The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush

Lizzy laughed. “How could I forget?” She finished her tea and stood up. “And I certainly owe you one, for helping Verna and Bessie and me that night. So if I can help, all you have to do is call me.”


Sally-Lou stood, too. “I heard what yo’ mama say to you, Miz Lizzy, but she’s wrong. What Mr. Grady did had nothin’ to do with you. I wants you to know that, down in the very bottom of your heart.”

“I do,” Lizzy said. “It’s going to take a little getting used to, that’s all.” She felt the tears start and tried to gulp them back. “But I have to do it. I will do it.”

Sally-Lou put her arms around her and held her for a moment, the way she had held her when Lizzy was a little girl and needed consoling. “That’s right, honey,” she said. “But in the meantime, you be good to yo’se’f, real good. Don’t grieve no more than you can help. You hear?”

“I hear,” Lizzy said. For a long moment, she let herself take refuge in those comforting arms. Over the years, Sally-Lou had been more of a mother to her than her own mother. Somehow, that made her feel both sad and grateful, at the same time.

Sally-Lou let her go. “I’ll get you some of that coffee cake to take home with you,” she said. “A piece of that and a cup of coffee and you’re bound to feel like the prettiest spring day they ever was.”

“Thank you,” Lizzy said. “Thank you.”

*

Lizzy tried to follow Sally-Lou’s good advice about not grieving, but that turned out to be more difficult than she might have thought. It was true that she hadn’t wanted to get married, at least not right away. But somewhere deep inside, she must have harbored the secret expectation that someday, she and Grady would get married and have a family. She must have loved him more than she thought. Now that expectation—that love—was gone, gone utterly.

But even worse than her own disappointment was the knowledge that Grady had sentenced himself to a marriage he hadn’t chosen, and that understanding left a heavy burden on her heart. This would be even harder for him than it was for her, she thought. She spent the afternoon boxing up the many little gifts he had given her and the photos of the two of them together—and crying, not so much for herself, but for him.

So when the doorbell gave an impatient peal late that afternoon, Lizzy was not at all prepared for company. She was wearing an old yellow print housedress and comfortable slippers, her hair was tied up in a blue bandana, and she looked a wreck. When she saw Verna and Myra May standing on the porch, she started to tell them that she’d rather they’d come back later.

But Myra May, carrying a large basket in each hand, paid no attention. She pushed past Lizzy and into the house, heading for the kitchen.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Lizzy protested. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t feel like—”

“We know,” Verna said. “But we thought you might not want to cook tonight, so we brought you a little something to eat.”

Myra May turned at the kitchen door. “We know you don’t want to see us, either, so feel free to cuss us out. But we warn you, it won’t do a smidgeon of good. You’re not going to get rid of us.”

“You two!” Lizzy rolled her eyes.

Verna put her hand on Liz’s arm. “Sorry, kid,” she said softly. “I know you’re hurting. But you’ll feel better if you play along. You know how pushy Myra May can be when she makes up her mind to something. She just wants you to know that we love you.”

Lizzy’s defenses went down. “Oh, Verna!” she wailed, and buried her face in her friend’s shoulder. “It’s just so utterly awful! I can’t believe it’s happening.”

“I know, I know,” Verna murmured, holding her close and patting her on the back. “What an awful jerk Grady is! I am so sorry for you, Liz.”