Season of the Dragonflies (11 page)

She opened the jar of spring water and used the dropper to add the ingredient to the musk pod grains. Hunched over the glass bowl, Mya watched each drop fall, and then she began to swirl the mixture together. Directly above Mya's head, a dark, watery substance formed like a gathering tornado. Lucia closed and opened her eyes just to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. But it was still there. The dark substance lengthened and expanded, and Lucia caught her breath as she watched what no one else in the room seemed to notice. Mya hugged their mother tightly again, and the darkness moved with her and hovered over them both for a moment. Then Mya let go and moved back to her table, and the darkness followed her. As she handled her materials, the ethereal substance grew larger and took the shape of a single stormy cloud floating just a foot above the crown of Mya's head. In a flash within the cloud, Lucia saw her sister's bloody face. Lucia felt her own face go pale.

She shook her head. The earthy, animalistic smell that invaded the room during the musk wash had to be the reason Lucia was going crazy. She felt certain she might faint if she stayed any longer. She said, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Are you okay?” Mya's brow furrowed.

“Fine,” Lucia said, continuing to stare at the bruised cloud bobbing above Mya's head. It looked like thunder and lightning would issue forth at any moment. Lucia's entire body went cold, like she'd learned a damning family secret kept thirty-three years too long.

“You sure?” Willow said. “You look a little peaked.” Lucia's face must've looked as drained as it felt. She stared at Mya, certain that if she walked toward her and reached out her hand she could insert it inside the cloud.

“I—I think I need to go outside,” Lucia stammered, bracing herself on the doorframe of the workshop. “Just out for a bit, to get some stuff.”

“Can you pick up sour cherries? Lots of them,” Mya said, and smiled, the cloud bobbing up and down. “I have a craving for cherry pie and I used all the ripe ones from our trees.”

Lucia nodded and tripped on the top step of the workshop stairs. She turned from the room and hurried out the back door of the cabin to their white truck, the keys already in the ignition, the engine running like it expected her. “What the hell?” Lucia leaned over the seat and took many deep breaths. She knew this feeling—it had happened on the Acorn Theater stage, and now she was experiencing the exact same panic attack for a very different reason. Lucia wanted that cloud to disappear; it made her feel so terrible, almost like she had the flu. She'd have to tell her sister about it and convince her, even though she had no proof and no history of visions. All she had was this burning, awful feeling.

Like spotting a cracked tree limb right before it fell.

Lucia hoped that by the time she came home, whatever hung over Mya's head would have vanished, and that the truck's being on was just a fluke. Maybe one of the land-maintenance workers had used it and forgot to shut it off. People did forgetful things like that sometimes, right? Her world couldn't shift so completely in an instant, could it?

W
ILLOW ADJUSTED THE
wide-brimmed hat on her head, and the scent of her family's flower on the wind drew her closer to the blooming fields. She so rarely took walks now that her knees ached, but she couldn't stay another moment longer in the cabin. The smell of Mya's unadulterated musk had brought back so many memories of her days of training in Paris alongside her sister, Iris, and their mother. She missed them more today than she had in a long time. She could practically hear her mother's disappointed voice, southern accent and all:
No direction?
No husbands? No babies? What are those daughters of yours doing?
Willow wasn't the least bit sure anymore. She'd done her part for the family business; she'd given birth to daughters and raised them by herself (minus the help she received from local women she'd loaned money to), and she couldn't keep thinking about the future of the business if neither of her daughters did the same.

Though Lucia had been away for so many years, Willow had at least hoped Lucia and Jonah would eventually send a granddaughter for Willow to train. The family business wasn't of interest to Lucia, but that didn't guarantee her daughter would feel the same way. Now both of Willow's daughters were single and in their thirties and no closer to a long-term relationship than Willow. Lucia reminded Willow of Iris—disconnected from the family business, working nine to five as a bank teller in Toledo, looking for a life she never found with a man she hardly loved, dying alone from a massive stroke without anyone finding her for days—all because she wanted nothing to do with the business. Willow worried Lucia would turn out the same way long after Willow left the world and had no power to help her.

