One Lavender Ribbon

“Are we staying for the fireworks?” Adrienne asked excitedly. She and Sara had returned with lemonade slushies, and now the four of them were making their way to the bandstand where the Air Force band was warming up.

Will claimed a drink. “If Pops and Sara feel like it.”

They sat down. Adrienne grinned and chewed the end of her straw.

“What’s on your mind?” Will asked, noticing how the cold of the slushie had made her lips red and a little swollen. Slushies rocked.

“Nothing.” She blinked innocently. “Just a little surprise for Pops later.”

Will eyed her suspiciously. The man on the bandstand began to speak, and Will’s attention left Adrienne and her icy-hot mouth. He drank the tart lemonade as the man talked about patriotism and America.

Minutes into his monologue, the announcer took out a list. “We have several guests here today who we would like to recognize now.” He talked about a young man who had just returned from Afghanistan, a high-ranking Air Force colonel, but it was the next name that drew Will’s attention.

“Today, we have a member of the acclaimed 101st Airborne that was active in World War II. William Bryant was a paratrooper involved in each major battle during the campaign in Europe, including Normandy and Bastogne. William Bryant, please stand.”

For a moment, Pops just sat still, like he was unsure whether it was his name he’d heard. But Sara on one side and Adrienne on the other were tugging at his arm for him to rise. Pops stood, and as he did, a roar in the crowd echoed around them.

Mouth agape, he glanced around as, all over the stadium, people were clapping and cheering. They began to stand with him. Pops slowly raised a hand to them in stunned appreciation. It was a full two minutes before the crowd began to sit back down, their roar fading slowly. Unable to speak, Pops sat as well.

And Will watched him. He’d seen the color drain from Pops’s cheeks as he was commanded to stand. He’d watched as Pops placed a hand over his heart, trying to swallow back the emotion at being singled out. This wasn’t Pops’s style. And he was an old man.

Will’s anger began a slow burn deep in his gut. He kept a close eye on him later as they walked to the car.

The night air swirled, carrying the scent of hot dogs and funnel cakes. Will pressed the button on his car keys, and the headlights flashed on, one row out. The gentlemen helped the ladies into the vehicle, and Will stored Adrienne’s purchases in the trunk. He moved to the driver’s-side door. Once out of the artificial light, and with Adrienne and Sara tucked safely inside the car, Pops slumped against the trunk.

Will rushed back to him. “What’s wrong?”

Pops sucked in a ragged breath. “I was doing fine until the bandstand.” Tender blue eyes studied the younger man. “I’m sorry, Will. I try to be so strong.”

Will forced down a lump in his throat.

Pops’s head dropped, fingers lacing together in embarrassment. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

It was useless. It was too late. Will could see how delicate his grandfather really was. “When he called my name, it was just too much for me to handle.” A choked sob followed, and Will took a firmer grip on his grandfather, shoring him up.

What was appropriate contact between two men quickly fell by the wayside as Will unlaced Pops fingers and held the older man in his arms. Another choked sob was accompanied by two more, as strong, able shoulders rose and fell under the weight of grief. Then, as quickly as the tears had come, they were gone.

Pops took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his face. “Grown-up bawl baby,” he mumbled, pressing the cloth to his cheeks.

“No,” Will assured. “Bravest man I know.”

Though both women had witnessed the embrace, neither was quick to talk about it. When Pops began to cry, Sara reached over to Adrienne in the backseat and took her hand. The four of them drove back to Naples in silence.

Will helped Sara from the car while Adrienne searched for her house keys. Sara had given Pops a peck on the cheek and was already at the front door.

Sure both of the older people were out of earshot, Will turned on Adrienne. “Why did you do that?” he hissed.

Shocked, she abandoned her search, frowning until she realized he was talking about the bandstand. “I passed a table where they were asking about veterans. I told them about Pops. It was to honor him.”


Will threw an angry glance toward the car. “He nearly broke down. You need to start using some better judgment in your decisions. The day was hard enough on Pops. You seem to forget he’s over eighty years old.”

Adrienne glanced toward the car. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Well, please try to next time.” He walked back to the car while she slowly walked up to the house.

