Lilies on Main

by J. Lynn Bailey

  Concern—no, it’s not concern. It’s maybe protectiveness. Protectiveness colors the lines that run horizontally from his eyes. An even deeper black in the crow’s-feet. His nimble fingers, clean nails, white nail beds nervously move along the bill of his hat. But Will’s face never gives off nerves. His demeanor is cool, easygoing, like a jazz saxophone player after a great set or a humble man after delivering a well-received keynote address. But, the other day, I did see nerves. I did see something I’d never seen before in him.

  “Will, it’s okay. Really, no apology necessary.”

  It’s quiet on Main and even quieter in the bookstore.

  What he wants to say is on the tip of his tongue, and what he needs to say is even closer. I can just tell. But I don’t push him. Ask him. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.

  His eyes move from mine to the counter. Around the store. “Uh, I really enjoyed the Colleen Hoover recommendation. Any more?”

  “I’m currently reading this one. Really enjoying it.” It’s a copy of Standing Sideways. I have a few here on the counter, waiting to be inventoried. Push a copy toward him.

  I don’t tell Will about Aaron. That we’re reading it together. That I think of Aaron as more than a friend. That I like the way he breathes when he’s sleeping. And the way he plays with Lilly. The way he cares more about others than himself. Because all of this just came out of nowhere. Maybe it’s looking a good man in the eyes, realizing that I, too, might or could have something great with a man I barely know.

  “Let me know what you think.”

  “I sure will.” Per usual, Will takes his chair toward the back of the store, turns on the chair side lamp, slides on his glasses that hang around his neck, and opens the book.

  Lilly comes down.

  And, before she says anything, I motion for her to come to me, and I crouch down to look her in the eyes. “Listen, let’s not mention anything about Shelby when Will is here.” My eyes lead hers to Will in the chair.

  “Oh. But why not, Mommy?” she whispers.

  “Because I think it puts Will in an awkward spot.”

  “What’s awkward mean?”

  “Uncomfortable.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Lilly looks to her side. Giggles. Looks back at me.

  “What?”

  Lilly shrugs and whispers, “Shelby says you have a good heart. A really pretty heart.”

  Smiling, I reach in and kiss my daughter’s head. “Pass that along to Shelby, would you?”

  Lilly giggles. “Yes!” And she runs to her corner of the store.

  It’s been three days since I called the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Corrections, and I haven’t heard a word. My mom is here to pick up Lilly and take her to her house for the week. Lilly’s going to spend some time with Nana and Grandpa. I think my mom also does it because she thinks it gives me a break, but really, I feel more whole when Lilly is with me, and when she’s not, I feel a big hole somewhere in me where the wind blows through. But their relationship isn’t about me or my feelings; it’s about watching their relationship grow.

  Still, I haven’t heard from Robert Black. Nothing on his voice mail said anything about vacation time or a leave of absence or anything.

  Aaron’s here at the store with me to say good-bye to Lilly. He made an excuse that he wanted to check on a book. I could have given him the information over the phone or via text, but I think he wanted to see Lilly. I think he’ll miss her, too.

  Lilly runs to me from my mom’s car after they put her suitcase in the back. I pull her into my arms, and she takes both of my cheeks into her hands.

  “Mommy, I love you so much.” She kisses me. “Now, I can feel your kiss every night I go to bed at Nana’s.”

  I hold her tight, allowing her to hear my heartbeat. “My heart always beats for you, Lilly. Always.”

  She jerks her head up. “That-that’s what Shelby says. She says, ‘Your mommy’s heart beats for you.’”

  A six-year-old make-believe friend said this? This might be getting to be a little too much.

  Lilly looks at Aaron. “Take care of my mommy while I’m at Nana’s, okay?” Lilly pulls our heads together. Her arms holding us. “Love you.”

  I give her one last kiss on the cheek and the lips and reluctantly set her down.

  My mom walks to us and gives me a hug and kiss. Then, she looks to Aaron. “Break Lydia’s heart, and I’ll break your face.”

  My eyes grow big. Huge. Aaron’s, too. Gwen doesn’t usually talk like that, but she does when she’s trying to get her point across.

