And I’m left with Sylvia to bring up the rear.
Ask.
I reach out and touch her hand briefly, just the way Sierra touched me. She glances over her shoulder, her expression curious.
“Can we talk for a minute?” I ask and she glances after the pair of them.
“I don’t want to miss the tour.”
“Later then. Before we head back to town. I’d like to ask you something.”
She studies me for a moment, then the corner of her mouth lifts in a smile. “Okay,” she says softly, then pivots to follow Rupert and Sierra. In the last minute, she reaches back and takes my hand, a move that makes my heart leap. “You’d better keep up,” she says. “People will think you know it all already.”
I close my hand around hers.
It used to be so easy with Sylvia.
Maybe it could be so again.
12
SYLVIA
Idon’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t Mike answering all of Sierra’s questions. I know my daughter has enough curiosity to exhaust even the most patient of individuals, but evidently not Mike.
Or maybe not yet.
I don’t remember him being much of a talker. He still takes his time making a reply, considering the possibilities before he speaks. I still love the sound of his voice.
It’s clear that he loves what he does. His enthusiasm for his work can’t be disguised.
He was surprised that I stopped drawing and that makes my heart glow. He couldn’t have realized how important his gift would be to me, how an abundance of art supplies could urge me to reclaim something I’d surrendered.
I didn’t expect this smaller farm as our destination, or the delighted (and delightful) older gentleman who came to greet us. I sure wasn’t expecting to see the man – Rupert – give Mike an impulsive hug or to feel my eyes fill with tears when Mike grinsoutright at Sierra.
I didn’t expect to feel like we could be a family on an outing, like we belonged together exactly like this.
I didn’t expect it to feel right, not ever, and certainly not immediately.
But I do and some weight slides from my shoulders. This feels easy and instead of analyzing that, I just go with it. They say no one is an island, but I’ve been a fortress for a long time. It’s not all bad to have someone else on watch. When I’m with Mike, I feel as if everything will work out just fine. Maybe he’s so convinced of it that his view is contagious. I don’t know, but it feels good.
Safe.
I hold onto Mike’s hand, liking the warmth of his fingers around mine, liking the way his forearm brushes against me. When he glances down, there’s a glow in his eyes that makes my heart flutter. I feel attractive and young, and it’s not all bad.
It’s when we enter the greenhouse that I start to see things, really see things the way I used to. It begins with the sunlight, slanting through the shades in alternating bands. I notice Rupert’s hands, his arthritic knuckles and the protruding veins, the hands of a man who has worked hard all of his life, his fingers tanned and spotted and lean, and I wish I’d brought a sketchbook.
I see the way the tomato plants twine around each other, how the leaves are unfurled and reaching for the sunlight, how delicate the flowers are. How did I forget tolooklike this? How did I forget to bring a sketchbook? I’ll never go anywhere without one again.
Why am I suddenly able to see again? Is it because Sierra is busy with Rupert? Because Mike is watching over all of us? Because I don’t have to be everything for everyone in this moment and can take a little time for myself? I don’t know and, in a way, it doesn’t matter.
This moment, this afternoon, is a gift, and I’m taking it.
“But why not just grow tomatoes outside?” Sierra demands and Rupert gestures to Mike.
“We used to,” Mike cedes. “When I was a kid, our crops were all outside.”
“Why change?”
