One Lavender Ribbon

Will leaned on a fence, half-watching the lions, half watching Adrienne. One of the lions stretched, his powerful legs and shoulders growing tight beneath the yellow fur.

In two months it would be Pops’s birthday. He wanted to involve Adrienne in the plans he was making, but reluctance stopped him because she was as skittish as a wildcat, and he couldn’t bear for Pops to have any more rejection. Would Adrienne still be hanging around in two months? He hoped. But who knew?

“I think they’re amazing.” Adrienne’s fingers twined in the chain-link fence. “Did you know the females do the hunting?” She tipped her head to look at him, dark hair spilling over her shoulders and onto the spaghetti-strap tank top she wore.

“The females usually tend to have sharper claws.” He glanced down at her hands. “That’s true of most species.”

She gave him an evil look.

Why did he love to torment her so? He hadn’t done silly things like this since he was a kid. In fact, he couldn’t remember being this silly when he was a kid. Poor Will, always so serious. Lighten up, kiddo, his dad would say.

“There’s a lion pride in Africa that can take down an elephant,” Will said after they listened to a zookeeper rattle off lion facts. When the keeper produced several pieces of meat on the end of a long stick, Adrienne leaned away from the fence.

“They kill it?”

“Mm-hmm. It’s the only pride known to man that can kill a full-grown elephant.” He turned slightly to lean on the fence. “I heard about it when I was in Africa.”

“Did you go there to see your parents in Senegal?” She pivoted too, half-facing him, half-facing the enclosure. When one of the lions stood, she leaned back again, even though there was a double fence separating her from the cats.

He closed a protective arm around her waist. “They were in Tanzania back then. I visited one summer during college. We went on a safari.”

He watched as the idea played across her face. “This close to those animals with no fence. Sounds exciting, but yikes.”

“I loved it.”

“I bet it was hard to come home.”

He shook his head. “I was ready by the end of summer.” He didn’t want to venture into this conversation but needed to if he was going to ask for her help—which is what he’d decided to do somewhere around the time he’d slid his arm around her trim waist. “I figured they would move back home after Grandma died, but nope.” He couldn’t help the contempt in his voice.

“You don’t approve of them being there?” Adrienne’s fingertip ran along a jagged edge of the chain-link fence.

“I know it’s important work, don’t get me wrong.”

She moved that fingertip to his jaw and ran it from his earlobe to his chin. “Sounds like you’ve practiced saying that.”

He shrugged, or it might have been a shudder from the whisper-soft pad of her finger on his jaw. He wondered if her fingertip tasted like ice cream. “Well, just because I know it, doesn’t mean I believe it in my heart. Even though I know I should.”

“How long have they been there?”

“In Africa? Since my first year at college. They’ve served in several countries there. About eleven, twelve years now.”

“That’s a long time.” She took a thoughtful moment. “It’s got to be very rewarding.”

“I guess,” he mumbled. “They were supposed to be home in a couple months. Now they say they can’t. It’s Pops’s birthday . . . ”

“Oh,” Adrienne said, looking across the walkway where Pops and Sara sat on a park bench. “He must be crushed.”

Will’s eyes followed hers to the man who was, in all ways, his hero. Pops had one arm draped around Sara’s delicate shoulders. With the other hand he pointed to Sara’s beloved monkeys on the island adjacent to the lions. Will watched the couple laugh in delight as one of the gray and brown monkeys did a backward somersault from a tree branch. “Well, he’s too good of a man to let them know how upset he is.”

Adrienne’s mouth tipped into a bow-shaped frown. He wanted to kiss the frown away, taste those pouty lips. Instead, he concentrated on the anger he felt toward his father for not making more of an effort to get home. “Anyway, I want to have a party for Pops, and I was wondering if you would help me plan it.”

She gazed up at him, eyes sparkling. The bow became a smile, a heart-melting, mind-blowing, world-rocking smile. “I would love to. Can we tell Sara?”

“Sure, but I want it to be a surprise. Pops has never had a surprise party before.”

She tilted her head. “He must be so proud of you.” Adrienne placed her hand on his shoulder, letting her fingertips rest against his collarbone. She stretched up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I would love to help.”





