Forget-Her-Nots (9 page)

“Hey, Laurel,” he said hesitantly. He crossed to her side of the sidewalk. His straight hair was pulled into a ponytail, but some of the strands had fallen out, framing his face. “How’s it going?”

“Okay. But why are you here?” She had to calm down. She still felt tight and angry—exactly how she didn’t want to be with Justin.

“We had a special speaker for Latin, and this was the only time she could come.”

“Oh.” Laurel suddenly realized she had no idea what Rose had told Justin after she ditched movie night or if he even knew about her mom. She took a step closer. “I’m really sorry I—uh—disappeared the other night.”

“No problem. You didn’t miss much.”

She couldn’t agree. “Is there a movie at Willowlawn this week? Maybe Rose and I could come over.”

“Probably,” Justin said. “But the track team’s leaving at five
A
.
M
. Saturday morning for an away meet, so I’d have to skip it.”

“Oh.” She looked down at his sneakers, which were black with black laces. Across the quad a bus horn
beeped three times. Why can’t
anything
go my way? she thought.

Justin took a step sideways. “I’ve got to make that bus or I’ll miss bio lab. See you around?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Frowning, she watched him dodge clumps of girls as he jogged to the circle. Does he just feel sorry for me? she wondered.

There was a pop quiz on top of every desk in her world history class, and several girls looked stricken. Laurel was sick of pretending to care about civilizations dead for thousands of years. The only history she really wanted to know about was the flower language and how it was woven into her mother’s life. That wasn’t on anyone’s syllabus, and there was only one person on campus who knew anything about it.

After classes Laurel waited until the last girl had left Ms. Suarez’s room before she slipped inside. Leafy plants sat on a shelf built along the length of the windowsill. “Ms. Suarez?”

The teacher looked up from her grade book. “Laurel, hi. How are you?” She closed the book and glanced at her watch.

Laurel turned to make sure they were alone. “May I talk to you?”

“Sure, but I just have a minute. I need to copy something for a meeting.”

Laurel slid into a desk, and Ms. Suarez sat nearby, crossing her boots under a crinkly velvet skirt. “What’s up?” the teacher asked.

Laurel picked the easy question first. “You know those azaleas on the way back from the soccer fields?”

Ms. Suarez nodded. “Avondale’s azaleas are spectacular, aren’t they?”

“The flowers smell fruity, but I thought azaleas didn’t have a scent.”

“Most don’t,” said Ms. Suarez. “Modern breeders tend to emphasize the size and color of the bloom, but wild, native azaleas will smell delightful.”

Laurel concentrated on the next question that beat in her mind.

Ms. Suarez stood up and grabbed a packet of papers. “The same is true of petunias. Modern varieties have had the scent bred out of them, except for the purple ones. For some unknown reason purple petunias have held their fragrance. Now I—”

“One more thing.” Laurel stood in her path. “Someone left a bouquet with three flowers outside my door in March. Do you know anything about that?”

Ms. Suarez smiled. “You found me out.”

Laurel’s face flushed with a mixture of relief and embarrassment. She felt stupid to have held on to the hope of some mysterious guy for so long. “Why did you do it?”

“Your mom was my friend, and I thought you could use a boost.”

“But why didn’t you sign your name?”

Ms. Suarez shrugged. “You didn’t know me then. Besides, everyone loves a little mystery in her life, right?” She lightly touched Laurel’s shoulder. “We’ll talk soon.”

“I still want to see
inside
the conservatory,” Laurel said petulantly.

“Come by any time.” Ms. Suarez called as her heels clicked down the hallway.

At soccer practice Laurel ran hard and took out her frustrations on the ball, but on the way to dinner her energy began to ebb. Then nagging doubts sneaked in as her mind replayed the scene at the diner. It had felt so good, so cleansing, to say every single thought that had popped into her head, however mean. But she couldn’t believe she’d actually screamed at her dad in front of all those people. She felt all twisted up and wrung out. Nobody seemed to have room for her in his or her life, not her dad or Grandma, not Justin or Ms. Suarez.

Even though it was still light outside, Laurel undressed and pulled a threadbare nightgown over her head. It was tight across her chest—she never wore it in the hallway—but it was one of the last things her mom
had bought for her. She curled up in her mom’s chair and pulled an afghan across her lap.

Laurel’s memories were a mix of good and bad, light and dark. She had no idea how to dispel the darkness and summon the light. Tonight she needed to remember something—anything—to tell her what her mom wanted her to do. She twisted some myrtle—which also meant “pleasing reminiscences”—around a stem of rosemary.

