer moved aside and let Nina give me a hug. “Do you want to read the letter?” she asked. “I didn’t read very far, but there must be a reason why they’re notifying you.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t right now. Maybe later.”

  “Oh, Rae,” Spencer said. “I hate to see you so sad. I’m really sorry. But what a lucky lady she was to have you as a friend.”

  “I’m the one who felt lucky. She had dinner with me. Shared poetry with me. She reminded me of what’s important in life, you know?”

  “I wonder if there will be a service for her,” Nina said. “Spencer, why don’t you see what you can find out online?”

  “Great idea.” He scurried off, and I stood there, not sure what I was supposed to do next.

  As if reading my mind, Nina said, “Maybe you should go home. Or would you like to call a friend?”

  “I think I might take a walk,” I said. “If that’s okay? Then I’ll come back and get to work. It’ll be good for me to stay busy.”

  She patted my back. “Take as long as you need.”

  Outside, I took in a deep breath of air. Spring didn’t officially arrive for another week, but with the sunshine and clear blue sky, you wouldn’t have known. Without even thinking, I turned toward the Bean Shack. And there was Leo, standing by the door, taking a break.

  “Hey,” I said.

  He smiled. “Hi, Rae. How’s it going?”

  I could have just said “fine” and kept walking. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to talk to my friend. “I just got some sad news. A sweet old lady I knew passed away. I didn’t even know her that well, but . . . ”

  And before I knew what was happening, tears filled my eyes again. I pursed my lips together and blinked fast, trying to keep them back. Leo didn’t even hesitate. He reached out and pulled me to him, wrapping his arms tightly around me.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered as his hand stroked the back of my head. I breathed in the smell of him, a mixture of coconut shampoo and coffee. I’m pretty sure it was the best thing I’d smelled in a long time.

  “Your hair smells delicious,” I said as I pulled away.

  “Looks even better, right?” he joked.

  I laughed. I’d missed him so much.

  “Do you want to walk with me?” I asked. “Maybe to the park?”

  “Yeah. I’d love that.”

  Not far from old downtown was a little park near the elementary school. That’s where we headed. The sun felt amazingly good. I held my head back and let the warmth wash my face.

  “I’m really sorry about your friend,” Leo said as we walked.

  “Yeah. Me too. Spencer’s checking to see if there will be a funeral. If there is, I want t
o go.”

  “You sure? They’re really sad.”

  “Yeah. I want to say good-bye.” I paused. “How’s your grandma doing anyway?”

  “Really well. Things seem to be back to normal.” He turned and looked at me. “For the most part, anyway.”

  I knew he was referring to us.

  We passed a little house painted bright pink. In the front flower bed, some daffodils had started to bloom, a sure sign of spring. Nina told me once that daffodils and tulips are Mother Nature’s gift to us for making it through the dark, cold winter. Ever since she said that, I’ve had a love affair with daffodils and tulips. Nina gave me a bunch of bulbs last year to plant. The stalks were up and were about to bloom, and I couldn’t wait to see all the bright-colored flowers in my own yard.

  Leo stopped at the white picket fence and stared at the little pink house.

  “Think the store had a sale on pink paint?” I asked.

  “You know what I love about it?”

  In the sunlight, the freckles on his nose stood out. I couldn’t stop staring at them. At him. How many times had I thought about him, about that kiss we’d shared in his car before I’d ended things so harshly? I’d played it over and over again in my head, like a scene from a movie. And here I was. With him. I so didn’t want to mess it up.

  “What?” I asked.

  “It takes guts to do that. I mean, obviously, whoever lives here loves pink. But people don’t usually paint their houses pink. But Miss Daffodil here, she loved this pink paint. She probably went back and forth, should she or shouldn’t she? Finally, she said, ‘Screw it,’ and painted the house pink.” He looked at me. “That’s what I love.”

  It was as if Leo was telling me to be brave. To stop with the back-and-forth in my head, say “screw it,” and tell him everything.

  I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about that night. At the movies.” His warm, kind eyes encouraged me to go on. “My mom, she’s kind of a mess. Dean, my stepdad, is a horrible person. And that night, things were really bad. Some men were looking for Dean, and it was like something out of a mobster movie. I didn’t know what to do. No one knows what it’s like for me at home, you know?”

  “I knew when you showed me that poem, things weren’t good. But I didn’t want to push you to share more if you didn’t want to.”

  “I was afraid. Because if people knew—”

  “What?” Leo interrupted firmly but kindly. “If people knew, they’d what? Think you’re a mess too?”

  I shrugged and looked down at my feet. The boots I’d gotten last fall at Goodwill were scuffed pretty bad. I needed to go shopping. I hadn’t been in so long. With no money, I couldn’t.

  Such a mess.

  He lifted my chin with his hand, until my eyes met his. “Rae. Life hands us things we don’t want. Nasty things. Terrible things. It’s how we handle those things that matters. That’s all.”

  “But—” Tears started to rise up. “If people knew—I mean, he swears at me, pushes me around, takes my money, and gives me and my mom absolutely nothing but grief. It’s completely humiliating.”

  “Rae,” Leo said, his voice still filled with kindness. “You’re doing the best you can with what you’ve got. You’re still in high school. It’s not like you can leave.”

  I let the tears fall as I finally handed over some of the mixed-up emotions I’d been carrying around for so long. “But I feel like I should be able to! Like I should have figured out a way to get out of there. I mean, who in their right mind stays somewhere like that?”

  He reached for my hand and held it in his. “It’s not your fault.”

