The front door was open, inviting us to enter, and the threshold was outlined with ivy that gently swayed with the breeze. Once in, my feet sunk in the plush grass that created the floor, and my eyes instinctively went to my favorite part of the living art, the bed.
The wood was hand carved and preserved, so that it could resist the natural course of elements and time. The bottom of the frame was raised high enough to hide the roots of the garden of roses beneath. Black magic and crimson-colored blooms created the “mattress” of the bed. Their heady perfume drifted in the cool air.
I ran my fingertips along the tops of the roses, over the honeysuckle walls, over topiary plants that resembled sconces, and came to a stop at one of the three paintings of purple irises behind glass.
My fingers caressed the cool protectant. The line of the ceiling had a split down its center, allowing the sun to shine through, along with the misting of rain. The sun illuminated the flowers, while the mist collected and rushed down the pane in steady streams.
“Scarlett.”
I turned to find Brando studying the glass pane above the bed of roses. His hands were in his pockets, his neck tilted up, his eyes moving back and forth with the speed of his reading.
“Hmm?”
He read the collections of poems, softly, slowly, until he paused and repeated one of my favorite lines: But your heart makes me simply vow, always.
“But what do you say when love just isn’t enough?” He repeated his question from the previous night. “Always.”
He turned to face me. We both took a step forward, both of us on opposite sides of the stream of light. He was on the darker side, almost shadowed, but the light from my side seemed to illuminate him.
“I didn’t get to truly know Evelyn Poésy until after Elliott died. There was a line drawn when it came to her. My mother had seen to it. They didn’t agree, you know, about how hard she pushed me in one direction. I was in such a bad way after Elliott died that she…she stepped in and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She brought me here. She gave my life light again.
“We would walk this property for hours. Sometimes we would talk about everything. Sometimes not a word was spoken between us. Then one day, when she seemed to think I was ready for her secrets, she brought me here.”
I looked around at the interior, knowing the secrets the walls harbored.
“Did you know that Evelyn Ross was a waitress?” I asked.
“No.”
I smiled, thinking back on Grandmother Poésy’s question, the same question I had asked Brando. His answer had been mine too.
“That’s how Grandfather Poésy had come to meet her. She had been working in town. He had bought this property as a getaway. He came into the diner where she waitressed for a bite to eat. She said she could tell by the way he was dressed that he was well-to-do. Her friend didn’t want to serve him, because she wanted a group that had consisted of a bunch of young fellas.” I grinned at her terminology. “She said my grandfather was a young fella too, but all of the girls knew he was out of their league. He was imposing, not just by his apparent richness, but his eyes—they were wise, she had said. Evelyn came from a humble beginning, but like Eleanor Roosevelt, my grandmother refused to let anyone steal her consent. She told me that when she looked at him, the only difference between him and her had been the value of their clothes.
“So she took his table. She found him to be quiet, polite, but she had to agree about his intensity. Not much had been said in the way of words between them, apart from his order and the occasional thank you or no thank you, so she was surprised when he sat in his booth, drinking coffee, watching her until the place closed down for the night.
“It was raining when she left. He surprised her again when he stepped away from his car, calling her by name. He had scared her and she dropped her umbrella. He picked it up, opened it, and then handed it to her. She finally found the courage to ask him why—
“‘Why did you wait for me, Mr. …?’
“‘Bennett. My name is Bennett Poésy. And Bennett will do fine. To