Adrienne worked like a maniac to finish the baseboards in the upstairs hall. She still needed to sand and paint the ones downstairs, but the long corridor, with no furniture to buffer its emptiness, made these much more noticeable. She’d worked up a good sweat when the doorbell rang.

“I’m coming,” she hollered from the top of the steps. She’d invited Sammie over to see the lavender room and, well, to apologize for being a friend MIA.

Adrienne flung the door open and hugged her friend. “I’m so glad you came over. I thought you might be angry with me.”

Sammie frowned. “Why?”

“Well, I haven’t called you very often lately.”

Sammie waved a hand in front of her face and passed Adrienne on the way to the kitchen table. “Oh, please. I’m not one of those needy friends who get their feelings bruised if you don’t call and let me know you need to go to the bathroom.”

“Thanks.” Adrienne giggled and followed with, “I think.”

“I stopped by Saturday.”

“I was gone.”

“With Will, no doubt?”

Adrienne nodded.

“He’s becoming quite a habit.”

“I know,” Adrienne said. “I’m sorry . . . ”

“Stop that. Stop apologizing for having a life.” Sammie tilted her chin up. “That’s all you’re doing. So please don’t apologize for being human.”

Adrienne pressed her lips together.

Sammie’s hands went to her hips, cinching the waist of the brown and green dress she wore. “I’m surprised you think me so shallow.”

“I don’t.” Adrienne’s face dropped. “It’s just that I haven’t really had a close friend since college. When I tried to make connections in Chicago, it made Eric crazy. Sammie, I know we’ve only known each other for the few months I’ve been here, but . . . I think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. Am I pathetic?”

Sammie grinned. “No, Chicago. You were in an abusive relationship where your world had to orbit around Eric. He’s pathetic. You? You’re magnificent.”


Adrienne hugged her again, catching Sammie off guard.

An uncomfortable moment stretched out between them. “But I have to admit, it doesn’t say much for your taste in friends.”

Adrienne laughed.

Sammie, usually tough edged, slid an arm around Adrienne’s shoulder. “You’ve been a great friend too,” she admitted, jostling her a little. “Now, tell me all about Mr. Wonderful. We can look at the lavender room when we’re done.”

The two women sat at the kitchen table, which was cluttered with paint samples. Adrienne’s next project was the master bedroom. “I don’t know what to say about him.” Her finger traced an edge of a robin’s egg blue paint chip. “It’s all been something of a whirlwind.”

“But you care for him?”

Adrienne looked at Sammie. “I do.”

“But . . . ”

“At first, he was really suspicious of me. Somewhere along the way, I think that dissolved.” She held the paint chip out for Sammie to inspect; Sammie made a horrified face and tossed it into the trash can nearby.

“You think the suspicion dissolved?”

“He never wants to talk about the past.” She held up another, a soft butter cream. Sammie made a meh face.

“So he doesn’t like to talk about the past. Prison record?” Sammie teased.

Adrienne rolled her eyes. “No, nothing like that.”

Sammie shrugged. “For some people, it’s just easier to concentrate on the future. If they have issues, dwelling on the past retards their growth.” Sammie plucked a forest-green paint chip from the group and held it up. “This one.”

Adrienne took it, considering her bedroom in deep green. She preferred the shade of Will’s eyes. “He has major issues with his parents.”

“Honestly, Chicago, don’t you think most people do?” Sammie shrugged. “So, basically, you have a grown man who has issues with his parents and won’t deal with the past? This doesn’t really seem like cause for alarm.”

But Adrienne was somewhere else. Her mind was on her five-year marriage to a self-absorbed womanizer. She couldn’t fathom how it had taken her so long to see it. “Eric never spoke of the past. If it was painful, he just stuffed it away deep in his heart. The problem with that is, the heart still hurts. And that pain would come out. Lash out at whoever was in the way.”

Sammie studied her. “Do you think Will is like Eric?”

“I don’t know, but one thing I do know is that I will never be in a volatile relationship like that again. Never.” She laughed without humor. “You know, whenever I didn’t do exactly what he wanted, he would say, ‘Can’t you see how much trouble you’re causing?’?”

