12. Summer
Summer
I glance over my shoulder as Jaxon greets another fan.
At least I don’t have to endure a silent ride to the farm with him, thanks to James Hartley.
The lawyer stopped by my booth a while ago, offered to drive Jaxon back, then bought my remaining six bouquets.
Two were supposedly for the office. He told me to give the other four away.
The man has never bought flowers in his entire life.
And I know exactly who put him up to it.
As soon as James leaves, Jaxon shoots me a smirk from across the street. I turn back to the four bouquets on the table. Jaxon must have figured out my Saturday routine. Every week after the market ends, I stop at the hospital and hand out unsold bouquets, then head to see Mom at Golden Haven.
There’s something about a hospital room that drains the life right out of people—the colorless walls, the relentless beeping machines, the way time drags on. I noticed it when Mom was there for a short stay, and I promised myself I’d do what I could to change that.
Today when I arrive at the hospital, I pass out flowers to a little girl who’s going through chemotherapy, a new mom whose baby arrived early, and a family whose toddler has a broken leg. If I make one person smile, it’s worth the trip.
But I always save the last bouquet for my mother.
When I get to Golden Haven, it smells like the usual weird mixture of pine-scented cleaner and mystery casserole from the cafeteria.
The woman at the desk signs me in. “Your mom’s having a pretty good day.”
I nod and give her a polite smile. I’ve learned not to get my hopes up. Her memory issues can be unpredictable, and I never know which version of my mother I’m going to get when I stop by.
An aide is adjusting the pillow behind Mom’s head when I come in. “Oh, hello, Summer. Your mother just woke up.”
“Hey, Mom,” I say softly, not wanting to startle her.
The aide bends down to her. “This is your daughter, Summer.”
Mom studies me for a moment. “I don’t recognize you,” she says flatly.
One of those days. The moments when she doesn’t remember me seem to happen more frequently now, but then there are other visits when she’s herself again, and it feels like old times.
I sit at the foot of her bed. “I brought you something.” Then I hold out the last bouquet.
She stares at it before taking it. “These are pretty.”
My mom has always loved flowers as much as I do. Specifically, wildflowers. She’s the reason I’m in this business.
She fingers a petal on a daisy. “Most women love roses, but I prefer wildflowers.” She brings the bouquet up to her nose and inhales. “You must be good at growing things.”
“You taught me how, actually. When I was little, we used to grow them in the backyard.”
She blinks vacantly at me. “I don’t remember that,” she says matter-of-factly, which is how she says most things now.
“I know. That’s okay.” I turn my phone toward her. “I have a few pictures. Do you want to see them?”
Sometimes a photograph will help her remember events and people from the past. I scroll past some recent pictures.
“Who’s that?” she asks, pointing to a little girl.
“That’s Remi. I take her to hockey practice to help her mom out when she works.” I swipe to another picture of her at the rink. “She’s nine and still a little wobbly on the ice, but she loves it.”
Mom shifts to look at the photo more carefully. “I thought hockey was for boys.”
“Girls play now too. She’s one of two on the Golden Springs league right now.”
Mom’s brow knits. “This town has a team?”
“A youth league. We went to a game there once, remember?”
She stares at me blankly.
“You enjoyed it,” I say quietly. “We both did.” Watching Jaxon play had been mesmerizing. No one could ever keep up with his speed on the ice.
I scroll to the next picture of Remi in her hockey uniform. “Their coach just quit a few months ago, and they still haven’t found anyone to replace him.”
I think about what Remi asked me last week, looking up at me with her big, brown eyes. Could you coach us?
I laughed and told her no. But I know someone who could, I said. The problem is he’d never say yes.
I watched Jaxon with the kids at the farmers market today. He was so patient and attentive with them. He’d be good at this. But he’s also too proud to coach a youth league, especially in this town.
I swipe to the next photo of my wildflower field in full bloom.
“Oh,” she says, leaning in to get a closer look. “That’s pretty. Is that your farm?”
“Yep. It’s on Lucky Chance Ranch.”
“Lucky Chance,” she repeats slowly. “I think I know that name.”
“You might. The Chance family has four boys. John and Miriam let me use a few acres to grow flowers.”
“One played hockey.”
“Yes,” I say with a surprised laugh. “Jaxon played, and so does his brother. I worked with him on the farm in high school, and whenever he’d start talking about hockey, his face would light up.”
The first time I saw Jaxon play in high school, I finally understood why he didn’t want to stay on the farm. He was born to play hockey.
“Is he nice to you?” Mom asks out of the blue.
I tuck a stray hair behind my ear. “We’re just coworkers, Mom.”
Mom’s mouth curves into a sly smile. “That boy was a looker, even back in high school.”
A laugh sputters out of me. “Mom!”
She beams. “Nothing wrong with appreciating a strapping man like Jaxon.”
Strapping is right. I think of him lifting me off that horse, those firm hands on my waist, reminding me just how long it’s been since a man’s touched me. He could probably throw hay bales all day and still look annoyingly good doing it.
Definitely not a boy anymore.
“He went to the NHL?” she asks.
“Right after high school.”
I knew he’d be gone as soon as he could leave this town. He was just like Rebel, wild and hard to tame, and nothing in Golden Springs was going to slow him down from reaching his goal.
“You know what’ll happen when he makes it big in hockey?” Mom had warned back then. “He’ll be gone. Might never come back.”