Back in the vehicle, Pops stared at him. “You and Adrienne have a tiff?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said, backing out and wishing the leather smell of his car could erase the floral scent of her that still hung in the air. Once on the main road, he turned the radio on.

Soft music filled the car, relieving the silence. With a finger, Pops traced the stitching of the leather seat. “Listen, Will, I want to apologize.”

Will’s eyes left the road. “For what?” Bonita Springs disappeared around them, bathed only in the artificial light of the streetlamps and brightened storefronts.

Pops kept his gaze strictly focused on the seat. “For earlier. I should explain.”

“No, Pops,” Will said tenderly. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I want to.” The resolve in Pops’s tone stopped any argument.

One quick glance, and Will knew he needed to say this.

“Coming home from the war is like your birthday and Christmas all rolled up in one.” Lips framed with wrinkles pressed together. “At least that’s what I thought. I’d heard stories about entire towns shutting down and having a parade to welcome a soldier home.”

Will smiled at him.

Pops brushed his hands on his pants. “Call it romanticizing, but I just expected . . . ” They turned onto a side road. With no moonlight outside, their conversation was illuminated only by the unnatural glow of the dashboard. “Look, when I got home, there was no one there to greet me. No one.”

Will’s heart sank into his stomach, and he was glad the dash light was faint. He’d hate for Pops to see the horror on his face.

Pops swallowed. “Tonight I feel like I got the homecoming I missed back then.” He looked over at his grandson. “That may sound silly to you, but it’s how I feel.”

Will couldn’t breathe. His lungs were denying his body oxygen. He wondered if he would ever learn to keep his mouth shut. “That’s why you reacted to it?”

Pops smiled. “You mean my crying fit at the back of the car?”

“I would hardly call it a crying fit.”

Pops patted the seat. “Whatever you would call it. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day. Thank you, Will. For making all this happen.”

Will couldn’t take the credit for the bandstand. He could, however, take the blame for once again accusing Adrienne when he should be thanking her. He ran a hand through his hair, stiffening at the thought of having to apologize. Again.

Pops noticed his demeanor. “Don’t worry. If you messed things up with Adrienne, I’m sure she’ll give you a chance to fix it.”

Will smiled over at him and said wryly, “How do you know I’m the one that messed up?”

“You’re the man. We’re always the ones that mess up.”

“Honeybees have stingers, you know?” Will said.

“That’s why honey is so sweet.”

“It’s worth the sting. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“I guess you’ll find out.”

Will sighed. Yes, he was hopelessly caught in her orbit. “Guess I will, Pops.”





The two women had stayed quiet for the first few minutes inside the house. Adrienne flitted from room to room, turning on lights. Sara seemed unusually distracted. “Everything all right?” she asked the older woman.

“What? Oh, yes.” Sara followed her into the lavender room.

“Do you think Pops is okay?” Adrienne asked, shaking a thick down pillow into a plum pillow case.

Sara nodded from across the bed. “I’m sure.” After fluffing the pillow on her side, she nestled it at the head of the antique sleigh bed purchased for the room.

Adrienne stifled a yawn. It had been a long day. “You’ve fallen in love with him all over again, haven’t you?”

Sara took the pillow back up and hugged it to herself. “No,” she said.

“I don’t believe you, Sara.” Adrienne tucked stray wisps of hair behind her ear and regarded the older woman.

Sara used her palm to smooth the cotton bedspread. “The truth is, I never fell out of love with him.”

Adrienne sat at the edge of the bed and drew one foot up under her knee. “What do you see for the two of you?”

Sara blinked, a crimson stain darkening her face. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Adrienne threw her hands into the air. “He feels the same.”

Sara dropped slowly onto the bed. “I don’t know that you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.” She tipped her shoulder. “The way he looks at you, how he holds your hand.”

Sara scooted so she could look at Adrienne fully. “When I hear his voice, my heart beats faster. This warm, thick liquid moves through my veins when he touches me. But—”

“But what?”

Sara pushed hair from her face. “He doesn’t look at me like he used to look at Gracie.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Sara’s gaze drifted around the room. “It is. Gracie was perfect. She had the poise of a swan while I was more of an . . . ”—she scrunched her nose—“an ugly duckling and a klutz.”