Dear Lord, Laurel began as she rubbed the leaves, thank you for my blessings. Please—She stopped. What she truly wanted was impossible. She lifted the plants to her nose and whispered her words.

As she closed her eyes, her chest ached to be held against the emptiness widening inside. Sometimes she could barely remember what her mom looked like or how her mom’s hand felt sifting through her hair. Now Laurel felt herself drifting on the scents . . . spinning . . . and her mom’s face was . . . 

leaning close to kiss her tingling cheek
.
Her mom’s fingers were warm as they closed around Laurel’s hand, pulling her from the chair.

Up . . . up, and they were flying into the moonless night beneath a luminous lace of stars. Below them flower buds glowed like colored Christmas lights. A hillside of forsythia branches shone in tufts of yellow fluorescence. Her mom grasped her other hand, and
they twirled around and around, their feet dancing above the golden blooms. Her mom began to laugh, and her laughter was like bells ringing: peals of resonant silver. Laurel threw her head back to spin faster and faster.

But her mom stopped and pulled her away. They were sweeping through the sky again but faster now, and her mom seemed intent on some distant matter. Emptiness streamed through Laurel like ice water, and she shivered. In one smooth and gentle gesture her mom pulled her close, so that warmth flowed from her body. They halted midair above rows of gray buildings and slowly descended into daytime. Not buildings—tombstones. Laurel tried to twist away, to go back to the dance, but two faces fixed her attention.

Grandma and Ms. Suarez stood above an open grave, holding buckets that brimmed with flowers. When one spoke, the other threw a bloom onto the casket.

“Amaranth for immortality,” Grandma said in a voice worn brittle by grief. Ms. Suarez threw a rust-colored bloom. “Flowering reed for confidence in heaven to come.”

“Zinnia for thoughts of absent friends.”

The voices continued the litany, but Laurel’s eyes were drawn to a flash of light behind them. The brightness coalesced into a shimmering column, a lovely, ethereal being whose colors shifted like light from a prism. More of these creatures appeared and surrounded the grave. Her mom reached for her hand, and together they wove in and out of this circle of radiance. The creatures sang, and their song sparkled over Laurel like sunlight on water.

One being extended something to Laurel as she passed, and she reached for the flower. Fiery energy exploded up her arm, but she couldn’t let go. She held a rose, a perfect rose that shimmered all colors. Laurel could feel its pulse, its power seeping into her, synchronizing with the rhythms of her body.

“What is it?” she asked her mom, who was becoming sparkly, too . . . pearl-like . . . peaceful. She kissed Laurel’s cheek, and her image wavered . . . .

“No!” Laurel screamed. “Come back! Please!”

There was an awful noise, and her eyes blinked open. Someone was banging on her wall, on Tara’s side, and she sat up. The fingers of her hand were tightly bent, as if still clutching the flower the angel—Were they really angels?—had given her.

Laurel shivered, and a seam in the nightgown ripped. She closed her eyes and tried to imprint an image into her memory—the image of the two of them dancing above the forsythia. Her mom had loved to dance. Every year Laurel could remember, they’d danced barefoot in their garden on the vernal equinox. It was the first day of spring when the sun hung directly over the equator, and the hours of light and the hours of night were nearly equal. After that equinox the light lengthened, and the northern hemisphere bloomed.

Even when winter was reluctant to loosen its grip,
their bare feet would melt dark footprints as Laurel and her mom danced on a thin layer of white frost. Around and around their footprints circled, but they never felt the cold through their laughter.

But the vernal equinox had already passed this year.

Next year, Mom, Laurel promised. I’ll dance for both of us.

L
aurel
couldn’t believe Grandma had burned her garden, that such an Eden was now ashes. One night she called and let the phone ring forty-two times before hanging up. She sent an e-mail to the only address she had, but it bounced back. Still, Grandma had written a letter to Avondale, so she wasn’t completely beyond reach. Lying on her bed, Laurel stared into a coral flower she’d cut from the bush near the front circle.

Bright cut flowers, leaves
—the words tumbled into her mind, and she grinned. In her dream Grandma had thrown flowers on the grave and knew the language. Laurel hadn’t found the name of this coral flower yet, but pansies were still blooming. She ran outside, picked
a perfect one, and glued it to a piece of stationery. Just under the petals she wrote:

Please, God, make her answer, Laurel prayed as she dropped the note in the campus mailbox on her way to Saturday brunch later that day.