She arrived at the top of the hill, where acres of
Gardenia potentiae
hedges stretched until the flowers at the farthest reaches looked like white dots of snow. She stopped and took an invigorating breath of the flower's scent, present only during these few weeks of the summer. A deep breath at this place always made Willow feel better.

But the scent was not as strong as she expected, and she lifted her hands into the air to feel for an east wind. The leaves on the surrounding trees did not move. She walked to the edge and the thick green foliage looked healthy, as did the blooms. Bending down to better smell the flowers, Willow touched a green bud, and it moved up and down as if it were nodding. Willow caressed it. The plants were blooming late this year. Perhaps that was all. She'd go in and call Robert over at the factory and make sure he knew.

Willow knelt down before the flowers and bowed her head, as if she needed to apologize to them for all that had happened. On the eve of retirement, Willow Lenore might have run the business into the ground. She'd be forever judged by this instead of by her strong history as president for thirty years without a glitch. Well, maybe one or two glitches. Too few ladybugs one year, if she remembered correctly. Or was it a white fungus? No need trying to recall what no longer mattered, a tenet she hadn't adhered to as a younger woman, but now she had no choice.

Willow decided to go to the pond down in the holler for a summer swim. She owned the pond, yet she rarely used it since the girls had grown up. Her bare feet crushed dandelions and wild onions as she descended the hill, and the air cooled as she came closer to the pond. In the pocket of her linen dress, her cell phone began to vibrate, and she stopped and debated whether she should check it. If only she could have ten minutes to herself. Was that so much to ask? But it could be Mya or Lucia or Jennifer Katz or, God forbid, Zoe Bennett. She lifted the device out of her pocket and James Stein's name scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

She smiled and let it ring for a minute, and by the time she was ready to answer she had missed the call. Willow didn't want to seem too available, so she placed her feet in the cool pond water and watched the minnows dance around in the algae murkiness she kicked up. Little nibbles on her toes and ankles tickled like a pedicure. Knee-deep in the water now and with her dress lifted, Willow tapped James's name on the screen.

After three rings he picked up, and his voice was smokier than she remembered. “I hoped you'd call back,” he said. It sounded like he was smiling.

Willow eased herself out of the water and stretched her bare legs on the grassy edge of the pond. “How are you?”

“Between meetings. You?”

“About to go for a swim in our pond.” Willow switched the phone to her other ear.

“It's hot here,” James said, and then he told someone in the background to wait. “Willow, you there?”

“I am. Is everything okay?”

“Just an assistant,” he said quickly. “So I'm calling because I'll be in DC next week and I was hoping I could come down and visit that pond of yours.”

Willow's heart began to pound. Was that an innuendo? He flustered her, but she didn't want him to notice. She covered the speaker, took a deep breath, and then said, “I think that should be fine. It's harvest time, just so you know.”

“I'll stay out of the way, I promise.”

Willow laughed aloud and let a granddaddy longlegs spider walk across her palm. She said, “About Zoe.”

“Bad transition,” James said.

Willow laughed again. He had a knack for making her happy. “I just thought you'd want to know that I approved a new formula for her. She'll land sexier kinds of roles.”

“She's okay with that?”

“It's what she desires.”

“Good news then, right?”

“I think so.”

“I can't wait to see you again.”

“Me too.”

“I'll send you my flight information soon. All I need is your address.”

“I'll have my assistant e-mail you whatever you need,” Willow said. “Should I arrange a car to pick you up?”

“No need. I'll take care of everything.”

“Good.”

“And, Willow?”

“Yes?” She pursed her lips in anticipation.

“I love your hair, always have,” James said.

“Thank you,” she said, and shifted her hair so it draped over one shoulder.

“But I need to go now, something's come up,” he said.

“See you soon,” Willow said, and then the line went silent.