  “Understood, Mrs. Harper.”

  “Okay then.” She brings him in for a hug.

  But seeing Aaron’s face when my mom says my name makes the guilt creep up to my throat, and I swallow little pieces of shame.

  I need to tell Aaron. The whole truth. Everything.

  I need to tell him about Brett. The scars on my body. Everything. Maybe then Aaron will decide that our life—Lilly’s and my life—isn’t for him. And I’ll give him the free pass to move on. I need to tell him before Lilly gets too attached, just in case.

  Aaron and I stand in front of the bookstore and wave to Lilly and my mom as they drive away.

  He slides an arm around my shoulders like we’re best friends. Pulls me into his chest like we’re lovers.

  We have a week. I’ll tell him tomorrow.

  “What should we do now?”

  “Get back to work, Warden.” I laugh, pulling from his embrace, only because it’s too comfortable, too close to my heart, so I can put my invisible shield up.

  Aaron’s uniform, with his broad chest and tight golden arms, isn’t making things any easier.

  “Let’s go down the coast on Thursday. There’s a bed-and-breakfast I want to show you.”

  “I’ll ask my boss, Mr. Casey.” I smile coyly, dropping my hand to my side while the other toys with my lip. Really, I’ll see if Alex or Bryce can cover the shop while we’re gone.

  Aaron takes a step closer so that our bodies are an inch apart. Leans down and whispers in my ear, “Will you also ask your boss if you can bring that Golden State Warriors T-shirt that barely covers your thighs? I really like that shirt.”

  My heart explodes as I remember that moment. It was just two days prior.

  Aaron came out of the bathroom, freshly showered, dressed in his street clothes, and I’d thrown on that damn T-shirt that I’d picked up on clearance. I was just about to put pants on before he walked out.

  Aaron never said anything about it, except a few words. Dropped his hands to his sides. If Lilly hadn’t been in the living room, I suppose things would have worked out differently, and I wouldn’t have had the strength to stop any of it. He told me it was an ugly T-shirt and should be burned.

  The thing is, Aaron didn’t say anything about the three scars on my legs. He looked past those. Maybe he didn’t see them, maybe he didn’t care, but I need to tell him what’s going on before things get out of hand. If they haven’t already.

  “I burned it.”

  He stops. Stares at me. “You did what?” Panic colors his tone.

  “I’m kidding.”

  “Thank God.” He gives me a gentle, slow kiss on my cheek, which creates a burn in my chest and an ache in places I don’t speak about.

  He walks around to his truck. “See you at six?”

  I wave. “I’ll be here.”

  Aaron drives down Main.

  Since no one is in the store right now, I take advantage of the moment and sit down on the bench in front of the store. Allow the sun to heat my bones. I take in this small moment. A triumph. My daughter is happy and on her way to spend time with her grandparents. My bookstore is doing well. It’s the peak of our selling season. We live in a lovely small town where your neighbors bring cobbler and stew when you’re down and out. I have a few good friends.

  I am no longer the woman he used to say I was.

  I am no longer the battered wife trying to hold the pieces
of a marriage strung together on a string.

  I am no longer the woman who keeps lies to protect our life. Who makes excuses for who I am.

  Brett would tell me who I was. And I believed every last word.

  I am no longer Delana Lancaster.

  And yet, here I am, waiting for the shoe to drop. Waiting for all the cards to fold. Waiting on life to kick my ass again. I’ve spent more time worrying about what’s next than enjoying the present moment.

  Will sits down next to me on the bench.

  Neither of us talks. We just sit back and watch the comings and goings of summer. Tourists begin to slowly trickle in and out, going to the next place of beauty. Rick, the town pharmacist, chats with a customer on the sidewalk out front of his pharmacy. We sit and watch like birds on a wire. Feeling the sun on our faces.

  “Will,” I whisper, “I’m tired of running.”

  Will doesn’t move a muscle, his hands on his lap. Casual, calm, and with patience, as if he’s seen the way the world rights itself and all we need is just a little time, he says, “I used to do a lot of runnin’ myself.” Nods. Watches. “My daughter, Audrey—I suppose she’s a few years older than you—spent a lot of time in her room, waitin’ on her dad. A dad who wasn’t likely to show up because he was too busy runnin’.”