  I studied my boots some more, feeling nervous about what I was about to ask him. “It doesn’t bother you? Knowing all of that about me?”

  “Not at all. I don’t want to go out with your mom. Or your stepdad. I want to go out with you.”

  He took my face in his hands and held it there, his eyes telling me everything would be okay. I wanted to live in those eyes.

  “Can we go to Hawaii again someday?” I asked.

  “Close your eyes.”

  I did as he said.

  “The sun is warm. A soft breeze brushes your cheek. All you can see is ocean. And all you can feel is this.”

  Then he kissed me. A long, soft kiss.

  I’m pretty sure I heard the daffodils sing.

  in the garden

  ELLA’S FUNERAL WAS SCHEDULED FOR THE FOLLOWING DAY. Leo offered to go with me, which I appreciated so much. We agreed he’d pick me up at one o’clock, since the service started at two.

  I opened the envelope from Ella’s lawyer before I went to bed. Inside was a letter from the executor of the will, letting me know I had been named a beneficiary of his late client, Ella Mae Perkins. It had been her wish for me to receive her book of poetry by Sara Teasdale, along with a check for five hundred dollars. The money, it said, was so that I may continue my mission, in Ella’s words, “to do good in the world for yourself, Rae, as well as for others.” To receive the items, I was told to schedule an appointment with the lawyer, and then bring the letter along with proof of identification to the lawyer’s office at the agreed-upon time.

  I held the letter to my chest, humbled that Ella had chosen to leave me one of her most treasured items—a book of poems. It meant more to me than the money, though I couldn’t deny I was thrilled about the money, too. I vowed to keep it out of Dean’s hands.

  • • •

  The funeral was held at the Lutheran church. Leo and I found seats near the back. We watched little old lady after little old lady come in and sit down. Once in a while a little old man, too. A couple of them patted Leo’s shoulder as they walked past.

  “Coffee shop regulars,” he whispered to me.

  And then a middle-aged man and woman, looking somber and dressed all in black, and their three kids, all older than me, walked up the center aisle to the front row. Ella’s family. I wondered what they were thinking. How they were feeling. If I felt sad, I couldn’t imagine how they must feel.

  A minute after they were seated, the organ began to play and we all stood and sang “In the Garden.” I thought of Ella and her beautiful backyard, and how much she’d loved it. They’d chosen the perfect song, and it made me smile.

  When we finished, the pastor told us to be seated and he began to talk about Ella and her life. As he talked, I read her obituary on the back of the program. There was so much I hadn’t known about her. She loved the outdoors and used to fish and ski with her husband and son. She’d been a librarian for almost forty years, working part-time after her son was born and then returning to full-time work when he went into high school. Her husband had died fifteen years earlier. Gardening was Ella’s passion, along with reading. She had been a longtime member of the Literary Legion, a book club for women over seventy.

  As he talked, I found myself wishing I’d had more time with her. More time to learn about the kinds of books she liked and why. Just more time. At least, I thought, there’s one book I knew she’d loved. I couldn’t wait to pore over its pages.

  “Ella’s son, Paul,” the pastor said, “had this to say about Ella Perkins. ‘My mother could make friends with anybody. She had this rare combination of honesty and kindness that people liked. I often think our world would be a much better place if there were more people like her.’ ”

  It made me cry. Because I’d been lucky enough to be her friend for a short time. But also because I desperately wanted to be more like her.

  nobody’s perfect

  THE NEXT DAY I LEARNED MY POEM “SCARS” HAD BEEN THE TOPIC of conversation at school. Ms. Bloodsaw even brought it up in class for a bit of a discussion.

  She asked the class if we thought we were ultimately hurting people by letting them submit poems anonymously. Were we telling them we didn’t want to see their pain, and encouraging them to hide it?

  It seemed that the majority of the students didn’t agree with me.

  Felicia basical
ly said what Ms. Bloodsaw had said earlier to me. “If we don’t let people submit their poems anonymously, people simply won’t submit anything personal. And that’s even worse. At least this way they’re doing something positive with their feelings.”

  I raised my hand. “What if kids knew for sure they’d be safe when they signed their names? That’s what we need to do; we need to assure people that this is a safe place to share what they’re going through.”

  Ms. Bloodsaw narrowed her eyes. “I’m afraid that’s difficult to guarantee, Rae.”

  I leaned forward, my arms resting on my desk. “Maybe alongside a poetry revolution, we should try to start a kindness revolution. Why are we so cruel to each other, anyway? Why aren’t we more empathetic when it comes to the stuff we’re all dealing with? We should be lifting each other up when things are hard instead of knocking each other down.”

  No one said anything. I looked around the room. Kids were doodling in their notebooks or trying to hide the fact they were checking their phones.

  Dale, a scrawny, quiet kid, raised his hand. I don’t think he’d said anything in class the entire year. “It’s like everyone thinks they have to portray this image of perfection. Like online, at social media sites, people love showing off their cool stuff and pictures of their cool friends, as if to say, be jealous of me. So over and over, I see snapshots that say, ‘My life is awesome.’ Pretty soon it feels like I’m the only one having problems. But if you stop and think about it, there’s no way all those people don’t have problems too.”

  I looked around again. Now people were paying attention.

  Another guy, Markus, responded. “It’s no fun reading negative stuff all the time, though. Personally, people who complain a lot bug the crap out of me.”

  “I’m not saying we should all whine and complain,” Dale said. “But a little more honesty—a little more reality—would be good.”