Lost in Lavender

A Fourth of July Short Story

How do you celebrate the Fourth of July where you live?

Our day is always full. We start with our church’s pancake breakfast, complete with a patriotic program and a bike parade for the kiddos. In the afternoon, we take our boat out on Dana Point Harbor for the annual water fight (it’s gloriously chaotic!). Then we wrap up the day watching fireworks over the lake. It’s one of my favorite days of the year.

I’m guessing your holiday is just as busy, but if you happen to find a quiet moment—or simply need a break from all the festivities—I have a story for you. It takes place over the Fourth of July, and I hope it adds an extra sparkler to your holiday weekend.

FREE

*JESSE

Jesse watched her two reasons for living climb into an aged Buick and rattle toward an airport. They would be gone for a month, but Jesse knew they would never come back. Not really. This long chapter of her life had reached a conclusion.

Jesse wandered back into the house. Everywhere she looked, reminders mocked her. The photographs on the walls, Lily’s athletic trophies on the shelves, the quilt Rosa had made for her last birthday draped over the back of the sofa. When had her home become a shrine to the people they had once been?

Jesse plopped onto the sofa and flicked through the TV channels. She and the girls liked to watch Pretty Little Liars and The Vampire Diaries, but without her daughters beside her, she felt silly watching the angsty, monstrous teens.

She padded up the stairs to find a book to keep her company.

Cursing floated through the window and she stopped to peek through the curtains. Dave Davenport, her neighbor, stumbled off his front porch. He shouted a few obscenities to the sky. A microwave came flying after him and crashed onto the brown and patchy lawn near his feet. He jumped as if a firecracker had been lit beneath his feet and stared open-mouthed at his wife who had emerged through the open door.

Yikes. Could Mia really pitch a microwave?

Could she, Jesse, throw a microwave? Out of curiosity, she went to the kitchen to see. Her kitchen, with its golden oak cupboards, white tile countertops, and faded white appliances, hadn’t been updated since she’d moved here almost twenty-five years ago. The microwave was so small it barely held a dinner plate. She could lift it, but could she throw it any distance? Should she try?

A crash sounded and Jesse scampered back to the window.

Oh dear.

Dave was pitching rocks at his house and shattering the windows. Mia had disappeared, but the McKinney’s children from across the street, a girl and a boy, had stopped on the sidewalk to watch.

Jesse wanted to tell them to go inside, but didn’t want to turn Dave’s attention to herself or the kids. He looked like a poster child for an anger management class. Besides, this wasn’t the first fight she’d witnessed at the Davenports. After only a moment’s hesitation, Jesse called the police.

She spent the rest of the evening hiding inside, occasionally peeking out her window at the officers with their patrol cars, flashing lights, and noisy bullhorns.

*CLIVE

Clive strolled along the deserted coastal path. The salty breeze whispered through the palm trees, carrying with it the faint scent of the ocean and the lingering smoke of bonfires. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow on the dew sparkling on the shrubs lining the trail. It was late, well past midnight. Witching hour.

“Remember the night we met?” Clive murmured. “It was a summer night. Your father was such a stickler for curfews. Your conscience and common sense both go to bed at midnight, he always said. Have you seen him recently? Are you able to talk with him?”

Clive strained to listen for a reply, but heard only his own footsteps, and those of another. His neck tickled with apprehension. Turning, he relaxed when he caught sight of Dave Davenport, a man he recognized from church, with a beer bottle in one hand and a scowl on his face.

“Clive, is that you?” Dave called out, his voice gruff with annoyance and maybe something else. Something all too familiar.

“Yeah-ho, Dave.” Clive stopped to wait for Dave to catch up with him. “You’re out late.”

“So are you.” The smell of Dave’s breath made Clive take a step back.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Clive admitted.

“It’s hot.” Dave ran his finger around the neck of his T-shirt. “Mia refuses to turn on the air. We never should have bought that house.”

Was there a connection between the weather and home-ownership Clive had missed?

Dave stumbled and nearly pitched head-first into the canyon. Clive shot out his arm to keep the man upright. They did a slight impromptu dance on the path.