“Hey.” Kate ran down the library stairs toward Laurel. “Have you eaten yet?”

Laurel shook her head. “What are you doing in the library so early?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Extra-credit project. I hadn’t done the reading for that pop quiz, but I did ace that huge test. Your rosemary was awesome.”

“Really?” said Laurel.

“For sure. I felt all confident,” said Kate. “I always study, but then I second-guess myself and change
my answers all around. Can I have some more?”

“Rosemary? Sure.” They walked into the dining hall together.

“Hey, what’s up with Spinster Spenser?” Kate grabbed a tray and piled on some food. “I haven’t seen that professor around.”

“I don’t know.” Laurel’s eyes found Miss Spenser at the faculty table reading the paper alone. Was it time for another tussie? “Let’s go find out.” They carried their trays to her.

“Hi, Miss Spenser. May we join you?” Laurel asked.

The teacher smiled. “Of course. Quite a few teachers are away.”

“So, how are you?” asked Kate.

“Just fine.” Miss Spenser folded her paper. “But if I know you two, you’re up to something. Honestly, girls, you’re like a couple of matchmakers.”

Laurel and Kate grinned at each other.

“So you’re having fun?” asked Laurel.

Miss Spenser couldn’t keep her lips straight. “It’s written all over my face, isn’t it?”

“He liked my red tulips?” asked Laurel.

“Oh, yes!” said Miss Spenser. “I’ve never encountered tulips with such a marvelous scent.”

Laurel felt a thrill of triumph. “I’ll find you more for your next date.”

Miss Spenser dabbed her lips with a napkin. “That’s very kind but not necessary.”

Yes, it is, Laurel thought. She wanted her teacher to find love almost as much as she wanted it for herself.

“The professor’s a busy man, you know.” Their teacher’s face seemed to droop a little. “He had to go back to Richmond unexpectedly to take care of some business and isn’t sure when he’ll return.”

“But he’ll be back?” Laurel had seen the flash of doubt Miss Spenser was trying to suppress.

“He
has
to come back,” said Kate. “Then Laurel will give you tons of flowers.”

“Exactly,” Laurel said. “Your life should be full of ‘bright blossoms and sweet scents.’”

Miss Spenser’s coffee mug stopped halfway to her lips. “‘Bright blossoms and sweet scents,’” she repeated. “That’s what Gladys’s plaque says.”

Kate tilted her head. “What plaque?”

“It’s outside the conservatory,” Laurel explained. She turned to Miss Spenser. “You knew Gladys and Edmund?”

Miss Spenser frowned at her. “I’m not
that
ancient.”

“I didn’t mean—” Laurel began, but Miss Spenser waved away her apology.

“Gladys was my great-grandmother, and Edmund was her husband,” said Miss Spenser. “I’m very proud of her,
because she was quite the feminist for her day. She’s the one who insisted they build a girls’ school along with Willowlawn.”

“What about the conservatory?” Laurel asked. “Was that her idea, too?”

“Possibly. If I remember the family lore, that was Edmund’s gift to her,” Miss Spenser said. “Her family—she came from England—had marvelous gardens and a renowned conservatory. He tried to recreate that for her here.”

“Cool,” said Kate.

“Laurel, you should speak to Ms. Suarez about this,” added Miss Spenser. “One of her ancestors was involved with Gladys’s conservatory. He had something to do with our orchid collection.”

“Orchids?” An image of the lady slipper in the woods flashed into Laurel’s mind.
Stay away from orchids,
Ms. Suarez had said. At least for now.

“What about orchids?” Tara knelt on the bench next to Kate, and Nicole slid next to Laurel, who now felt surrounded.

“Avondale’s orchids,” said Miss Spenser, glancing at her watch. “When it was first built, our conservatory was renowned for its collection. However, I have an appointment to make. See you soon, girls.” She picked up her tray and left.

Tara took a blueberry muffin from Kate’s tray and broke off a piece.

“Hey,” said Kate. “I’m starvin’.”

“Like always,” said Tara. “What were you all talking about? You never sit here.”

Laurel spoke before Kate could. “Avondale’s history. I find it fascinating, don’t you? Miss Spenser was just telling us—”

“This place sucks.” Tara threw down the muffin and stood up. “You coming?”

Kate shook her head. “I’m still eatin’.”

“Later, ladies,” said Nicole as she trailed Tara.

“You gonna eat that biscuit?” Kate reached toward Laurel’s tray.