“Sara, I can’t imagine you as an ugly duckling and certainly not a klutz. You’re so elegant.”

Sara gave her an appreciative smile.

“I mean it. Everything about you is beautiful.”

Sara’s voice dropped. “Not everything.”

Chills spread over Adrienne’s arms, though she had no clue why. Then she thought about the letter. The note from Grace that Pops had salvaged. She’d intended to ask Sara about it but had lost her nerve. Now it seemed that fateful note could be somehow connected to Sara’s admission. Now was the time.

“Sara, Pops had one letter from Grace. It was the last letter sent to him.”

Sara’s gaze dropped to the floor.

“I read it. It sounded . . . it really sounded like a woman in love. But it was right before Grace died.”

Sara remained silent.

“I wondered if you might know anything about that letter?”

Sara stood slowly and moved to the far wall where her suitcase sat open; clothes ruffled as she dug through the blouses and skirts. One deep breath, and she turned to face Adrienne, a stack of letters in her hand.

Adrienne blinked, trying to assimilate the idea of this new stack with the ones she’d found from William. “Sara, what are those?”

“Grace never wrote to William. I begged her to. I pleaded, but she wouldn’t.”

A muddled picture of the past began to clear before Adrienne. She wasn’t sure she liked what she saw. But what could she do now? Forge on. Clarify her suspicions. “Sara, you wrote the letters? The letters from Grace?”

“Every single word.” A lone tear trickled down her cheek. “It was such a deceitful, evil thing to do. But he’d gone there for her. If he knew the truth, I was afraid he’d never survive.”

“But you told William Grace lost interest in him because of you. Because you loved him.”


“Over the years, it was just easier to believe she’d landed in another man’s arms because of me. Truthfully, she had no intention of waiting for William.”

Adrienne couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even move.

“Oh, I loved him from the first day he found me crying at the riverside.” Her thumbs caressed the letters in her hand. “But I fell deeper and deeper in love reading his letters. I grew up on those letters. Became a woman.”

“And you wrote him back.”

“Yes. We grew closer and closer, sharing the war, sharing home. I poured my heart into those words. But . . . but never my secret.”

“And with each letter, you had to sign Grace’s name at the bottom. Oh, Sara.” Adrienne moved closer. “I’m so sorry.”

When the older woman moved to hide the letters behind her, Adrienne stepped toward her and gently took hold of her wrist. “If you wrote the letters from Grace, what are these?”

Sara forced out a long breath. “These are the letters from me. The ones I never sent. They’ve been in a locked drawer in my bureau for years.”

“The antique bureau in your living room, right? I’ve noticed you looking at it now and then. I thought it held a secret, but not this.”

Sara held out the stack of letters, and Adrienne took it, feeling as if she held another treasure in her hands. Yet the burden weighed heavily. And Adrienne didn’t know what to do with them. If she could burn them and never have to tell Pops the truth, that seemed the best—albeit most deceitful—course of action. She understood how easy it must have been for Sara to fall into this deception. The truth was a beast with sharpened claws.

A tiny smile appeared on Sara’s face. “Go ahead. Read one.”

Adrienne froze. By reading them, even one, she became part of the fraud. Her fingertips grew sweaty with her indecision. Somewhere inside, her heart made the choice her mind couldn’t. She slid one letter from beneath the ribbon. The remaining pages she set on the nearby bookshelf. Adrienne unfolded the page and read.



Dear William,



Sometimes I marvel at the selfishness that burdens my soul. I am drowning, slipping silently into quicksand made by my own hands. Lies are hideous things. I feel as though I’m living a dual life. One of a careful daughter, another of a secret lover.

If it weren’t for my intense love for you, I’d stop. I’d give up this charade. I’d tell Momma and Gracie the truth. But I won’t. So much rests on my ability to keep the two very separate parts of my life far from each other. Maybe you understand. You of all people always understand my thoughts and feelings. And you—the young man who left town as the son of a merchant but will return to me as a battle-toughened hero. Your country honors your sacrifice. Even in the streets, the children tell tales of the brave 101st. And what is that like for you? Knowing your most inner being—the poet I know and love—must take second place to the hero you are called? You, William, are leading a dual life as well.