“Have to sleep with the windows open. Damn nosey neighbors,” Dave grumbled, his brow furrowed in frustration. “I swear, that woman next door just can’t seem to mind her own business. Always poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Nosey Nancy. Jabbering Jesse.”

Clive listened as Dave launched into a tirade about his neighbor, his slurred words tinged with bitterness and resentment. A pang of sympathy swept over him.

“Let me walk you home.” Clive offered a sympathetic smile, knowing that sometimes people just needed someone to walk beside them.

“I’m not going back. I can’t even look at that woman’s house without wanting to…” Dave sucked in a deep breath and clenched and unclenched his fists in rapid succession.

“Without what?” Clive fought a snake of worry for the unknown Nosey Nancy slithering across his skin. “You wouldn’t hurt her, would you? Violence is never the answer.”

“So, what is? What should I do?”

“What did she do?”

Dave wagged his head. “I don’t want to talk about her.” But he obviously did, because he continued, “I go to the tool section in Lowe’s. And who do I see? That woman! What is she doing in the tool section? Spying on me, that’s what.”

“Maybe she needed to fix something.”

Dave jutted out his chin. “Women like that aren’t playing handyman. They hire handymen. She’s spying on me, plain and simple. I spend all day at a job I hate, and who should come in?”

“Sylvester Stallone?”

Dave didn’t even miss a beat. It was as if Clive hadn’t spoken.

“That woman! Says she needs new brakes on her fifteen-year-old Honda.” Dave shook his head. “Cars aren’t made to last that long. She has it out for me. She’s waiting for me to trip up.”

“And then what?”

Dave took a long pull on his beer bottle before answering. “You tell me! She has too much time on her hands. That’s what.”

“Did you put new brakes on her car?”

Dave smiled, but it was an ugly smile.

Clive’s breath hitched. “You fixed her brakes, right?”

“Of course, but I was tempted…anyone would be.”

Should Clive warn this Nosey Nancy neighbor? He followed Dave along the path. The man stumbled onto the sidewalk, and Clive stayed close behind. Wordlessly, they clomped through the sleepy neighborhood of mid-century ranch-style homes.

Clive’s heart picked up the pace when he realized they were approaching Jesse’s neighborhood. Aunt Lori had asked him to drop off a book she’d thought Jesse would like. A Nicholas Sparks’s love story. Why Aunt Lori couldn’t have given it to Jesse herself still puzzled him. But he had done as she’d asked. Knocked on Jesse’s door with a hammering heart. Had he been relieved or disappointed when Jesse didn’t answer the door? He still didn’t know.

But here he was again.

Dave stopped in front of the white bungalow with pepper red trim. White roses spilled from the garden beds. A stone statue of a dog holding a basket full of real flowers stood at the door like a sentinel. Despite the dark windows, it looked like a friendly, welcoming place. Just like its owner.

Was Jesse home now?

Would she glance out the window and see him with Dave? Would she maybe think he and Dave were beer buddies?

No. She knew him better than that, didn’t she? They’d been working together for almost ten years, after all.

Dave spit on the lawn before tottering up the walk of a brown rambler surrounded by patchy lawn.

“Goodnight,” Clive called after him.

Dave lifted his beer in a silent salute. He climbed the porch with heavy steps and banged through the door.

Clive frowned at something hunkering in the tall grass. Could it be a coyote? No. He edged closer to inspect it.

Why was a microwave lying on the lawn?

* JESSE

The next morning when Jesse arrived at work, Marlene met her at the back door. “She’s had a doozy of a night. She’ll probably sleep all day.”

“Nightmares?” Jesse bustled into the mudroom, hung her jacket on the rack beside Lorraine’s Hermes scarves and Burberry coat, slipped off her shoes, and slid her feet into a pair of slippers.

“I don’t think so.” Marlene shrugged into her sweater. “She seems pretty lucid, except she keeps going on about that box. We need to keep an eye on her, or the next thing we’ll know she’ll be out in the canyon with the coyotes looking for that thing.”