“It’s all yours.” Laurel’s mind puzzled through this new information about the conservatory.

Kate broke the biscuit in two and poured honey on half. “Gladys is the ghost.”

“What?”

“That ghost in the conservatorium. Everyone calls her Gladys.”

“After the founder?” Laurel frowned. “You really believe there’s a ghost? Have you ever been inside?”

Kate nodded as she chewed. “Ms. Suarez took us there to study some plants, but it was during the day. I wouldn’t go into that spooky place at night.” She
exaggerated her shiver so Laurel had to smile.

They finished eating and headed outside. Tara and Nicole were sitting on a bench farther down the quad, so they cut diagonally across the grass.

“Tara knows something’s up,” Kate whispered.

“We can’t let her find out about Miss Spenser’s flowers,” Laurel insisted.

“She hates being left out,” said Kate. “And she’ll find out. She always does.”

“Not this time,” Laurel said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

“But she might be able to help,” said Kate. “She knows a ton.”

“She’ll try to take over,” snapped Laurel. “She’s critical of everything I ever do.”

“Wait a sec.” Kate stopped and skipped a circle on the green. “I’m brilliant.”

“What?”

“The professor’s
got
to come back on May first. Everybody from Willowlawn comes here for May Day.”

Laurel nodded, catching Kate’s enthusiasm. She’d forgotten about May Day. “But he’s new, right? He might not know about it.”

“Miss Spenser could call him,” Kate suggested.

“We have to make sure he finds out. Do they send out invitations?”

“The alumni office might. Want me to go by tomorrow and see?”

“Perfect,” said Laurel. She was already wondering if Miss Spenser would prefer a tussie in her hand or flowers for her hair.

“Hey, um, can you make a tuzzy-muzzy for me, too?” said Kate.

“Tussie-mussie. You really want one?” said Laurel.

“Duh. Almost everybody will have flowers,” said Kate. “It’s not like I understand what’s goin’ on, but I might as well have
your
flowers.”

Laurel nodded thoughtfully. “It could be like an experiment.”

“How?”

“To see whether
my
flowers are really different from everyone else’s.”

As May Day approached, Laurel looked for ways to rekindle the professor’s feelings. Miss Spenser seemed almost depressed in class, and Laurel couldn’t bear the finality of her loneliness. She headed to the conservatory whenever she could but kept missing Ms. Suarez. She couldn’t help feeling that the building held an answer to something—for her or Miss Spenser—if she could get inside.

Laurel had just stepped out from the cedars after
another futile attempt when someone called her name, and she cringed. She wanted a flower in her hands—a talisman against Tara and her mind games, but nothing was within reach.

“I
need
to talk to you,” Tara said. “Now.”

“I’ve got practice soon,” Laurel protested.

“Just a few minutes of your precious time,” Tara said sarcastically. “Nicole says you’re making more of those bouquets.”

Laurel’s mouth tightened for the lie she was about to tell.

“And I saw all those red tulips you gave someone,” said Tara.

“So?”

“So, I want some, too,” said Tara, taking a step closer. “You know that guy Everett?”

“Yeah?”

Tara twisted strands of her long hair around her fingers. “I’ve decided I like him, but whenever I go to Willowlawn, he’s totally surrounded. I need something to get his attention. Prom’s coming up, and he really liked that fuzzy-wuzzy thing.”

“It’s called a tussie-mussie, and he was making fun of me. Just call him.”

“He never answers, but I
know
he has a thing for flowers. Remember, he grabbed that tulip from me at movie night?”

Laurel refused to agree. “Look, I’m really busy. Soccer takes up a ton of time.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know about that, would I?” Tara crossed her arms. “Maybe I’ll make a tuzzy thing myself. Nicole told me about that book in the tower. How hard can it be?”

Panic ripped through Laurel’s chest. What if it’s not just me? she thought. What if anyone who says my words can do it? She hadn’t seen those exact words in the antique book, but she wouldn’t be surprised if they were there. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it,” she said.

“Yes!” said Tara. “So, can I get it soon? Everett’s got a rugby match I’m going to.”

Laurel hesitated. “It’s not that easy—”

“It
is
that easy,” said Tara. “Just give me one like Spinster Spenser’s.”

“But some of those flowers aren’t blooming anymore, and I had to order some online. There’s no—”

Tara waved both of her hands. “Way too much info. Just make sure I get it by May Day, okay?” Her long hair swung out from her hips as she walked away.

Laurel walked to a nearby tree and laid her forehead against its bark.