After a long afternoon nap that faded into the night, Dahlia lay there staring at the ceiling. The moon was bright, lending just enough light to the room. She tossed and turned, feeling the sheets stick to her tacky skin. The clock read 12:38. Her eyes moved to the tassel that hung on her lamp. She rolled onto her back again and thought about the last entry she read. She heard Harry moan on the floor. “You’re having a tough time too, bud?”
Suddenly, her feet hit the floor. She threw on her sweatshirt and ran to the backyard. She needed to see what else was buried.She hit the spotlights inside the barn door, illuminating Lil’s raised garden beds.
Dahlia funneled her way under Lil’s roses as carefully as possible but came up empty-handed. Her hands and legs were marred in dirt. None of this made sense, so why should digging in the dark be any less crazy? Her eyes burned, but she kept going. One tin can was all she needed to find, and then she could call it a night. She was so close, yet so far.
The more she dug, the more she ruminated about Lil and Gene and how bad she felt about accusing Gran. It was all coming to a head. She couldn’t get rid of the heaviness and the ache that felt like death, no matter how hard she tried.
As she dug her way to the back of her grandmother’s rose garden, Dahlia finally hit metal. “Hallelujah!” she let out a whisper-yell as her eyes wandered to Noah’s place. It was still dark. She was glad he wasn’t home to see this. He might think she’d lost her marbles. But he would also think it was pretty freaking cool.
With her hands, she scooped out the soil. It began to rain, but she couldn’t stop; she was too close. The tin can was lodged between the roots. She jabbed it with the shovel and pulled it with all her might. The large droplets cooled her sweaty body. It was cathartic, as if the rain were washing away the secrets. It felt poignant. Dahlia yanked it one last time and fell on her butt. She sat there in the rain, feeling Lil with her. With the can pressed to her swift-beating chest, she whispered at the dark sky. “No more secrets, Lil. It’s time to set them free.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
July 23
Dahlia’s cheek stuck to the worn gingham fabric as she pried her eyes open. Her head was still wedged in the nook of the wingback, and Lil’s barn was a mess. Shovels lay scattered across the floor, and dirt was caked on her beautiful diamond-painted floor. That reminded Dahlia that she still needed to fix that chipped board. The details were still fuzzy, but slowly coming back into view like binoculars that required adjusting. She held her head, feeling like she’d just weathered the worst emotional hurricane of her life.
She didn’t want to get up, but she knew she couldn’t hide inside their shared structure forever. At some point, Noah would come back, and she’d have to face him sooner or later. Heck, they were bound to run into each other, if nothing else, in the very spot where she hid.
Twenty-four hours earlier, she was angry and gutted, looking for answers, but now, just a day later, she felt peace. Like the calm after the storm. The sun illuminated the tiny dust particles in the air,lending a sense of magic. It was like a rebirth of sorts. She sat up, noticing the cozy cover draped over most of her body. She didn’t recall having a blanket the night before. In fact, she remembered being cold before she dozed off here. So then, where did it come from?
She lifted the chunky knit blanket off her legs and scanned the paintings that hung in numerical order. “I will find a way to honor you, Lil. If it’s the last thing I do,” she whispered to the walls as if they could hear her. Dahlia wanted to shout from the rooftops that Lil was her grandmother. If she could drive through town with a megaphone, she would. Her smile grew as she pulled out the hand-drawn birthday card from the tin that sat beside her. There was a single red rose painted on watercolor paper. It was something you would see in a vintage botanical book that you stumbled upon at a flea market. In beautiful calligraphy, it readsix. Her fingers grazed the surface, feeling the bumpy texture under her skin.
Dahlia looked out the window, feeling puffy all over. Despite going through the tin the night before, it still seemed new, like a toy at Christmas. She had to keep playing with it to make sure it was real. She didn’t want to fall apart again. If there was any hope of making it to Gretchen’s opening, she would have to keep it together—at least until after it was over.
She glanced over at Lil’s art one last time, rubbing her lips. A mix of emotions had hijacked her since the day in the attic, and she was still navigating her way through the complicated and layered maze of shock and grief. Her gaze landed on a vase of red roses. She looked at the card, then back at the painting, doing a double take. They were the same. Removing herself from her cozy sheath. Dahlia pulled the canvas from the wall and peeked inside the frame. Sure enough, it readsixbelow Lil’s signature. “They’re the same.” Her voice lightened.
Dahlia lowered herself to the ottoman, feeling as if she’d just solved the biggest riddle of her life. Rose’s birthdays! Sothatwaswhy they were all numbered. She recalled Lil’s mention in her journals to Gene that she’d started painting again. She eyed the kaleidoscope of color, feeling a little woozy. She knew she needed coffee and a carb, but she couldn’t peel herself away just yet. “That’s how you stayed so positive through your art. This was your life of color, the way to see past the black-and-white circumstances of your life,” Dahlia mumbled to the walls.