  A man in his sixties helps his wife from the passenger side of the car parked across the street. Kisses her on the head when she stands. Takes her by the arm into Oceanside Deli. Another man and woman come down the sidewalk to meet the older man and his wife. They embrace like it’s been some time since they’ve all seen each other.

  I look over at Will. Trace his ash-colored hairline that sits against his pristine black skin like a perfectly drawn semicircle.

  “You ran?”

  “Yeah. I ran until I ran out of booze. Drugs. Just … didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want anything. But Elena kept our daughter well. Held down our home, managed to pay the bills, got Audrey to her dance classes and school functions while I worked and drank and didn’t come home until all hours of the night.” Will shakes his head and looks down at his hands.

  “I … I have a hard time seeing you like that, Will.”

  Will chuckles and picks at his neatly groomed nail beds. “Well, I suppose that’s what twenty-one years and one hundred forty-seven days of sobriety will do for you.”

  I don’t ask if he goes to meetings or if he’s in Alcoholics Anonymous because it isn’t my business, but I have a hunch that he does. If my insides had a mouth, they’d smile.

  “I had to have a heart transplant at six. My mom got sober when I was fifteen.”

  I remember the sting of the needles, multiple needles, the moment they touched my flesh. I remember the tears I’d cry when they checked another machine that was somehow attached to my body. But the one thing I remember most was my mother’s eyes. Her sad, helpless, yet protective eyes. Keeping watch. My father, too, in the background. But it was my mother mostly that I remember. Maybe because she was there during the really bad days and the better days. My mom wasn’t an alcoholic then.

  Will looks up from his hands to the street and then to me. Almost smiles. Looks away again.

  Usually, when I open up and tell someone I had a heart transplant, it’s followed by a litany of questions.

  Will you need a new one eventually?

  No, unless this one stops working. It hasn’t yet.

  Does it beat normally?

  As normal as your heart beats.

  Do you take medication every day?

  Two pills.

  But Will doesn’t ask any of these questions. “Elena and I had two daughters. Something real bad happened.” His voice is hushed like he doesn’t want anyone to hear him, except maybe me. “That’s when my all-night drinkin’ became real bad. Just needed somewhere to hide where my feelings couldn’t find me. I remember this ole bar in downtown Boston. Hole in the wall. Miss it if you blinked. Stuck in a brick alleyway right off the Freedom Trail. We lived in Boston—Elena and me and the girls.” He pauses, cautiously picks his words. “I used to hide in the corner. Told the bartender to serve me doubles until he couldn’t. Somehow, I’d get home. Or not.” He bites his lower lip. “Missed a lot of dance recitals for Audrey.” Will’s words fall behind him as if he’s chasing something he knows he can’t catch. “A lot of false promises made on her birthdays and Christmases.” Will looks on. “I guess the reason I’m telling you this, Lydia, is because maybe you’re not runnin’. The way I see it, you take care of your daughter, you run a great bookstore, and you have the warden, who seems to fall at your feet.” Will chuckles, and I do, too. “You aren’t runnin’, Lydia. You’re doin’ this deal called life. You’re right where God intended you to be.” He shrugs. “Just this old man’s two cents.”

  I allow Will’s words to settle in my heart. I sit with them, surrounding myself with them. Swish them around in my head and see how they feel in my bones. It’s one thing to hear someone talk on heavy matters. But it’s something else for their words to resonate in your heart. The heart that you’ve spent years with. Getting to know. Trust. On one hand, maybe I’m not running. Maybe I’m allowing my fear to push me to a place of reaction. I don’t want to move again once Brett is paroled. Which will happen at some point. But am I making the safest decision for Lilly? To stay and wait for him to eventually find us? I’ve taken safety precautions. Changed our names, covered our tracks. But he’s a very smart man.

  And, like his ex-girlfriend told me when she came to the house to warn me, “he will find a way to you.”

