Chapter 22
Tommy walks me around the property at Clara’s insistence.
And it sort of feels like we’re touring some grand estate rather than the house I grew up in. But the air is warm, and the sky is streaked orange, so it’s not an unpleasant evening.
Tasteful flowers and bushes are placed with precision. The lawn is lush and neat enough to make even my mother proud. It’s the kind of yard you photograph for real estate listings. Not something you ruin for the sake of a new hobby.
“There,” Tommy says, stopping near a bare patch of grass off to the side of the house. “This’ll be a good spot to start. Good soil and gets plenty of sun.”
It should feel like a gift.
I wanted to start a garden, and Clara and Tommy want to make it happen. But standing here, in a place so curated, so intentional, I can help but think how wrong it will look.
“I don’t know,” I admit, looking around at the rest of the yard. “Everything is so perfect out here. I don’t want to ruin it.”
Tommy gives me a look, eyebrow raised, clearly thinking I’m being dumb.
“You’re not ruining anything,” he scoffs, sticking his shovel into the ground to lean against it.
“You’d be adding to it. This place could use something that isn’t perfect for once.
Hell, I might start digging random holes. See how long it takes Clara to notice.”
I smile because he’s trying to be nice, and I love him for it. But he doesn’t get it. He couldn’t. That nothing in my life has ever truly felt like mine. That if I take up too much space, I ruin things.
It isn’t Clara’s fault.
But she worked hard for this. Made something beautiful back here.
“I think I changed my mind.”
Tommy stares at me, his foot braced on the shovel, stopping mid-dig. “You’re kidding.”
“Clara’s put so much effort into this place.” I gesture all around us. “It’s her pride and joy. I don’t want to go and make it ugly.”
“Come on, Di.”
I shake my head with a small apologetic smile. “I think I’ll start with some pots on the porch. See if I can actually keep anything alive first.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
He nods, but I can’t pull my gaze from the little hole of upturned grass. It was all for nothing.
Of course, my brother-in-law notices.
“I’ll fill this back in later,” he promises. “Clara won’t even know it was here.”
The hardware store has been around since before I was born. Even been kept in the same family. That brings me a little bit of comfort. Not everything has changed.
Although I wasn’t exactly a frequent visitor back then.
I’ve stared at a row of pots long enough for them all to blend together. Picking one up, setting it down, trying another, comparing sizes, even though I have no idea what would be the right fit.
I feel ridiculous.
But I focus hard and pretend to care about a stack of terracotta, trying very hard not to cry in an aisle of gardening supplies.
How is this my life?
A year ago, my youngest daughter didn’t live across the country, Scott was alive, and I was, for all intents and purposes, content.
Now, I feel untethered. Alone in the world, searching for anything to give me purpose.
And apparently, failing miserably.
It’s fine. It’s fine. Pots. Plants. Dirt. Simple.
A flicker of gray and red in my peripheral vision pulls my attention.
She’s down the aisle across from mine, examining the display of bigger gardening tools. Her hair is tied back, a red bandana bright against it, exactly like she used to wear…
That summer.
My brain conjures an image before I can stop it. Lily laughing, covered in dirt, hair tied up in the same way, sunburned freckled nose, and the way I never wanted to go a single day without seeing her smile.
My throat burns.
I know I should stay where I am. She made it clear that she didn’t want to reconnect, but my feet move against any rational thought.
It’s like some innate part of me has to be near her. That whatever pull she had on me back then didn’t go away with time, only laid dormant until now, when it’s reaching helplessly toward her again.
“Lily?”
Her entire body stiffens before she turns. Slowly.
Her eyes meet mine, and the shock that ripped through me earlier comes back instantly, accompanied by something else.
A massive helping of sadness.
She looks older around her eyes, but they’re still the same green no one could ever replicate.
Her skin has wrinkled, but the same freckles I would have spent years counting are in the same spots.
It’s still her, down to the way she looks like she’s holding herself together out of stubbornness alone.
But I never got to see her age. I never got to see the middle.
“Of course,” she mutters, clearly not feeling the same way. “Of course you’re here.”
“It’s the only hardware store in town, Lily.”
“Yeah. No shit.”
I move past her anger. “It’s good to see you again,” I try again, softer, in hopes that maybe she’ll soften too. “I— I didn’t get to tell you—”
She shoots me a glare so sharp my mouth snaps shut. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like we have anything to talk about.”
