in hungry gulps.
“See. I knew you’d like it. Now my baby can get a head start on some tender green leaves for spring.”
Beethoven and the rain and contentment flowed through him, an endless river of sound, an infinite source of delight. He reached out and stroked the Margaret, encouraging her as any good parent would.
“Daddy’s sweet girl is going to be the most beautiful blue rose in the world, aren’t you? Yes, you are.”
While he was washing up, the cell phone in his pocket pinged and Lily’s name popped up. He tamped down his irritation. He should have left his cell phone in his office. He despised interruptions while he was feeding his cultivars.
Reluctantly he read the text.
Can I bring Annabelle by so she can spend the afternoon with you? We filed a police report on Cee Cee, and I think it would help take her mind off things to follow you on your rounds with the roses. I’m going to be working on the house, and anything to do with decorating bores her.
The last thing he wanted today was Annabelle tagging along behind him. He thought about not responding to her text. He could pretend he was working without a phone. He often did in the greenhouses.
But, then, his future hinged on her.
Lily, darling. Of course she can come. I’m delighted to spend some quality time with my soon-to-be daughter. I’m in the greenhouse nursery. You can drive right up.
That should put a smile on her face. It might even quell talk about postponing the wedding. He was going to marry her in January no matter what it took to get her down the aisle.
Hardly five minutes passed before Lily’s car cruised to a stop and both of them got out. Annabelle looked like a drowned rat. Lily was gorgeous, as usual, even with her hair slicked back and raindrops dripping off her eyelashes. But she was unusually quiet. And when he kissed her, she held herself stiff. Still, that was okay. It just meant she’d finally come around to the idea of keeping herself pure until their wedding night.
He was reluctant to break the kiss. Suddenly he wished the whole world would disappear for forty-eight hours so he could wed her, bed her, and then get on with his work without all that other clutter in his mind.
It was actually Lily who pulled away. “I have to go, Stephen.”
She looked perfect in the nursery, like one of his more exotic roses. He thought she might linger over the goodbye, but she just left without a backward glance and drove off.
On the other hand, her bedraggled daughter stood out like black spot blight. He was actually afraid his babies would catch something from her.
Ironically, she was looking around the greenhouse with interest. “Are these the new roses you’ve created, the ones you’re going to turn into those beautiful blooms I saw at the party?”
He almost loved her then. He almost forgave her many wretched habits.
“I’ll be happy to show you around and tell you what I do here.” He led her away from his prize babies, the Daphne and the Margaret. After a feeding, he didn’t want them disturbed by a strange teenager with a big mouth.
The roses on the other side the nursery would likely get culled anyway. Their early promise had vanished, and even special care hadn’t proved successful. There was little harm Annabelle could do to them.
As he pointed out the rose food in buckets by the sink and explained the process, she peppered him with questions, some of them surprisingly intelligent. That was a good thing, actually. It meant his son would inherit the same sort of intelligence from Lily. Combined with his genes, the boy would likely be a genius.
“Hello. I heard you had company.” Clive was suddenly at the door, his rain hat and parka dripping. He must have walked all the way from the offices. No small feat for a man his age.
“Here.” Stephen moved toward him. “Let’s get you out of those wet things. I don’t want to risk pneumonia again.” The bout last winter had almost killed him.
As he busied himself with the wet clothes and led Clive to a bench along the wall, he noticed his grandfather’s face was paler than usual. Maybe a checkup was in order.
“Eww! A fingernail!”
Stephen froze, and Clive made a strangling sound.
“It’s blue,” Annabelle added.
He turned around to find her near the sinks, holding onto a tiny object. “Where did you get that?”
“The bucket