Willow ran her hand over the back of her head and ended the call. She placed her phone on a bed of clover and stood up, removing her dress and standing completely naked before the pond. If only James could see her now. She dove headfirst into the warm water and remained under the surface, testing how long she could hold her breath . . . Fifteen seconds . . . Thirty-three seconds . . . Forty-two seconds . . . She opened her eyes and it looked as though she were suspended in diluted ink. Sixty-two . . . Seventy-one seconds . . . Willow didn't want to die alone . . . Eighty-three seconds . . . Her breath gave out, and she stood up, drew in air, and peeled back the hair from her eyes. She climbed to the edge of the pond and rested there.

Clients and the factory and the flowers had always come first and her love life last. Her last relationship—how long ago had that been? Ten years? Eleven? It had become too hard to keep track of the years. She'd broken off her relationship with the governor of Virginia right before he was elected. Lenore Incorporated would have received too much scrutiny with Paul's advancing position. He couldn't understand her decision:
But imagine how your cosmetics business will grow, Willow.
That was the last thing Paul said to her, and she had to admit, it wasn't very romantic. Mya couldn't stand him. At least he'd been a very good governor. Eventually he'd married a Pilates instructor.

Willow had accepted that her love life had officially ended and she couldn't rely on the occasional business-trip fling to satisfy her like she had when she was a younger woman focused on running the business and raising her girls. Back then she'd refused to complicate her life by introducing someone to the family unit. Willow never revealed her business to any of her lovers, and she'd resigned herself to never finding a partner who understood her. Not even the girls' father knew. But Willow's mother had hand-selected James Stein for her, and all these years later he'd come calling again.

Willow wanted more, and she knew she could jeopardize her chance with James Stein if she remained as busy as she'd always been. She was starting to realize she just didn't have it in her anymore. Being forgetful did not serve a president well. But how would she ever give up her position? Her mother had only passed on the title to Willow when she was on her deathbed, and now Willow would be forced to give it up when her body was perfectly healthy, though her mind was not. Mya had found a solution to their Zoe problem, and now that Lucia was home, she could announce the next president of Lenore Incorporated and begin the transition process.

And who knew? Maybe this would be enough to convince her daughters to settle down. Perhaps Mya and Luke had a future together after all, one that Willow had underestimated. She couldn't give the business over to Lucia, since Lucia had long ago rejected the possibility, but Willow had always hoped her younger daughter would come home to witness Willow's decision. Lucia was here now and the time had come.

M
YA CLEANED UP
the workshop and locked the door to that room, then went to the bathroom, washed her face, and brushed her hair and tied it back into a bun. Her cell phone chimed just as she finished brushing her teeth. Luke texted,
C U shortly
. She closed her eyes and shook her head at what she was about to do. Had he finally won his public date with Mya? Surely that's how he'd see it, but it wasn't a date, not even close. If the tea store hadn't called about an inventory emergency, she wouldn't have needed him, but Lucia had one of the trucks and the other work vehicles were nowhere in sight. The crew must have been using them up at the fields to prepare for harvest. And Willow had the SUV. Anyhow, no matter her excuse, she'd called him, he was on the way, and there would be no convincing him this wasn't a real date.

Mya decided to wait out on the porch until Luke drove up, and she settled down on the steps and crossed her legs. From around the corner of the house, her beloved Little Spots came racing like she was being chased, her eyes wide with fear. Mya reached out her hand and said, “Easy there, what's the matter?” Mya went to the end of the porch and brought back deer corn for Spots, but the fawn refused to eat it. “Are you ill?” Mya said, and rubbed her little head. Spots backed away from Mya like she was the problem, and then she bolted away from her and back toward the tree line. Mya stood and followed the fawn's path around the cabin. She had just cleared the side of the house when she found two dead wrens beneath the willow tree. She didn't linger there; rather she raced back to the porch and checked the nesting wrens on the front door. She shook the eucalyptus bunch and two birds shot out from either side. Mya closed her eyes in relief but still felt sorrow for those other birds and wondered how they'd managed to die together. Had they killed each other?