Undertow (24 page)

Azaleas arrived close on wisteria’s heels, and though I’d heard gardeners and extension workers argue against planting too many azaleas, since the flowers only lasted a few weeks, it was hard to agree with them when confronted with a mass of hot magenta faces pulsing their colors in my direction.

Some people opted for white azaleas, and it was stunning to see a fist of white blossoms so pure and glowing against the dark green backdrop. I preferred the pinks. If only because who would believe such a bold color could come from an otherwise plain-looking bush.

Azaleas didn’t have a scent, but I held them to my cheek thinking there must be something more I was missing. The dark, intense center of the blossom extended out to a lighter shade of the same color, and the soft petals were freckled like a child’s nose. I tried to find some way to impart this wisdom to my art. To follow the natural flow of dark intensity out to light in my use of color and my understanding of it. If my vision was blurred, and all I could see was the continuation of color, I would still know where the heart lay and where the arms extended outward.

Hydrangeas came next, and I had to admit, they were my favorite flower. The giant clusters of pink, purple, and blue blooms grew in bunches as large as my face, and Miss Stella’s garden was stocked with layers of the jagged-leafed plant. They were her favorite, too, because she liked experimenting with the composition of the soil to see what colors she could create from year to year.

One year she managed to get a creamy pink bloom, and we were both overjoyed. It was the most delicate color I’d ever seen—pure off-white at the base that gradually grew out to faint pink tips at the ends of the petals. Again, I was amazed at the ability of nature to produce something so gorgeous. It was a miracle.

The sisters at Little Flower would say nature was the perpetual evidence of God’s power and his love for us. I could hear them say it demonstrated the breadth of his range, that he could create something as complex and destructive as a human being, yet also something as life-giving and beautiful as a flower. Walking through the garden on that day, I decided I agreed with their philosophy.

The blooming trees Miss Stella kept were red buds, dogwoods, and Japanese magnolias, and the scent of magnolia was like nothing you could ever forget. Heavy and sweet like antique perfume. I leaned against an arbor braided with wisteria vines and dripping with purple clusters and let the healing power of all this beauty touch my broken heart.

Miss Stella died last night.

She kissed me goodnight, went to bed, and that was the end.

Her last day on Earth.

I knew something was wrong when I awoke to the smell of nothing.

No coffee, no warm buttery toast in the oven. It was frightening to creep out of my bed and cross the hall to her room. I saw the large shape of her lying still in the massive pineapple bed that she used a step-stool to climb into each evening. I couldn’t go to her, though. I had to call our old friend Chuck Wilson, who was on the police force now to see if I was right and she was gone.

After he told me, I felt my entire body go numb. I collapsed onto the couch as tears fell onto my cheeks, but I took a deep breath and held on long enough to answer his questions. After everyone left, I walked outside, all over her beautiful grounds as the tears flowed unstoppable from my eyes to my cheeks, down my neck. This was my home, where I grew up, and as the memories flooded back, I leaned against the wooden trellis, closing my eyes to feel the soft petals and smell the warm perfumes that wafted on the sea breeze.

Spring had been our favorite time of year, and I had so many memories of Miss Stella joyfully planting and harvesting the flowers in her garden.

As bad as it sounded, I was glad Miss Stella was in a far more beautiful place. I would miss her forever, but I was relieved she’d never know what I’d done. She was always so good to me. She always encouraged me to make the right decisions.

I had really let her down this time.

May 21, 19--

The funeral mass was held at Our Lady of the Gulf and many local residents came to pay their respects. Gigi, Meg, and Bill sat with me on the front row, and I had chosen a long black veil in anticipation of their presence. I kept my eyes down, away from him, through the prayers and communion and the Stations of the Cross.

Meg met me at the limousine that was to drive us to the burial site. Miss Stella would be laid to rest on her family’s land an hour north of here in Lake Pinette. Meg held Lucy, and Bill stood a few feet behind her, hands in his pockets, also looking down. It was the first time I’d seen him since the night I told him I was pregnant. He was handsome as always, but I wouldn’t allow my eyes to meet his.

“Oh, Lexy. I want to ride with you,” Meg said. “But I’ve got the babies.”

“It’s okay,” my voice was quiet, “I understand.”

“What if Billy rides with you?”

My body tensed. “No,” I answered too quickly.

Bill stepped forward to take my little namesake from her mother’s arms. As he walked away, I watched him kiss her baby head, and I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to reconsider. Alone in the car, he could hold me and make this pain go away. I shook my head. I had no right to that kind of comfort.

Gigi stepped forward. “I’ll watch the children if you’d like to go, Margaret.”

“That’s okay,” I interrupted. “If you don’t mind, I’d really just like some time alone.”

“I want you to call me the minute you get back,” Meg said, reaching forward to squeeze my hand. I nodded and climbed into the large black vehicle for the long ride north.

Miss Stella was the last of an old southern family that owned a plantation just north of Lake Pinette, and the property was adorned with beautiful live oak trees and dilapidated structures. At her gravesite, I left a bouquet of fresh flowers I had taken from our garden back home. Eventually, it was time to say goodbye, and I went back to the limo for the long drive south.

When I returned that night, Gigi was there to meet me. “Are you okay, Alexandra?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded, not meeting her eyes.

“I wanted to meet you when you got back and be sure you had something to eat.” She showed me a casserole dish covered in foil.

“Thanks,” I nodded. “I’m not really hungry. I think I’ll just go to bed.”

Meg’s mother leaned against the kitchen counter, looking down at her pumps. “I’m sure Stella left you this house in her will. She loved you so much. She always said she didn’t want to leave you homeless.”

Fresh tears filled my eyes. “She was too good to me.”

“You were like her own daughter.”

