thought…” She loudly sighed when she struggled to find the words. “I thought you were dead, Braxton.”
I winced at the weariness in her voice even now.
“We took you home,” she continued. “But the next day, it started all over again—the crying and the fits. Whenever you were overwhelmed, afraid, confused, or hurting, you ran to that field. Even during the rare times that you were happy, you still went back. You always found a reason because you were never truly at peace unless surrounded by these. Sometimes we’d find you sleeping again. Other times you’d be singing, crying, dancing, or laughing for no reason at all. Your father didn’t understand. He got so fed up that he threatened to send it up in flames. The last time he dragged you out of there, you begged and promised not to go back, but his mind was made up.” She hesitated to tell me what I already knew. “He destroyed it.”
I frowned, wishing I could manage more than that. I wanted to stand up. I wanted to scream. I wanted to rage. “If you knew,” I struggled to get out, “what it meant to me… why didn’t you…stop him?”
“It was his decision to make, Braxton, and you were so young. Anything could have happened to you.”
I didn’t react to my mother justifying her being too subservient to stop her husband from taking away my only solace because it inconvenienced him. I didn’t react because I didn’t have the energy for anger.
And because it wasn’t new information.
“You told me why…after,” she offered. I didn’t care anymore, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her, so I let her keep going. “You told me why you kept going back.”
I didn’t ask for the reason.
I didn’t say anything at all.
I quietly waited for her to tell me on her own.
“Long before this all started, you fell in love with that field. Sometimes, you’d beg us to drive by just so you could see it.” She paused. “I suppose it makes sense that it was the only thing you could tolerate during such a terrible time.”
She plucked one of the stems from the clear vase, but instead of putting it in a different spot to start her rearranging all over again, my mother came to stand by the bed with it clutched between her fingers.
“I’m guessing you don’t remember how they smell?” she asked me.
I shook my head and immediately cursed the blinding pain that followed. My head started to pound, and I wanted to cry. Noticing my agony, my mother calmly waited, flower in hand, for it to pass.
Thanks to the garden in my room, I knew that I hadn’t lost my sense of smell. Only the ability to feel my emotions through it. The scents from the different flowers blended together, however, making it impossible to separate and identify each one.
I wondered who had sent them.
I didn’t think to ask a moment later when my mother stuck a stem from this particular flower under my nose, and I drew in its scent.
Earthy.
With a strong aroma like it had been plucked fresh from the meadow I had once loved but couldn’t remember. I inhaled the breath of fresh air it inspired, but instead of drawing forth the forgotten memory of that field, I saw a face.
Regal lines, opaque eyes, perfect blond hair…and an arrogant tilt of his lips.
It faded too soon.
Before I could even remember his name.
Desperate, I used what little strength I had to snatch the stem from my mother who, honest to God, clutched the cross at her neck. I greedily inhaled the flower yet again, only this time, it summoned a different smell and another image.
Vanilla.
Rustic, mouthwatering, and warm when it wanted to be.
The face it conjured had a strong jaw, rigid mouth, brown hair, and intense green stare.
Just like before, I inhaled again.
Just like before, it gave me something different.
Berries.
Sweet, nourishing, and addicting.
I couldn’t get enough once I had a taste.
It came with sad silver eyes, shaggy black hair, and the pinkest lips pierced.
Jericho.
My heart sighed his name, and the others immediately followed.
Houston.
Loren.
How could I have forgotten them? It may have only been a day, but even a moment was too long. I’d never forgive myself. I was even more desperate to see them now that I knew.
Lilac.
Love smells like lilac.
Love is lilac.
My head may have forgotten that field, but my heart hadn’t. It had been trying to tell me all along. I’d found my haven all over again in