  What if I feed the fear and allow it to ruin everything I’ve established here in Granite Harbor, only to make another move to start over again? A new city. A new job. I opened this bookstore with faith that everything would work out the way it was supposed to.

  “On that note, I have a book I need to go buy. Mind if I go find it?” Will stands slowly and pulls his small steno pad from his dark brown Dockers. On the cover of the steno pad, this time, I see the letter A.

  I stand, too. “I’ll go with you. I have reorganizing to do anyway.” But, truth be told, it’s not a lot of organizing, and it’ll be awfully quiet without Lilly.

  I hope Will stays for a while today.

  Twenty

  Aaron

  I contemplate looking up Brett Lancaster in our database. Ethically, it’s not right. I don’t have a probable cause to look him up. He didn’t break a law with us, so I have no business looking at his arrest record. I bet it’s short. Maybe it’s not. He was a fucking doctor, for crying out loud. It shouldn’t be long. Seems like an ego-driven asshole though, beating up on women. Holding people’s lives in his hands. As if he’s a god. Maybe I’d find something in his record that would make me snap. Maybe I’m not supposed to see what’s in the database or in evidence in Massachusetts—not that I’d go looking. Maybe I couldn’t handle it. Something inside me tells me it’s not a good idea to look it up, so I don’t even though my fingers are itching to.

  My phone rings.

  I answer on the first ring. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hey, honey. So, listen. We won tickets at—what’s the name of that fundraiser we went to, Bill?”

  Why she couldn’t have asked my dad before she made the call is just my mother. It’s as if she wants him to be included in our phone conversations, but when she gets annoyed with him, she simply wants him to shut up.

  “Vergamont’s,” my dad calls.

  “Oh, that’s right—wait, are you sure it’s Vergamont’s? Because I could have sworn Ruthie said Bergamot’s. Anyway, doesn’t matter. Dad and I won tickets for a two-night stay at the Harbor Inn this weekend, and Cynthia’s sister’s daughter, Louise, invited Ruth and me to a bunco tournament down at Cynthia’s in West Harbor, so thought we’d better go. Do you want them? Maybe you and Lydia can go? I know Ethan and Bryce are busy, getting their house ready for Bryce’s parents, who are coming out when the baby comes.”

  A weekend alone with Lydia?<
br />
  “I’ll take them,” comes out faster than I meant it to. “I mean, if you’re looking to get rid of them.”

  If that isn’t perfect timing.

  “We can watch Lilly if you’d like?”

  I scratch my head, trying to wrap my head around how perfect this all is.

  “She’s actually with Lydia’s mom, Gwen, for the weekend. You remember Gwen?”

  “I do. Tall. A great mix between Anne Lamott and Dolly Parton?” My mom giggles. “She’s a beautiful woman. Bill, be quiet.”

  “That’s her.”

  “Great. Just pop on by and pick them up before this weekend, or I can take them to Lydia at the bookstore?”

  “No, I’ll come get them tonight before I go meet her for dinner.”

  There’s silence on the phone. A good one. A welcome one. Where Mom really wants to ask what’s going on and when she and my dad will get to have a sit-down dinner with Lydia and me. Because that’s just the type of people they are. Breaking bread.

  I sigh. “Dinner soon.”

  “Oh, good! That’ll be wonderful.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Talk soon.”

  I hit End.

  Before I knock on the glass part of the door of the bookstore, I watch Lydia work. Her blonde hair is tied up in a loose bun. Strands fall in her face. It’s no wonder how she was taken by a doctor first. Lydia isn’t the type of woman who stays on the market long. She’s not the type of woman who freely gives herself to anyone. She’s the type of woman that you work for. She’s the type of woman that, once you gain all of her, you keep her forever.

  It’s still light outside, so hopefully, I won’t scare her. Barely, I knock against the window, and I watch her jump out of her own skin. Some might laugh, but this doesn’t make me laugh. Instead, it makes me wonder how badly that asshole broke her. Lydia grips her chest and quickly walks to the front door to let me in. Relief is what her face shows now, but just seconds earlier, terror made all the color from her face leave.

  “Hey,” she says almost shyly.

  I walk through the door and shut it behind me. I possessively take her in my arms.