I blink, caught off guard again by the amount of hatred she evidently holds for me. “I wanted to… I’m sorry, Lily, I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you.”
She crosses her arms, the same way she always used to. “Still not my problem.”
Frustration attempts to flicker to life inside me. I missed her dearly, but she can be so frustrating sometimes. “You left too, Lily.”
Her jaw tightens.
For a brief moment, I think she might actually yell at me. And I welcome it. That would be something at least.
Instead, she exhales through her nose, and her hand tightens around her arm, the only reaction I’m going to get.
Silence stretches on as she stares intently at the items on the shelf. People push carts past the end of the aisle. A baby is crying at the front of the store.
I should probably go.
“So…” I say lamely, gesturing at the display. “Doing some yard work?”
She turns her head and stares at me with those narrowed eyes. “What does it look like?”
“Right. Yeah. Obviously.” My hand flutters uselessly in the air before I tuck it behind my back. “Just… trying to… you know.”
“I told you,” she says through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
I nod because I heard that, I did, but my mouth keeps betraying me.
“Do you need help?”
Her eyebrows shoot up incredulously.
“With… whatever you’re doing.”
“No. I don’t need anything from you.”
I can’t help it this time, I flinch at her tone. And even worse, tears begin to gather in my eyes. I don’t know what I did.
She notices. How could she not? Something flickers on her face then. I wouldn’t dare say regret. Perhaps anger that I would dare to care about her.
“I’m busy,” She says, reaching for a tool. “So if you’re done trying to make this into some grand reunion, go back to your life, Diana.”
What life is what I want to say, but I don’t.
She doesn’t look at me again, even when I nod. That hurts so much more than if she’d yelled. I stand there for too long, stupid and hopeful and heartbroken, before I take a step back. “Okay,” I whisper. “Have a good day, Lily.”
Clara pours me another glass of wine.
“She won’t even look at me,” I say, sinking deeper into the couch, complaining more than I want to, but this is awful. “Barely talks. And half of what she did say was mean.”
Tommy winces sympathetically, stretching his arm around Clara and pulling her close. “Yikes.”
Clara rubs my knee with her free hand. “I’m sorry, Di.”
“I don’t understand,” I continue, because if I stop talking, I might burst. “She left. She didn’t say goodbye. She didn’t call, she didn’t write. She came back and never told me. And somehow, I’m still the villain?”
“People don’t always behave logically when they’re hurt,” Clara tries, always playing devil’s advocate with Lily.
“I didn’t hurt her,” I insist, my frustration boiling over. “At least, not intentionally. The last time we saw each other, we were fine! Mom kicked her out, but that wasn’t anything unusual. Then she disappeared!”
Could Lily seriously be angry about that?
I’ve replayed our last interactions over and over in my head for my entire life, searching for why she left, but there’s no way.
She knew what my mother was like.
Tommy hums thoughtfully. “Sounds like she’s holding a grudge about something.”
Clara shoots him a look. “Not helpful.”
He shrugs. “I’m just sayin’, hon. Something had to have happened on her end. Still doesn’t mean Di deserves to get treated like crap.”
“I’ve been trying to fix things,” I murmur, staring down at the white wine in my glass. “But she keeps brushing me off. Like I’m… Like, I don’t matter to her anymore.” My voice cracks. I take another sip of wine to cover it.
“I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”
“Go to her house.”
Clara smacks Tommy’s chest. “Absolutely not.”
He laughs, catching her hand and kissing it. “Ow! What was that for? That’s good advice!”
“That is terrible advice,” Clara argues. “It’s stalker behavior.”
“It’s not stalker behavior if they know each other, Clare. They used to be best buds.” He points his beer bottle in my direction. “It’s proactive.”
“It’s intrusive.”
I watch them bicker like the old married couple that they are, not even bothering to hide the little smile ghosting my lips.
Tommy turns back to me, clearly having won this particular argument. “Look. Lily’s prickly these days. But I talked to her last week.”
I sit up straight to hear what he has to say, trying not to feel jealous that Lily talks to anyone but me.
“She asked how to get her mower working. And she was complaining about weeds. I told her to spray ‘em, but then she lectured me about chemicals.”
That sounds painfully accurate.
He shrugs. “Point is, she clearly doesn’t want to ask for help, but it seems like she needs it. If you showed up offering? I’d bet she wouldn’t slam the door in your face.”
Clara groans. “That is a horrible idea.”