In it all, we have each other. That makes it worth every scorn I may one day face. Worth every ounce of shame I feel when my mother or my sister look upon me with suspicious eyes. You’re worth it all, William. You hold my heart in your gentle hands. You have since the day we met. And if it is up to me, you always will.



Your true love,

Sara



There were no words. What feeble encouragement could Adrienne give after reading a letter that honest, that intimate, that private? With a tear tickling the corner of her eye, she said, “Sara, you have to show him.”

Old fingers darted out and snatched the letter. “And what, Adrienne? He has forgiven me for so much. Where does his charity run out?”

“Why didn’t you let him know when you first saw him again?” Adrienne wasn’t trying to accuse—just understand.

“It’s unforgivable. What I did. He wrote such intimate things, private things in those letters.” Sara shook her head. “When I got the opportunity to see him again, I couldn’t . . . just couldn’t. Do you have any idea what it was like writing him with my mother and my sister in the next room? Always wondering when they’d find out. What my mother would do to me?”

“But Sara—”

“No. I won’t hear it.” She turned away, closing off the conversation. When she looked over her shoulder at Adrienne, tears glistened in her eyes. “I finally have him in my life. Do you know what that means to me? How many years I hoped for this, knowing there was no way, no possible way I could spend my life with the man I love?”

Adrienne ran her hands through her hair. She wouldn’t convince Sara tonight. “Someday, Sara. He’ll need to know.”

She nodded. “Please, can we talk about something else?”

Adrienne tipped her head, letting the intensity go. “As I was saying earlier, everything about you is beautiful.”

With an appreciative smile, Sara’s nearly untraceable Southern accent thickened. “Well, Momma did have her rules.” She walked to the bed and grabbed the pillow, then placed it on top of her head and began to stroll across the room, elbows at her sides, fingertips out.

Adrienne clapped. “Bravo.”

“Gracefully, my darling,” she instructed as Adrienne put a pillow on her head. It fell off.

“This is too easy.” Sara tossed the pillow onto the bed and reached for a book from the narrow bookshelf by the window. She balanced it and walked, making smooth twists and turns. Again, Adrienne followed her lead, laughing as she had to reach up time and time again to steady the book that slid from her like an ill-fitting crown.

Book still perfectly balanced, Sara bent her knees and swept down in one graceful motion to pick up a shoe from the floor. “Momma taught us how to walk like a lady, sit like a lady, descend the stairs like a lady.”

“There’s a proper way to descend the stairs?” Adrienne laughed and rolled her eyes, glad for the change of topic. “Boy, I’ve got a lot to learn.”

“Of course,” Sara said, nose high. “Knees together as if connected. Hand lightly on the banister, stand tall, and float down the stairs. I was a bitter disappointment to Momma.” She tipped her head forward, letting the book slide into her hands.

Adrienne’s book slid off on its own. “All that training must have taken root somewhere. You’re more graceful than any woman I know.”

“I suppose. Somewhere between knobby, skinned-up knees and the womanly body I prayed for and didn’t think I’d ever get.” Her eyes left Adrienne. “Gracie didn’t have to work at it. Beauty, elegance just came naturally to her. But for once, I wanted to be Cinderella at the ball. I just always ended up playing in the mud puddle when the coach arrived.”

Adrienne closed the gap between them. She rested her hands on Sara’s shoulders.

“William always thought of me like a kid sister.” She practically whispered the words, biting back the pain that edged her eyes. “What if he still does?”

Adrienne shook her head. “He doesn’t. I can see it even if you can’t. Besides,” she grinned, “Cinderella always gets the handsome prince.”

“Always?”

Adrienne nodded.

“What about your handsome prince?”

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Adrienne stiffened. “My handsome prince is acting like a toad right now.” He was the last thing she wanted to think about. It had been a magical day until . . .


“Acting like a toad?” Sara tapped her index finger on her chin. “I think a kiss rectifies that.”

“I’d rather kiss a toad.”

