Lilies on Main

by J. Lynn Bailey

  Were you worthy of my daughter’s heart?

  Were you capable of a love so pure?

  Then, I watched as Lilly came to you. I watched you hold her. Watched your heart wrap around hers.

  I watched you as you worked while I pretended to read the books. Watched you as you worried. Watched how your face lit up every time Aaron walked into the bookstore. I watched you be brave.

  I believe God has a plan for all of us. I do. I also believe people make choices that affect the lives of others. We make errors. We’re human. But it’s what we do with those mistakes. It isn’t the mistake itself; it’s what we do afterward.

  Delana Harper, you are an amazing young woman, and I feel so blessed to have seen my daughter’s heart in action. To have seen how her beauty shines through you. You have given me the ultimate gift in showing me how you demonstrate love and sacrifice with not only Lilly, but with Aaron, too. How you take a chance on love. Take a chance on life.

  We’re only given one life to live after all.

  I know you’ll make it your best.

  All my love,

  Will

  I weep.

  A loud bang in the hospital startles me awake. The sun has set, and the hospital room has grown dark.

  “I was so angry with him for such a long time.” I hear the whisper before I see the woman sitting in the corner of Will’s room.

  My eyes adjust to the darkness, and a woman’s silhouette comes into view. I see the features of her father, the beautiful tone of her skin. Her high cheekbones, strong jawline. I see her mother’s features, too, from the picture.

  “You made it.”

  She nods.

  “And you must be Delana Harper.”

  She smiles, and I see the white of her teeth. The letter sits on her lap. Not my letter, but her letter.

  Audrey is quiet for a moment. I notice a stack of books sitting at her feet.

  All the books that Will purchased from the bookstore.

  “He … he sent me a book every week.” She toys with the button on her blouse. “He used to write me letters once a week for years. Drone on and on about the flowers, about Granite Harbor, about his life. The mundane activities he did.” She laughs. “When I didn’t respond after years of the weekly letters that I’d begun to look forward to, they stopped. Then, the books started. But I missed the letters, too.

  “I remember his voice from when I was a child. I remember the way he’d cup my chin after I took a tumble on my bicycle as a kid. I remember all of it.” She pauses. Sits. Places her hands on the last letter he wrote her. “And, every time I received a letter or a book in the mail sent to my post office box, that anger would subside a little at a time.”

  Emotions swell in my chest and rage like the sea.

  “Thanks for leaving the message for me.”

  After Will fell asleep and I finished reading his letter to me, Audrey had to know, so I called the number that Dr. Phillips had found.

  “You’re his daughter, Audrey.”

  Audrey hesitantly stands. She walks from the dark corner into the light, and she’s more beautiful than I imagined. Slender. Hair slicked back and tied tight to her head. Green eyes. The same skin tone as Will’s.

  “He’s gone, Delana.”

  I know. Something told me when I tried to keep my eyes open amid my tears that he wouldn’t be with us when I awoke. So, I held his hand and read my letter aloud to him. Something also told me that he’d hung on this long to say what he needed to say, and now that he did and the end was near, it was his time to join his wife and Shelby.

  “Go on; get home to your daughter.”

  I jerk my head up. “How … how do you know I have a daughter?”

  Audrey looks down at me. “Let’s just say that I have a job that allows me to see things on a bigger scale.”

  “I’m not following,” I whisper.

  “I work for a company that allows me access to information that most people don’t have access to.” She smiles, bends down, and sits next to her father’s body.

  “Oh.” My mind attempts to wrap around this information. I don’t ask questions but stand instead, feeling more like I’m invading her privacy, their moment together.

  I gather my letter and shove my phone in my pocket. “Thank you for leading your father to me.” I know in this exact moment that Will never asked his daughter for anything. But I think she knew what he needed and somehow gave him my address. Maybe an anonymous note.

  Audrey smiles just like her father but doesn’t answer. I bet they would have had a beautiful relationship.

