Precious and Fragile Things (31 page)

“S
ee, Arwen. Roses don't like to get their feet wet. Just a little bit of water.” Gilly handed her daughter the watering can and looked up at the warm spring sunshine.

“I like red roses,” Gandy said matter-of-factly.

No more baby words for him. He spoke in full sentences now and no longer needed a blankie. Arwen had shot up two inches and a dress size. Sometimes Gilly looked at the two of them and couldn't believe how much they'd changed.

Baby Tyler in the sling across her chest let out a small, muffled wail and Gilly reached to unbutton the flap of her nursing shirt so he could reach her breast. The tingle of her milk letting down had started at the first whimper and her youngest son latched on, sucking hard while she cupped the back of his tiny head. Gilly, sitting on a blanket in the sunshine with her children beside her, surveyed the yard where last year only dandelions had grown.

She'd planted roses.

Red roses, all of them, different varieties and shades but every one of them red. She'd worked hard in the garden, digging and turning the soil, making raised beds in the places where it was too boggy and moist for roses to thrive. She'd spent hours on her efforts and would see no results until they bloomed, but that was all right. She could wait.

“Mama?”

“Yes, baby.” She smoothed Arwen's hair back from her forehead.

“I missed you.”

Gilly shifted Tyler so she could pull Arwen into her lap. She didn't have to ask when. Arwen had had more trouble with what had happened last year than Gandy. She still woke from nightmares, sometimes. Gilly cradled her daughter close, even when the baby let out a “meep” of protest before getting back to the business of nursing.

“I know you did, baby. But Mama's here now.”

“And you won't go away again, right?”

“No.”

Gandy, who'd taken the watering can to fill it from the spigot, was having trouble with it now. His sturdy legs weren't as chubby as they'd been last year. He'd stretched up. He set the can down and furrowed his brow to give it a hard stare before picking it up again. Water sloshed as he struggled, but he finally got it back to the bush they'd last planted.

“Good job, Gandy.” Gilly waved at her son. “Come here. Mama needs a squeeze.”

All three of them crowded onto her lap and Gilly held them as close as she could. She breathed them. These, her children, whom she loved so dearly.

“That man won't ever come back, will he?” Arwen insisted.

“No.”

“Because he's dead,” Gandy offered.

There would always be pieces of the story Gilly wouldn't tell anyone, ever, about those three months. Nobody had ever questioned what she'd said about how Todd had held her against her will, or that he'd died by his own hand. She thought he'd forgive her that.

She hadn't given her children all the details, though she knew some day they might ask. “Yes. His name was Todd. And he died.”

Gandy struggled to his feet, eager to be off and away. Arwen snuggled closer for a moment, plucking at the sling and petting the top of her baby brother's head. Gilly's thighs cramped but she held her daughter tight.

“Do you miss him, Mama?” Arwen asked, looking into Gilly's face. “Do you ever miss that man?”

Gilly stroked her hand down Arwen's hair. She looked out across the roses, bare now but promising beauty. She watched her son running and felt her infant taking nourishment from her body. She looked into her daughter's eyes.

The crunch of tires on the driveway made them both look up. A familiar gray Volvo was pulling into the garage, Arwen already tumbling off Gilly's lap in her eagerness.

“It's Daddy! I'm going to give him what I made in school!” Arwen cried, and ran, her brother following.

Gilly got to her feet and watched her husband gather their children into his arms for hugs and kisses. He lifted Gandy upside down, sending the boy into fits of giggles, then bent to take the linked necklace of paper rings Arwen had made in first grade. Seth lifted his hand to her, waving, his grin familiar and beloved and just for her.

“Yes,” Gilly murmured with only the roses as witness. “Sometimes, I do.”

And then she went to her husband, whom she greeted with kisses, and together with their children they went inside. This was her family. Precious and fragile and beloved.

This was the life she'd made, and she'd never again lose sight of what it meant.

As always, I could write without music, but I'm ever so grateful I don't have to. Much appreciation goes to the following artists, whose songs made up the playlist for this book. Please support their music through legal sources.

 

“Give It Away”—Quincy Coleman

“Take Me Home”—Lisbeth Scott and Nathan Barr

“Everything”—Lifehouse

“This Woman's Work”—Kate Bush

“You've Been Loved”—Joseph Arthur

“Iris”—Goo Goo Dolls

“Look After You”—The Fray

“The End”—The Doors

“One Last Breath”—Creed

“A Home for You”—Kaitlin Hopkins, Deven May

“Over My Head”—Christopher Dallman

 

And a special thanks to Jason Manns, whose version of “Hallelujah” wasn't there when I started this book but was there all through the end.