Sammie sat quietly, letting Adrienne vent her frustration.

Adrienne placed a hand to her heart. “How much trouble I’m causing.” She shook her head, eyes sad. “That’s what he said to me when I told him I wanted a divorce. Not ‘I love you. I made a mistake. I’m sorry, you’re the one I want . . . ’ No ‘Can’t you see how much trouble you’re causing?’?”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Sammie said. “From what you’ve told me, that doesn’t really sound like Will.”

Adrienne met her gaze. “I think it’s a little too early to tell.”

“So how are you going to find out?”

“Time, I guess.”

Sammie smiled. “He’s worth the investment?”

“I’m counting on it.”

Sammie reached over and squeezed her hand. “I think maybe he is. And by the way, when do I get to meet Mr. Hopefully Wonderful?”

Adrienne grinned. “I’m working on that.”

Was he Mr. Hopefully Wonderful? Adrienne wasn’t sure yet. But she had hopes.

Hope. One more thing William’s letters had taught her was about never ever giving up hope. So when Sammie left, Adrienne scrounged through the copied letters and found her new favorite.



January 1945

Dear Gracie,



Sometimes I fear I will forget your beautiful face or the sound of your voice. It seems so long since I’ve held you in my arms, so long since I’ve heard the sound of your words. At night, I close my eyes tight. I remember and relive every moment we’ve shared. Though my mind fails me, I have hope. It is the one force that I can depend on, the thing that doesn’t let me down.

How many ways can we count hope? It is every breath we breathe and every beat of our hearts. Hope is the flower that refuses to die off though winter’s chill lays claim. Hope is the rushing river, moving the earth and watering the banks. It is more than strength; it fills any vessel and it strengthens any fight. I won’t fall to despair, Grace. Hope keeps my feet moving. And though doubt tries to fill my mind, hope has taken me captive. I am its slave. And because I am, my soul is under obligation—hope blooms in me. I hope it is still blooming in you.



I love you,

William





Will drove to Sammie’s coffee shop, with the Florida wind surging through his car windows and rustling his hair. Until Adrienne, he’d always used the air conditioning in the car to stay cool, but after watching her soaking up the coast’s salty breeze, he had a new appreciation for it. The scent of orange groves drifted from the distance, and he knew the wind must be blowing in just the right direction to carry the citrus smell. It made his mouth water. Watching Adrienne sashay into the coffee shop while he parked his car made his mouth water more.

She introduced him to Sammie, and after a few minutes of friendly conversation, Sammie shooed them to a table nestled in the corner, where he could get her alone.

“What about a luau?” Adrienne suggested, flipping through a party magazine.

Will took a bite of turkey on wheat and considered the idea. “Yeah, Pops would love that. How do we do it?”

“Uh,” Adrienne’s eyes darted around the room. “We’ll need decorations, music, food. Oh, I went to a luau once and they used an old canoe as a buffet.”

He stared at her. “Wait, did you say a canoe as a buffet?”

A yellow pencil twirled around her finger. “You know. Fill the bottom with ice and set the trays of food on top. It looked really good.” Her eyes rolled. “If we can get a canoe.”

“I’ve got a kayak that’s no longer water worthy, would that work?”

Her palm rested against her cheek. “Maybe, I’d have to look at it.”

“It’s in my garage. Can you drop by later?” He liked this. The easy flow of conversation and planning and the fact that he could ask her to drop by later.

“Sure, but won’t Pops think it’s a little weird that we’re hanging out in the garage?”

He shrugged. “Nah, I’ll think of something to tell him. Besides, he’s been a little preoccupied.” This was all good. He decided to not worry about her skittishness. It seemed to be fading anyway. None of that at the zoo. Not even an inkling.

They both grinned. Will realized how nice it was having someone in his world, someone like her.

“He and Sara are on and off the phone all evening. After I got home last night, he called her twice.”

“It’s really so sweet, watching them.” Adrienne toyed with her lunch. She’d ordered a chicken salad sandwich but barely ate it. No wonder she stayed so tiny. The woman didn’t eat. Except cookie-dough ice cream. She’d devoured that like a gladiator.


Adrienne nibbled the croissant.