  It’s interesting how we handle addiction with loved ones. Some avoid the problem altogether, like Audrey shutting out Will from her life. But I think she knew in the end that Will was a really good guy who’d had a problem. Just like my mom. I just chose to see it differently and sooner. I’m really glad I did.

  Helen texts me and says she’d love to keep Lilly for the night. After all, it’s nine thirty p.m. I’ll call her later to explain that Will died.

  Emotionally and mentally, I’m exhausted. When I reach the door in the alleyway that leads to the upstairs, I notice the door is unlocked.

  Aaron. I feel relief.

  I quietly shut the door behind me and tiptoe upstairs, just in case he’s asleep. It has probably been a long day for him, too. The apartment is dark, except for the dim light from the moon outside the front window that overlooks Main Street.

  Take off my shoes and socks. My phone still in my back pocket.

  But I notice something’s off. Something isn’t quite right. Aaron’s boots aren’t in the hallway by the front door. His wallet isn’t on the counter where he usually leaves it.

  My heart starts to slam against my chest.

  Something is wrong.

  Something is very wrong.

  He’s here.

  In the apartment.

  I smell his cologne.

  “You’ve always had an uncanny ability with timing, Delana. Always.” Brett’s voice, slithery, prideful, unwelcome.

  He sits at the kitchen table in the dark.

  Out of old habit, I feel my body want to retreat to the old me, clawing, twisting, turning into the poor young woman I don’t want to go back to.

  “I’m only here for my daughter,” he says.

  Then, something that comes from my mouth surprises me. “Over my dead body.” Rage gnaws on my insides. “You won’t touch my daughter. You’ll have to kill me first.”

  He’s sitting comfortably, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. His confidence and ego bore witness to all the times he struck me and hid the evidence. The only things different this time are the five o’clock shadow and the weight loss and the bitterness in his tone.

  He’s furious.

  People don’t change.

  Not people like Brett Lancaster.

  “You will never find her.” The new me comes out.

  Brett laughs loudly, a bone-chilling cackle. One I don’t miss. One that starts to send the old me back into retreat mode.

  Fight, Delana.

  Slowly, he unfolds, and he stands from the chair. I remind myself to burn the chair when I make it out of this alive.

  “If you kill me, you’re never going to find her.” The strength in my voice proves my fight.

  He takes a step closer, grabbing the gun, and allows it to linger in his hand as if it were a tool and not a death trap.

  “Where’s my fucking daughter?” he asks. Taking another step toward me.

  “Not here. Why do you think I’d go to great lengths to hide her, to hide us, and then keep her with me? You’re out of your mind,” I lie.

  Without any warning, he takes the barrel of the gun, and the cold steel meets my face. I stumble backward.

  I shouldn’t be taken off guard. I should know how this goes. I feel the warm sensation start to ooze down my cheek, and the throb begins.

  “He’ll-he’ll come looking for me. My boyfriend. If you want to
see your daughter again, we’d better go.” Think smart. Think like a killer.

  “Oh, the game warden. You know, I tried to warn him. Tried to tell him to stay away. But he didn’t listen. So, I had to teach him a lesson.”

  Keep fighting.

  He grabs me by my hair and yanks me downstairs and onto the street. Then, he whispers, “I’m going to let you stand. Walk like the woman you aren’t. And, if you so much as say a peep, I will kill you when we get in the car. Do you understand?”

  I don’t answer.

  He yanks my hair again and holds his lips to my ear. I feel his anger against my face.

  “Do you understand?” he spits.

  For Lilly’s sake, I nod.

  Brett opens the truck door, and I get in. He shuts the door but stands there, staring hard through the window. He opens the door back up. “Scoot over,” he says. “You’re driving.”

  Reluctantly, I do, trying to think up scenarios that will keep me on this earth with my daughter.

  He quietly shuts the door to the truck as Milton Murdock walks by and waves. He gives a peculiar look, and I pray he sees something isn’t quite right. Brett waves and flashes his doctor smile, and Milton relaxes.

  NO.

  NO.

  NO.