“I can’t live here without her,” I blinked up at Gigi. “Do you think it would be wrong of me to sell it and just get something smaller further in?”

“I think you should rest and then decide what you want to do. You’ve had a lot on your mind today.” She walked over and pulled me to her. “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision. You’ve always done the right thing.”

I nodded. She had no idea how wrong she was. “I’m so tired. If you don’t mind, I’ll just go to bed now.”

She left, and I slowly climbed the stairs to change and lie down. After showering, I went to Miss Stella’s armoire and pulled out one of her long, white nightgowns. It was way too big, but it smelled of her, which was just what I wanted. I climbed into her huge bed and curled into a ball as tears spilled over my eyes.

“Oh, Miss Stella,” I whispered. “I still need you here. I need you to help me. I’m so lost and alone.”

As I lay there in silence listening to the sounds of crickets and katydids, I noticed another sound, tires on the gravel drive and a door opening and closing.

I climbed out of the tall bed and went to the window to look out. Bill was standing beside his truck in the moonlight. Without hesitation, I ran down the stairs and out the front door to where he was.

“Why are you here?” I asked, breathless.

“I don’t know.” He stood there looking at me, dressed in jeans and a white tee, his hair blowing in the constant ocean breeze. “I was just driving, and I kept going until… I’m sorry, I know you said to stay away.”

I rushed forward into his arms, and instantly he was holding me close. He hugged me tightly as I pressed my cheek to his chest, listening to his heart beating fast, breathing in his warm scent. I couldn’t move for the longest time, until I felt his lips on the top of my head. Then I lifted my chin, and he kissed me softly, just pressing his mouth gently to mine and smoothing my hair back from my face. My body flooded with comfort.

I tucked my head against his chest again, and we stayed that way for several minutes. Just me in his arms feeling his strength. He inhaled deeply at the top of my head, and I closed my eyes, wondering how long I could hold him and pretend nothing bad could ever happen, that everything would work out and we would all be happy.

Finally, reluctantly, I lifted my head and stepped back. “I’m sorry.” My voice was thick, so I cleared it. “Thank you for coming. I… I needed that.”

“Wait…”

I shook my head. “You should go.”

He looked down, and I turned to walk back to the house. But he caught my arm and pulled me to him finding my mouth again and kissing me, this time with passion and need. Our mouths opened, and in that moment my arms were around his neck. I was kissing him back because I needed him, too. I loved him.

Then I remembered.

I pushed against his arms, but he was stronger than me. He wouldn’t let me go. “Don’t,” he said, his voice breaking.

Pain twisted in my chest as tears rushed to my eyes, but I pushed harder. “Bill, stop.”

He immediately released me, and I stepped back, pulling the sleeve of the too-large gown back onto my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, seeming dazed. “Did I hurt you?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s just… I feel like I’m going crazy.” He pushed both hands into his hair. “And I hurt all the time. I need to be with you, Lex.” He stepped toward me again, but I put my hand out, keeping us apart.

It was exactly how I felt, and I knew if I touched him again, I’d be taking him inside. “You’ve got to go home.” My voice broke on the words. “And you can’t come back like this again.”

He nodded and turned to the truck. I barely heard him say, “I know.”

I turned slowly, aching, all the way back to the house as he started the engine behind me and drove away. I walked through the huge, empty living room, making it as far as the stairs before I collapsed on them and wept.

July 24, 19--

Time is passing, and my body is expanding and changing.

Now when I sit out on the shore with my eyes closed breathing in the salty air, I’m also listening, waiting, feeling for some indication little Julian is experiencing it with me.

Meg is right. His name is like the ocean, soothing and calm. Maybe I’m ashamed of how he came to be, but I can never be ashamed of him. I can’t wait to see him, and these final months can’t pass quickly enough.

Not seeing Bill during my pregnancy has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. But I’ve carefully, oh so carefully, avoided any signs of him. I never go past his office, and if there’s a book or magazine containing his picture, I don’t look at it.

Other than that one night after the funeral, I’ve done a thorough job of separating myself from him. I’ve had to. Something happened to me that day on the boat, and I can’t shake it. My eyes were opened, and I now see that I love him all the way to my core.

But he belongs to Meg.

Still, I’ve never felt this way in my life, like my body is independent from my brain, and it only wants one thing: Bill Kyser. Some nights I lie on my bed and see his eyes. I pull the pillow over my head, and I can hear his voice. I get up and walk around the room, and I can taste his skin.

Everything inside me hurts, and I want to cry out and scream and throw things. Anything to distract myself, to make this longing for him stop. I’d give anything to be able to drive to where he is and pretend I’ve never known Meg or anything about her and just be with him, wrap my body around his. Love him until the pain goes away.

But I can never do that. I’ve already done enough.

Our business arrangement now is that I’ll stay. I’m still on the team, but I only meet with Bryant and I never see Bill.

Bryant and Donna were married a few years back, and Donna is expecting their first child as well. She and I are at about the same point in our pregnancies. We’re all starting our families. Just in time for the ship to come in.

I made sure Bill was out of the office the day of Donna’s shower so I could give her my gift, a painting of their future home in Springdale. Bryant had chosen to build a large home on several acres between Fairview and the ocean instead of the exclusivity of Hammond Island, and I admired his preference.

Not that I judged Bill and Meg for their choices. Meg was made for the trappings of wealth, and this whole development plan had been motivated by Bill’s desire to be the most prominent man in South County. They were right where they’d always wanted to be.

When I was in the office, Bryant asked me to attend the huge ribbon-cutting event to celebrate the grand opening of Phoenician I. They were moving all our offices to the penthouse of that massive concrete structure directly on the Gulf, and Bryant wanted me at the ribbon-cutting to take pictures as head of design and marketing. Their dream had come true.