Sara yawned and Adrienne took it as a cue to work her way to the bedroom door. “Well, you’ll get your chance bright and early tomorrow morning.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, she turned to face the older woman. “You don’t actually believe he’s still coming, do you?”

Sara’s eyes were troubled. “Of course he is. He was very worried about you overdoing it in the heat. People don’t just toss you aside because they get mad at you. Goodness, Adrienne. That’s not really what you expected, is it?”

It wasn’t just what she expected, it was what she knew would happen.





A shimmering black horse galloped beneath Adrienne. Even from her place astride him, she was aware of the shine of dark velvet hide and rolling muscles. No saddle to separate her from the animal that was as tuned to her thoughts as any she could ever hope would be.

And together they ran. They ran so hard and fast that all the world, green and beautiful, disappeared behind them. Her hair—splayed in brilliant fashion—moved in tandem with the horse’s mane. All this she saw as if watching from above, but also felt and experienced as the two of them fled from the draining world around.

Far ahead a fence appeared. With it, cold. She willed the horse forward, but he slowed. Adrienne raked her bare feet against his midsection, along the ribs swelling and shrinking with each heavy breath. Still the horse slowed as snow dusted the dreamy world with fine white powder. She remembered Chicago, remembered being so cold she’d thought she’d never thaw. When the stallion came to an abrupt stop at the fence line, Adrienne threw herself off and ran to the gate, already freezing over in the chill. Her hands fumbled with the lock, but it wouldn’t budge. Nor would her feet. She looked down to see snow and ice working their way up, encasing her ankles, sliding up her legs. She screamed and tossed, trying to break their torturous hold.

Bang, bang, bang.

Her gaze shot left, but all she saw was the winded stallion and the ghost-white puffs of air that left his nostrils and vanished into the snow-whitened air.

Bang, bang, bang.

She stirred. Someone was far down the fencerow hammering it, trying to break it down. In one strong jerk of her body, she threw herself in hopes of breaking free of her icy prison.

Wham! Disoriented, she tried to look around, but all she saw was dark. Her side ached. Something was over her head. Adrienne kicked off the covers and realized she’d landed on her floor by her bed. The dream was still fresh, and she pushed all the blankets away because the sense of entrapment still clung to her like cobwebs.

A hazy digital clock read 4:50. A hand on her side, she sat down at the edge of the bed trying to make sense of the dream. The horse, the running—it felt so free, she felt so free, so alive.

Bang, bang, bang.

She nearly dropped again. Her gaze shot to the window, then back to the clock. In a rush, she ran out of the room, flipping lights as she went. Before she could pull the door open, she looked down to make sure she was dressed. T-shirt and sweats.

She flipped on the porch light and swung the door open to a grinning Will. Really. He had the nerve to smile.

She face palmed her forehead. “What are you doing here?”

He held out a bouquet of flowers. Wildflowers, her favorite, and an array of shapes and colors. “I’m here to apologize.”

When she stood there stoicly, crossing her arms over her chest, he added, “And paint.”

“It’s four fifty in the morning.” A spray of three Gerbera daisies fought for her attention in the center of the bouquet, but she resisted and held eye contact—bleary as he might seem—with Will.

He shrugged. “I told you I’d be here at five o’ clock.”

She shook her head, noticed the tangles at the ends of her hair, and refused to smooth it. “I thought you were joking.”

His eyes darkened. “I never joke about work.”

In a taunt, he held the flowers out to her and shook them back and forth, his brows tilting upward at the inner edges. “I think they’re thirsty.”

She reached out. “Give me those. You’ll shake every petal off them if you’re not careful.” Of course, she’d grabbed them with an equal amount of force.

Will bit back a smile. She spun from the door and headed to the kitchen. “Not a morning person?” He called to her.

She stopped and angled her gaze to him, eyes narrow. “I thought you were here to apologize.”

“I thought I did.”

She cradled the bundle to her. Gerbera daisies really were the most beautiful flowers on the planet. “No. You said you were here to apologize. You never said you were sorry, what you were sorry for, or how you came to realize you should apologize.”

“Not gonna let me off the hook, are you?”