“And then she called him once.” His face scanned Adrienne’s. “It’s so good to see him happy. I was starting to worry about him.”

“What do you mean?” She took a sip of the vanilla Coke Sammie made for her.

“I don’t know, but it seemed like he was spending more and more time looking at those stupid photo albums and books from the war. I’m just glad he can finally close that chapter of his life.”

Adrienne tapped the edge of the table, eyes covered by caterpillar lashes. “It’s not a crime to want to remember your past.”

“Who would want to remember? It’s depressing and it’s gone. What good can come of bringing it up?” Of all the people in the world, she should understand. Hadn’t she just experienced years of pain in a bad marriage? Does she sit around and dwell on it all the time? Maybe that’s why she still seems sad. “People need to learn to let go,” he said aloud.

The nostrils on her dainty nose flared. Anger. This was anger. He’d never seen it on her before. “Those things shape who we are now. Good things and bad.”

She was even more gorgeous mad, with the gold flecks in her eyes turning to molten lava and stirring.

She leaned forward. “Are you even listening to me?”

Not really. He wasn’t interested in traveling down this path, so instead of answering, he ate a potato chip.

“You’re not listening to me.” She tilted her head and ran her slender hand through all that mink-dark hair. “What we learn from our mistakes makes us better people.”

“That’s probably easy to say for someone who lives in the past more than the present.” Uh-oh. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

The flick of her brows confirmed that his words stung. She pushed her food away. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “You spent a week reading my grandfather’s letters instead of working on your house. You apparently let everything around you go so you could stroll through someone else’s history.” He could see the fire, knew he’d said the wrong thing, but man, could this woman get his engine cranking.

“First of all, I didn’t just quit living so I could sit and read for a week straight.” She threw her hands up. “You really run hot and cold, you know that? And even if I had, so what? I can appreciate what Pops and those other men went through. That war shaped our world.”

Will swallowed.

She shook her head and leaned forward, capturing him. “Do you even know anything about your grandfather’s war experience?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but she forged on, anger fueling each word. “Do you know he was part of one of the most highly decorated units in the entire war? Did you know he spent weeks freezing in the woods at Bastogne? Did you know his company was involved in every major battle in Europe?” With the last sentence, she used her index finger to tap the table for emphasis. For a moment, she looked at him like she’d never really seen him before. “Do you even know your grandfather?” Or maybe like she’d seen him all along.

That was a stupid question and one she had no business asking. His anger flared to match hers. “Do you think you know him just because you read some letters?” He’d lived with Pops for nearly five years. Of course he knew him. He knew what kind of cereal he ate. What sports shows he liked to watch. He’d practically grown up at Pops’s house, spending every summer there. Pops had attended every one of Will’s baseball games. Junior high, high school, he was always there, on the top row, on his feet cheering Will on. When Will was small, every night at bedtime Pops had told him amazing stories about . . .

Blood drained from Will’s face. He had to look away as a sickening feeling roiled through his gut. Pops had told him amazing stories about soldiers in a land far away. Will searched his memory, mouth going dry. And Will loved them, loved every word, hung on every word. When had those stories ended? Did Will get too old to appreciate them? He tried desperately to remember even one detail but failed. Only faint shadows remained where there was once vivid life. It was like trying to capture sand in a screen that was being pounded by a steady rain.

For an instant, Will was reminded of the stack of books Pops had tripped on in his room. Will had moved them downstairs to the library. He remembered the deep sadness that had appeared across Pops’s face. But Pops had quickly blinked it away and joked about how much easier it would be to read them in the comfortable library. Will hadn’t paid attention to the titles. Frankly, he hadn’t cared about the old stack of books. History books. World War II books. Now he realized what they were. It was a history Pops himself helped write.

He shoved the sandwich away while Adrienne sat quietly as if her little outburst had shocked her as much as it shook him. Some kids stepped into the coffee shop, laughing and joking about seeing a shark at the beach, but he didn’t care. For five years he’d done everything in his power to make a good home for his grandfather.

Will drew a ragged breath and slumped against the chair. Though caring for Pops physically, he’d left Pops’s emotional well-being to starve. His eyes met hers slowly. She was right. He didn’t even know his grandfather.