  I want to scream.

  My cheek throbs.

  But, as Milton makes his way past the truck and to the post office, which is odd because it’s much later than usual, I glance in the rearview mirror as he looks back at the truck. I want to scream, Help me, but I know it won’t make a difference because Brett Lancaster has no conscience, and he’s just looking for the first reason to kill me.

  “I can’t believe you renamed our daughter Lilly. What a fucked up name,” he says casually, the gun sitting on the seat, aimed at me.

  Again, rage seethes inside me. Lilly is a beautiful name.

  “Take me to my daughter, bitch.”

  “She’s one hundred fifty miles south, with my parents.”

  “Figures. Drive.” He nods.

  Thirty-One

  Aaron

  Earlier in the Same Day

  “Aaron,” Sarah says, pushing her long, dark hair behind her ears as she attempts to pick up her groceries.

  “Here, allow me.” I pick the bag up and hand it to her, caught up by her face full of life. Her rosy cheeks. Her deep green eyes. “You-you remember me, Sarah?”

  She nods, breaking eye contact. “How could I not?”

  “I’m-I’m sorry, but I’m completely caught off guard right now. Um”—we stand together—“it’s just that you haven’t … well, spoken to anyone since we were seventeen. Almost eighteen.”

  Sarah searches everywhere but my eyes. She’s more timid than I remember. More reserved. I guess that’s what happens when your body spends years trying to redefine itself. Make right of your mind.

  “Do your mom and dad know?”

  “Of course.”

  “Right.” I nod. “As they should. Listen, I have to type up some reports. Maybe we can grab some coffee when I’m done?”

  “The uniform. I remember it. Sometimes, you’d wear it when you came to visit me.” Sarah speaks slower than I remember. As if she needs to reacquaint herself with her own words, her own voice. Her thought process.

  “Yeah, after college.” It’s weird to talk to someone you’ve known more than half your life, one you’ve visited once a month for years, spent countless hours with, felt part of in a lot of ways, and the conversation has now dwindled down to a uniform.

  Uncomfortable with the answer I gave her, she rolls her shoulders back. Her eyes grow shifty. “I missed all that, I guess.”

  I want to ask her how long she’s been back. Speaking. Not just staring blankly out the window. I want to ask her why. I want to ask her so many questions about what happened with Charlotte, if she’s all right, and if she remembers that we were going to be married. Irritation starts to build in my stomach, but I keep it at bay because I don’t know the full story. She hasn’t spoken a word to anyone until recently.

  Besides, my life has changed. I have Lydia and Lilly.

  “I’m in a relationship, Sarah.” I break the news, not sure if it will affect her the way I think it might. Not sure of anything right now.

  She’s silent for a moment and then speaks, “I remember you visiting. It’s a blur, these past years, but I remember you. My mother remembers you. One day, after you left, I remember my mother wiping my tears. I don’t remember what you said while you visited, but I remember what it felt like. So, yes, I can imagine you’re taken now. I can imagine it was hard to wait for me.”

  “I did wait. For years, Sarah, I waited.”

  Sarah’s eyes grow shifty once again. She’s uncomfortable with where the conversation is headed. “I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel guilty; I’m telling you this because I understand. That I noticed your dedication. I felt your love. That’s all.”

  The confidence she once had is gone. The sparkling quality in her eyes has disappeared. And I wonder what her heart feels like. Is it still in pieces?

  Love. It can be an unconditional word yet a conditional word. But the purest love has no parameters. No set boundaries. And no guarantees. And yet, love can also have its own limits, right?

  “Look, I have to get to work, but I’d really like it if we could have coffee after I get off work. Can we meet somewhere?”

  “Where?”

  I forget that she might not see the world anymore the way I see it. As if she’s fifteen years behind the curve.

  “How about Lifehouse, the diner on the corner down here?” I point down the street. “About five p.m.?”

  She looks, shielding her eyes from the sunlight. “Okay.”

  “Okay then. Will you be all right, taking your groceries from here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. See you a little later.”

