Chapter 14
Love is the flower you’ve got to let grow.
—John Lennon
Inside the house, Claire flopped on the couch, facedown. Something pinched her stomach and she rolled over to find Rose’s letter. Sitting up, she read it again. Tears stung her eyes when she got to that line, All is forgiven. It’s time to come home. It dawned on Claire that Rose knew the fire wasn’t all Chris’s fault. It was easy to blame him because ... he messed up so much. But it wasn’t all his fault.
She thought of Chris’s parting shot: “It’s good to talk to God.” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. She’d always believed in God ... but trusted in herself. And look where that had gotten her. Nowhere else to turn, no one else to turn to.
It’s good to talk to God.
She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “I could use a little help down here, God. Because I have run out of options.”
One tear after the other started down her cheeks until she was sobbing, heaving, weeping uncontrollably. She never cried like this ... not even when her grandparents had died. Not even when her dad left for Germany.
She was wailing so loudly that she nearly missed it—the loud, rumbling, roaring sound of an engine without a muffler. It was only because she was inhaling a deep breath right before another sob that she heard it at all. She jumped off the couch and ran to open the door. There, coming down the street, was the ear-splitting, deafening sound of Chris’s Ford Mustang. As the car came to a stop, silence filled the air.
Chris got out of the car and waved. He reached into the back seat and brought out a flower arrangement. “I nearly got to the highway before I realized I’d forgotten to give these to you. They’re from Rose. She said you’d know what they meant.”
In his arms was an enormous arrangement of yellow roses, the traditional flower meant to convey a longing for the familiar. A floral way to say Come home.
She covered her cheeks with her hands as tears started all over again, flooding down her cheeks.
He set the wilted roses on the ground. “Claire,” he said, holding the car door wide open, waiting for her to make a move. “Let’s go forward.”
Claire looked at the wilted flowers, then at Chris, back at her house, and back at Chris. Something hard dissolved inside her. It was like tossing a bath bomb into the tub and watching it disintegrate. Watching it turn into something soft and soothing.
Without a word, she spun around and bolted toward the house. Leaving the front door wide open, she ran into her room and pulled her suitcase from under her bed. She grabbed handfuls of hangers from her closet and threw them into the suitcase, then emptied her small dresser drawers on top. Tossed some important papers and her grandmother’s Bible in and sat down on it to make it close. Then tugged the zipper around it and dragged it to the door. There was a chalkboard on the wall for the housemates to leave messages. With a piece of chalk, she wrote, Heading home for good. Rent paid to end of month. Come visit me in Sunrise! XOXO
Grabbing her purse, she hurried to the door. There was Chris, still standing in the hot sun, waiting for her. He looked happy when he saw her, but not surprised. He walked toward her and took the suitcase from her, a smile on his adorable face that went from ear to ear. “Ready to go home?”
“Almost,” she said. She bent down to pick up the wilted yellow roses. She sat in the passenger seat and buckled in, the flowers snug on her lap. Now she was ready. Chris closed her door, then walked around the car, slipped into the driver’s seat, and buckled his seat belt.
She shifted in the bucket seat, trying to get comfortable. She’d forgotten how scratchy they were. “On the drive, you can tell me how you levitated that light bulb.”
“Nope. You’ll just have to guess.”
“A wire?”
“Nope.”
“A hidden switch?”
“Maybe.” Grinning, he gave her a side-glance, then turned the key, and the Mustang roared to life.