“She enjoys working in watercolors and oil paints. It’s all mumbo jumbo to me, but she has a knack for it.”
“I think your artistic bent has rubbed off on her, just in a different medium.” Russell’s landscaping efforts are a work of art in a way only flowers can achieve.
“Well, she’s sitting on the porch, staring out at a jasmine plant in the middle of a field. Do you know who owns that?” I’m hesitant to offer the truth, unsure where he’s heading with his comment. I didn’t give much thought to its placement. I wanted nothing more than for it to be front and center through the kitchen window.
“As a matter of fact, I own it.”
“Did you plant that there?”
“I did.” Should I share the magical vision that greeted me yesterday? “I have plans to turn it into an expansive English cottage garden. Arbors. Walkways. Flowers of all shapes, sizes, and textures.” I can’t hold it back. Lost in a dreamy state, I let excitement spill from me unfiltered.
“It sounds amazing. I should help you. I do have a bit of experience in that area.” I smile, realizing his offer is only hypothetical. He has a critical business meeting first thing in the morning. “Lizzie looks up to you. You know that, right? Even though we don’t spend a lot of time together, she knows how strong you are.” He leans forward, resting elbows on his knees and tenting fingers over his mouth. “Can I use your phone?” I nod, pointing to the kitchen, still lost in this new feeling of unfamiliar strength.
I get up, make my way outside, and peek around the corner at Lizzie on the side porch. She’s curled up in the rocking chair, with legs tucked beneath her and a palette of watercolors beside her. I glimpse the spiral-bound sketchbook in her lap. She has turned an overgrown field of weeds into a beautiful work of art. With my jasmine as the centerpiece.
“That’s absolutely exquisite.”
She looks toward me, tucks long strands of hair behind her ears, and smiles. “You have to say that. You’re family.”
“Perhaps, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Your dad is right. You have quite a knack for this stuff.”
She returns her focus to the field, eyes moving back and forth between her subject and the sketchbook. Just like someone else I now know. She dips her brush in the red mixture. I watch it transform into a soft pink hue as it seeps into the paper fibers. “It is nice to see something different. There’s only so many ways to paint a bowl of oranges.”
“Why don’t you try painting some new things?”
She wriggles her legs and repositions them beneath her. “Dad’s been busy with work. So it’s been tough to find the time to, you know, get out and stuff.” My heart breaks a little for her. To have a dream, to recognize exactly what you want, and not be able to chase it. I’m all too familiar with that feeling.
“Maybe your Aunt Claire can show you a thing or two around town?” Russell arrives on the side porch, surprising both of us. “I’d love to see that bridge done in oil paints on a canvas.”
“Dad. I didn’t know you were there. That’s not what I meant . . .” It’s impossible for her to disguise the guilt and disappointment in her voice.
“It’s okay, pumpkin.” His tone evokes empathy embedded in an unspoken apology.
“Dad, pumpkins are fat . . . and orange.” Leave it to teenagers. They discover ways to refute the most tenderhearted show of parental emotion.
“Well, they still remind me of my little Cinderella.” He smiles, and the hint of a grin grows on Lizzie’s face, even if she doesn’t allow him to see it.
“I’m not so little anymore.” She returns to her painting while Russell and I share a knowing smirk.
Lizzie is growing up so fast. And she’s got a gift. “Well, if there’s one thing that’s certainly not little, it’s your talent.”
“Speaking of underutilized skills, do you have a shovel around these parts? I’m itching for some sacred time in the dirt.” My brother flexes his fingers as a writer would before picking up a pen and paper. He’s preparing to tell a story in his own unique way.
I glance at the sun. It has moved more than a few hours across the afternoon sky. “You have to leave in less than thirty minutes.”
“Make that twenty-four hours and thirty minutes. I pushed my meeting back.”
“But . . .” Does he feel obliged to stay? Did I cause that? It’s not the message I wanted to send, and I certainly don’t want him to risk losing the contract.
“It’s okay. I owe you, and as it turns out, the day after tomorrow works better for my potential client.” A mirror image of Lizzie’s infectious smile appears on my brother’s face. Now I see where she gets it from. “So, who’s up for a little time in Mother Nature’s sandbox with me?”
PRELIMINARY GRUNT WORK in the late-afternoon sun was surprisingly enjoyable. We cleared a large part of my newfound floral bed and prepped it for new plants. Staring at the ceiling while lying in bed, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. Russell’s offer was so thoughtful, putting his professional opportunity at risk for me. My dreams wander as I drift in and out of a peaceful sleep. I stroll along that cobblestone pathway in the garden. Bees buzz from colorful phlox to the tall foxglove, spreading seeds of love.
AWAKE EARLY THE NEXT morning, I am eager for the feel of more soil beneath my fingernails. After a visit to a nursery in the neighboring town and hours of work, my vision is turning into reality.
Covered in dirt and joyful smiles, we’re now gathered around the kitchen table. Russell helped with things I never would have thought worthy of consideration. He planned for the proper spacing and an occasional spot of shade. And he helped place each plant to ensure it got the ideal amount of sun exposure.
His advice, my vision, and Lizzie’s determination mixed to create something amazing. It’s even better than my original idea. I pour three drinks and glance out the kitchen window. The wider vista is a visual evolution, spreading left and right from my jasmine in the center.
AFTER A QUICK SHOWER and a change of clothes, Russell is packed and ready to go. He’s said his good-byes to Lizzie and is standing at the front door, smiling. It’s a different smile from when he first arrived. It’s fuller and more genuine, coming from a deep well of happiness.
“Thank you. You have no idea how much your visit means to me. I only wish it could be longer.” There are no words to express my gratitude for all he’s said and done in the short span of a single day. It sounds like hyperbole, but my life has shifted. Again.
“Depending upon how things go, maybe I’ll have more time to spend with you and Lizzie on the way back through town.” He winks at me, but there’s still a hint of nervousness in his eyes.
“Good luck, even though I know you won’t need it. If you want any references, have them call me. I’ll send them a picture of what you accomplished out there, and you’ll be a shoo-in for the position.” I gesture toward the beginnings of my garden.
“No offense, but I’m not sure a recommendation from my little sister will help much.”
“None taken, but I don’t think I’m so little anymore.” I am finally growing up.
Russell pushes open the screen door and places his suitcase outside. He pauses, looks deep into my eyes, and embraces me in an enveloping hug. It’s bigger and fuller than any we’ve shared before. When he pulls back, I notice moisture in the corner of his eye. “Love you, Claire Bear.”