Sure, he knew his favorite cereal, how he liked his eggs, what tennis shoes he preferred to buy, what kinds of birds he watched out his window. He knew that Pops wasn’t an easy man to stop, and if he wanted to take the boat out alone—even on dewy, hazy mornings—he did it. But he knew little to nothing about the man Pops had once been.

Will rubbed a hand over his face. “It caused him so much pain, I just thought he wanted to forget it.” His words slipped out quietly. Almost as an afterthought he added, “That’s what I would want.”

Adrienne exhaled. “Even though the past may be painful, it’s okay to remember it. That’s how we heal.”

Will wiped his mouth, tossed the napkin on his plate, and slid back his chair. “Adrienne, would you mind if we pick this up another day. I’m . . . I gotta go. I’m sorry.”

He started to step past her, but she caught his hand, her grasp firm. “Will,” she whispered, “It’s never too late to learn about someone we love.”

She’d read him like a book.

He swallowed. “I owe him that much, don’t I?”

She shook her head, sending shimmery lips into a fit of sparkles. “Don’t do it for him. Do it for yourself. You’re missing out.”

For an instant he wanted to pull her up into his arms. But one hug, one kiss, one press of his body to hers would only light a fire he couldn’t tend to right now. Instead, he rubbed his thumb over her clasped hand and lifted it to his lips. In the short time they’d known each other, she’d given him so much. Yes, sometimes her antics were risky. Some of the things she’d done could have backfired and had devastating consequences. But right now all he could feel was appreciation for her taking risks most people never would.

But a small, quiet voice in the back of his head warned that her lucky streak could eventually end.





It was after dinner when Will asked Pops if he had any war medals.

Pops nearly dropped the dish he was carrying to the sink. He turned to give Will his complete attention, watching the younger man a full minute before he spoke. “Yes.” It was a lonely word, filled with caution.


“Do you have many?” Will urged.

Pops’s shoulder tipped up in a tentative shrug. “My fair share, I suspect.”

Will nodded thoughtfully. From the kitchen table, where he sat, he could see the picture window in the living room. He watched as a pair of headlights moved past the house. “Could I see them sometime?”

A smile formed on Pops’s face. His eyes became alive. “Yes,” he said, voice quivering slightly. “I would love for you to see them.”

“I didn’t think you liked to talk about the war,” Will confessed. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve always tried to keep you from having to.”

Pops moved to the table and sat down. “The only reason I’ve kept so quiet about it is because it seems to bother you so. I just always thought maybe you didn’t approve of war, any kind of war, for any reason.” He shook his head. “So many young people don’t anymore.”

A flush of guilt fanned over Will.

Pops squared his shoulders. “But I don’t want to shove my past in a drawer and pretend it never happened. I’m proud of what I did. I’m proud of the country I served. I saw firsthand how far Hitler’s cruelty reached.” He got lost in the pain of that memory for a moment, then forged on. “Look around you. If we hadn’t entered the war when we did, who knows what our world might be like now. This world. Every day you enjoy the freedom I fought to protect. What greater honor than for a soldier to fight for his own family?” Tender blue eyes, now misty, studied his grandson. “I made a better world for you, Will. Why should I want to forget that?”

Will nodded. “It just seems so painful to you.”

“Closing up a wound that’s not ready will only poison the whole body. Wounds have to heal in their own time. They have to breathe.” His tone changed slightly. “Will, sometimes I think maybe you have a hard time dealing with painful things in your own life. Though hitting it head-on is never easy, you can’t shove everything in a briefcase and go on like it didn’t happen.”

Both men knew he was talking about Will’s parents. “I know.” Will tried to force a smile. “Wounds have to breathe.”

Pops patted his hand.

But even as Will agreed with him, he wasn’t sure he could ever let this one go. His parents had ditched him. Not once, but twice. They had chosen people they didn’t even know over their own family. That was unforgivable. Besides, if it was poisoning him, surely he’d know it.

Two hours later, after Pops had gone to bed, Will sat in his leather library chair, surrounded not only by the books he loved but by an entire world he’d never encountered. He reached across the desk and pulled the stack of letters toward him.