She was thinking of men like my father—the ones who didn’t stick around.
Once the lights of Nashville lured Dad away, we never saw him again.
He’d send me a Christmas gift some years, if he remembered at all, but eventually that stopped coming too.
I’ve spent a long time trying to pretend the hole he left had healed over.
“Maybe I could go to your farm someday,” she says. “To see your flowers.”
“I’d like that,” I say before standing to go.
“You’ll come back soon?”
“Every Saturday,” I remind her, although I know she’ll forget by tomorrow.
“Thank you for the flowers,” she says, fingering the petals lightly. “You didn’t have to bring me these.”
“I wanted to.” Growing flowers is how I feel closer to her, or at least the person she used to be when her mind was clear.
I wave one last time, then slip out into the hallway, pulling the door most of the way closed behind me.
Not everyone understands what it means to have a parent with early-onset Alzheimer's. The things that slip away aren’t always the big memories.
Mom used to know which ice cream was my favorite.
She’d ask about Larissa and would call me on my birthday.
She doesn’t remember any of those things now.
And I can’t explain to Jaxon what it’s like to grieve someone who is still here—to miss a person who is sitting right in front of you.
My mom remembered Jaxon Chance, someone she hasn’t seen in fourteen years, but she doesn’t remember her daughter, who visits every week.
I just hope that someday, she’ll look at those flowers and it will bring back a memory of us. Something she might recognize, even if she doesn’t know why.
When I get in my truck, my phone rings with a FaceTime call.
“How was your mom today?” Larissa asks when I pick up.
I lean my head back against the headrest. “She didn’t recognize me today.”
She exhales. “Oh, girl. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. Do you need some company?” she asks. She’s making herself a smoothie, pulling things out of the fridge. “I was thinking about heading to the Blue Moon Saloon since they have a live band tonight.”
“I don’t know,” I say, already feeling the ache in my back. “I’m so tired.”
“I know. But sitting home alone after a day like today? That is a crime against yourself, and I will not let it happen.” She pulls out a tub of yogurt from the fridge. “Also, I heard Wyatt might come.”
“Then I definitely can’t go with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because if Wyatt is there, Jaxon might be too.” I rub my hand across my eyes. “We had an argument today at the market.”
“What do you mean?” She shuts the fridge door.
“He started acting all weird when Blaine came by the booth.”
Her eyes widen. “Blaine Callahan?”
“Yes. And I have no idea why. Even offered to buy all my flowers.”
Larissa smiles, looking way too invested in this. “Do you think Jaxon was jealous seeing you with Blaine?”
I shake my head. “He’s not jealous. The man had a line of women waiting for his autograph today. Even the vet gave him her card and said to call her.”
Larissa’s jaw drops. “Mollie Holliday?”
I nod. “She’s the perfect type for Jaxon. Especially since he’s such a flirt.”
Larissa shakes her head. “No. I think he’s just oblivious. Flirts with everyone, but is blind to it when it’s him. Always been that way.”
“Really?” I frown. He said he wasn’t interested in Mollie, and I hadn’t believed him. Then again, he hadn’t believed me about Blaine either. “I don’t even know if I remember how to flirt with a man.”
“This is exactly why you should come with me tonight,” Larissa says as she scoops yogurt into the blender. “So you can remember how to talk to a man.”
“I’m focused on my business right now. I don’t have time to date.”
“Summer, listen to me,” she says, pausing to hold the phone up. “After the day you’ve had, you deserve to have some fun and remember how to laugh. Also, I cannot go alone. Not when Wyatt is going to be there.”
It’s no secret that Larissa has been a big NFL fan since the day she heard he grew up in this town. But he makes her so nervous, she can’t even approach him when he’s actually in town.
She dumps some berries into the blender. “I need you there. You’re my anchor. My—”
“Please don’t say emotional support person. That’s so clinical.”
“I was going to say best friend,” she corrects me. “Who looks absolutely incredible when she puts on that blue maxi dress with her cowboy boots. Any man would be lucky to talk to you. If I let you stay home, then I’m not being a good friend. You need to have a social life beyond horses.”
“Hey!” I complain. “Horses make great companions.”
Larissa rolls her eyes as she puts the lid on the blender. “A horse can’t hold you on the couch.”
“True.”
She turns on the blender, and I catch myself in the rearview mirror. My hair’s a mess, and I’m not even sure if concealer will help the dark circles underneath my eyes.
“I’ll go,” I say. “But it will be short.”
“Yay!” she squeals. “You won’t regret this.”
“I’m only going for you.”
“You will talk to someone. Even if I have to force you to,” she says firmly. “And wear the blue dress!” She hangs up before I can argue with her.
I sit in the parking lot for a moment, phone in my lap.
I know most women my age are having way more fun than I am.
They’re moving away to cooler cities and spending time with someone other than horses.
But twelve-hour workdays leave me no time for dating.
And I’ve never been into keeping a dizzying social calendar.
I also don’t want to become a worn-out woman like my mom was, working a dead-end job because I have no other option. I know Mom didn’t choose to end up alone, but she never made another path for herself, and that’s not something I want to repeat.
As much as I’d like to crash on the couch and mindlessly binge a show, Larissa’s right. Fun is exactly what I haven’t been having. And maybe if I’m lucky, I won’t even think of Jaxon once tonight.