  “Okay,” Sarah says. She turns with her groceries and walks away, looking back only once.

  I watch her until I can’t see her anymore with the distance she’s creating, the ground she’s gaining.

  Once she’s disappeared, I pull out my phone and try to call Lydia to tell her about what the hell just happened, but her phone goes straight to voice mail.

  Then, I walk into headquarters.

  It’s just past five when I arrive at Lifehouse. Feeling something is off though, I try to call Lydia again. Still, it goes straight to voice mail.

  She’s fine.

  Maybe she forgot to turn her phone off Do Not Disturb, or maybe she left her phone upstairs in the apartment.

  Sarah is already sitting in a booth when I walk in. She’s by the back corner next to the window.

  “Hey,” I say as I slide into the booth.

  She sits with a mug of coffee.

  “You never used to like coffee.”

  “It’s tea,” she says.

  I smile. “Should have known. Do you want anything else?”

  She shakes her head. Her long, slender, thin fingers are wrapped around her mug.

  I walk to the counter and order a black coffee and walk back to the table. Set my phone on the table. My phone illuminates, and the screensaver is a picture of Lydia and Lilly together at the bookstore.

  Sarah stares. “Who are they?”

  “This is Lydia and Lilly.” I look back at Sarah.

  She smiles. “They’re beautiful, Aaron. They really are.”

  I smile, too, and stare at my phone screen until it grows dark.

  “I’m not too sure about these smartphones,” she says. “Seems too connected.”

  This is something the old Sarah would say.

  It also dawns on me that this all happened before smartphones, before technology became a thing. I smile. The waitress drops off my coffee at the table.

  “Do you have one yet? A smartphone?”

  “My father gave me one.” She reaches back and pulls an iPhone from her back pocket. Sets it on the table. “I
just know that the ringer is way too loud, and the texting thing takes me way too long.”

  I laugh. “Here.” I take her phone from the table and show her the volume buttons on the side. “You can use these to turn the phone down, and you can actually put the phone on silent if you want by flipping this button.” I show her with my thumbnail.

  “Any advice with the texting?” Sarah takes a sip of her tea and smiles behind her cup.

  “Practice.” I laugh. I take a drink of my coffee.

  Our togetherness grows silent.

  “How’re your mom and dad?”

  “Happy, thrilled. I think … I think they felt like they’d lost two daughters on the day Charlotte died, you know?” She stares out the window.

  “Has-has anyone talked to you about all this?”

  “No, I think they’re all just glad I’m back among the living, so to speak.”

  Maybe Sarah’s heart just couldn’t deal with the responsibility that she shouldn’t have owned in the first place.

  “Tell me about the world, Aaron.”

  Leaning back, I think about it. “Remember all the pictures we used to take?”

  The corners of her mouth turn up. “I do.”

  “Remember when we’d take the roll of film to Sprouts Ritz and wait a week for them to develop the film, only to enjoy maybe two pictures from the whole roll?”

  She laughs, dropping her head back. “Yeah.” And, coming from her mouth, it’s the most honest yeah I’ve ever heard in all the yeahs in the world.

  My tension eases. “Well, now, you can take a picture with your phone in a matter of seconds and see it. And print it if you’d like.”

  Sarah slides the phone into her hands. “This thing?”

  I take another gulp of my coffee. Nod.

  Quietness fills the space around us.

  My tone grows softer when I say this, trying to tread lightly on the topic because I’m not sure how she feels about it, “How are you dealing with everything? I mean, your parents, have you talked to them?”

  Sarah shakes her head. “They try to tiptoe around everything. Maybe they’re afraid they’ll lose another daughter, I suppose. Like, I’ll up and kill myself or something.” Her tone is as sharp as her words, and I realize she doesn’t mean this. Not in the way she said it. “I’m sorry. I said that wrong. I didn’t mean for it to come out so up-front. They ask how I’m feeling, if I need anything, what they can do to help. They don’t talk about the big purple elephant in the room, the one I can’t answer.”