She heard tiny footsteps and opened her eyes. “And where have you been?” she asked, feeling Harry’s shiny black coat. “And you’re wet. Great.”
Harry barked like he was trying to tell her something, but she kept going with her visit to the past. Dahlia pulled out the rest of the objects from the time capsule, feeling a little stronger and taller than she had the day before. In a plastic bag was her mother’s fragile report card from 1961. A smeared note from the music teacher saying how well she sang at the talent show and that she was a born entertainer. There was also her class picture, which featured a missing front tooth, a few spare marbles, a hair ribbon, and an actual tooth, which was a little creepy, despite Dahlia’s infatuation with detective shows. Harry sniffed the pieces like a sleuth and then went to lie down. She read the card one last time.
Dear Rose,
You turned six today. I planted another rose bush this year, Rosa McComb, to honor you. You are my pride and joy. I love watching you grow and learn. Your mind is like a sponge, and you continue to amaze me every day. The things you say blow my mind and make me laugh. You are a conscientious student, love people, and, best of all, you are happy. And that’s all a mother could hope for. Right now, you are into space and science. You are reading on a third-grade level; I think you get that from your dad. You recently found an old copy ofThe Secret Gardenin the attic, and that’s all you talk about.Which is very apropos considering you have your own. I know every parent thinks their child is exceptional, but you truly are my Rose Bud. The sky is the limit for you. I can’t wait to see what life has in store for you.
All my love,
Mom
No matter how many times she read it, she couldn’t believe the irony of the secret garden and how her heart still ached for her mother and Lil. That part of being an orphan never really goes away. When good things, bad things, funny things, or just mediocre things happen, you have no one to share them with. She wiped her eyes and stared down at the card still in her palm.
Dahlia got up, feeling the wrath of the late-night shoveling in her ribs. Every muscle in the fingers, arms, and back hurt. Ten more days of this and then … Dahlia stared into space and exhaled. How on earth could she leave now? But could she stay? With every passing day, it became clearer that she wanted to. Not for Noah but for herself. For the first time, she was putting her wants above everyone else. And it felt pretty good.
Her eyes wandered to the curtain dividing her area from Noah’s. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to look since his birthday. Her mind ping-ponged withShould I look? No, it will make me miss him even more. But I already do. It can’t get any worse.Dahlia’s feet decided for her, slowly shuffling in that direction. The dusty curtain hung like it always did, separating the spaces. Bravely, she pulled it back and let out a mouse-sized sneeze.
The area was neat, considering he had been building in there for the last few months. His tools were tidy, and there was a picture of him and Gretchen thumbtacked to the wall next to the workbench. Underneath that was a torn-out magazine page. It said,Your Only Limit Is You. It was a reminder of the kind of guy he was. He was one of the good ones. His plaid flannel hung on the hook next to his scuffed goggles. She reached for the shirt, feeling the soft cotton graze her palm. Dahlia brought it to her cheek and held it there. There was a lingering scent from his musk. She inhaled it, wanting nothing more than to feel him sneak up behind her and tell her it was all a big mistake. Only it wasn’t. She’d been wrong, and he had every right to never want to speak to her again. A single tear tracked down her cheek.
“What am I doing? I’m a grown woman,” she mumbled, hanging the shirt back on the hook. She had things to do and a day to get on with. Gretchen’s opening being one of them. Sure, she hadn’t anticipated losing an aunt and gaining a grandmother, and losing a grandmother and gaining an aunt, in a matter of twenty-four hours when she said she’d go, but a commitment was a commitment.
Dahlia meandered toward the house with Harry by her side. Her pulse slowed as she stood motionless in front of the rose garden, which now looked like an excavation site. It was yet another thing she had to fix, regardless of her fate. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the carving tucked at the bottom of the wood rail behind the bench. “RIO,” she whispered. Dahlia bent down closer with wide eyes. The last piece of the puzzle had been solved.Rose Ingrid Obermann.She looked up at the sky and let out a sigh of relief. “Of course.”
It all made sense now. All Dahlia could do was smile. She was fresh out of tears. In her heart, she knew it was time to set the secret and Lil free. It was the only way forward.
Harry whimpered by the steps, so she continued back up to the house. The back door was open, and the smell of freshly brewed java flooded the air. The percolator was plugged in, and there wasa note. Winged creatures took flight in her belly. There weren’t many people who would do this. In fact, there was only one.
She opened the folder paper. It simply said,