“Not on your life. If you wanted mercy, you should have brought dark chocolate with these.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

“Duly noted. I’ll keep that in mind for our next spat.” Will sank onto a wooden rocking chair in her living room.

She tilted her head around the corner and stared at him. “Our next spat?”

“Well, Pops called it a tiff. But my mom always referred to their fights as spats. I don’t actually know what either word means.” The chair squeaked as he rocked back and forth. “This is a great chair.”

But Adrienne was lost in the fact that Will Bryant was comparing their heated conversation—if she could even call it that—to one of his parents’ spats. That fell well inside couples territory, and she hadn’t asked for a deed. Which made him a squatter. Oh dear, she really needed coffee.

She put the flowers in a fine crystal vase and ground fresh coffee beans, aware of him rocking away in the other room. Aware that he felt so comfortable in her house that he’d slid right in and claimed a spot. Speaking of spots, her side hurt.

“Are you all right?”

She jumped when she heard his voice from the door. He stepped into her kitchen as she turned to face him.

He pointed to her hand, still rubbing her hip.

“I had a bad dream.”

“Must have been something to cause pain you still feel.”

“I fell out of bed when I heard . . . I guess I heard you banging on the door. But . . . ” Adrienne kneaded her bottom lip. “I think you were in my dream, tearing down the fence.” She stared over at him, and he remained quiet, letting her sort the scattered pieces. “You were the one. The horse couldn’t do it. Couldn’t jump it. And with the snow and ice we were going to be trapped there.”

His brows rose.

“Frozen,” she whispered. “Like Sleeping Beauty.”

Will nodded, but she could see the doubt.

“Do you think dreams have meaning?”

“No.” The one word from his lips was so final, so solid, Adrienne blinked.

“Never?”

Will ran a hand through his hair. “I sure hope not.”

“Why?”

He waited several seconds before answering. “I have a recurring dream about Pops.”

Adrienne dropped her weight against the counter. “What happens?”

“He dies.” His voice broke a little as he said it. As did Adrienne’s heart.

“He, uh, takes the boat out late at night. I try to stop him, but he won’t listen. The boat runs aground. I’m not there, but I can see it in the dream like I’m watching through a window. He drowns.”


All the air left Adrienne’s lungs. “I’m sorry, Will. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.”

He tried to smile. “What about your dream with the horse and fence and me?”

“No. It doesn’t mean anything either. There’s no fence for you to tear down.” Now she wished she hadn’t even brought it up.

“Hey, I’m only getting paid for painting, not fence removal.”

She smiled and pulled two mugs from the cupboard. “You’re not getting paid at all.”

Suddenly he was right behind her. “Oh, yes I am.” It was a growl wrapped in a promise.

And it curled her flesh from her ears to her toes. She grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter and turned to face him. “About that apology . . . ”

He raised his hands in surrender and took a step back. But before he could say more, Adrienne spoke, “You’re forgiven.”

He used the back of his hand to push the knife aside and came so close only a whisper separated them. “Thank you.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

Adrienne caught her appearance in the small round mirror on the far wall. “I . . . I need to go change.” He was all fresh and showered and smelling like soap and leather, and she smelled like sweaty nightmare girl.

She hurried out of the kitchen. “Help yourself to coffee. Be back in a few.”

They spent the day painting, chatting, and making two trips to the lumberyard in Pops’s truck. Adrienne worked on windows and doors while Will mastered the soffits around the roofline. In true Florida weather fashion, cloud cover rolled in at noon, shaming the weathermen and giving Will and Adrienne ample time to complete the task.

He’d brought clothes to change into, so she offered him the master bath to shower and get ready for a fun evening of pizza and visiting with Pops and Sara. The house looked great. Adrienne noticed the light, almost airiness of the space around her heart. She placed a hand there, first concerned because it felt so foreign, so alien. But this wasn’t a bad thing. This was . . . joy. Even the renovation hadn’t brought her that, but somewhere around the time she started setting the table and thinking about hearing the details of Pops’s and Sara’s day, this odd sensation arrived. And she didn’t want it to leave. Ever. Adrienne rubbed her hand back and forth over her heart, hoping this wasn’t some kind of sick joke, hoping there wasn’t an insurmountable fence just ahead.