Jesse had heard Lorraine talking about the box a few times before but she hadn’t been paying attention. “What do we know about it?”

“Only that it’s very valuable and quite old.”

“If it’s so priceless, why take it into the canyon?”

Marlene laughed. “She claims it walked there.”

Jesse pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “What does Kelly say about it?”

“She’s tired of listening to her mom go on and on about it.”

“She doesn’t know what sort of box it is either?”

Marlene shook her head and shouldered her purse. “Good luck today. Her breakfast is in the kitchen. I wanted to take it up, but she insisted on waiting for you.”

“Thanks.” Jesse found Clive in the kitchen arranging freshly cut lavender in large vases. “Those smell like heaven.”

“A bumper crop this year.”

Clive was a man of few words, but Jesse liked this about him. She knew he was related to Lorraine. Like all the other members of the Galtero family, he had to be incredibly wealthy, and yet, he designed the resort grounds and spent hours working on Lorraine’s extensive property. The lavender fields alone were a true work of art.

Jesse wished she could draw Clive into a conversation, but he seemed to clam up whenever they were thrown together. “Would you like me to take those upstairs for you?”

Clive looked as if he wanted to say something more, but, after a moment, he mutely nodded and handed her the vase.

To her surprise, Jesse found Lorraine sitting up in her bed with a needle, thread, and an embroidery hoop in her hands. Her glasses had slid down her nose and her swimmy eyes greeted Jesse with a smile.

Jesse nodded at the needlework. “I’m glad to see you’ve picked that back up.” Lorraine had been laboring over the same bit of needlework for as long as Jesse had been working there—twenty-two years. Lily had been a baby.

“I’ll finish before I die, if it’s the last thing I do.” Lorraine shook the hoop with so much force, the needle attached to a thread danced in the air. “Did you see my nephew in the kitchen?”

“I did.” Jesse placed the lavender on Lorraine’s nightstand and smiled because they looked so beautiful against the backdrop of the window overlooking the gardens.

Lorraine made a harrumphing sound. “Did he talk to you?”

“Was he supposed to?”

Lorraine sighed. “If he’s still there, could you send him up?”

“We could just call him. I’m sure he has his cell.”

“No.” Lorraine barked out the word. “Go and fetch him.” After a moment, she added, “and bring me my breakfast.”

Only slightly confused—but probably less confused than Lorraine—Jesse trotted down to the kitchen. When Clive was nowhere in sight, she loaded up Lorriane’s breakfast tray, and took the stairs back to Lorraine.

Jesse placed the food on the nightstand beside the lavender stems.

Lorraine eyed the tray. “I don’t want eggs. I hate eggs.”

“You have eggs every morning,” Jesse said, surprised. Lorraine had always had a sunny, easygoing personality.

“That’s why I hate them.” Lorraine pulled a face.

Jesse fought back a smile, balled her hands into fists and planted them on her hips. “What do you want?”

Lorraine leaned back onto her pillows and addressed the ceiling. “Crepes with raspberry and cream filling.”

Jesse glanced out the window at Lorraine’s garden, a blossoming patch that dwarfed the size of Jesse’s yard. The raspberries would be hard and green little balls this time of the year. She sighed. “I’ll go and talk to Clive about the raspberries.” Maybe they still had some in the freezer from last season.

Lorraine snorted. “Useless boy. He doesn’t know a trowel from a hoe.”

Jesse wanted to argue, because she thought Clive did an amazing job on Lorraine’s enormous piece of property, but she knew better than to engage Lorraine in an argument. Besides, she also suspected if she stayed away long enough, Lorraine would forget about raspberry crepes and eat the eggs.

Lorraine pinned Jesse with a serious gaze. “He doesn’t have to work, you know. He has just as much money as me, probably more so because he doesn’t spend a dime if he can help it. I don’t know why he insists on living like a monk. He’s always been so painfully shy. Even as a child…”

Jesse wanted to hear more about Clive, but just then Lorraine’s phone buzzed.

Lorraine plucked up her landline and answered. “Beach clean up day, you say?” Her gaze slid to Jesse, and she placed her hand over the phone’s receiver. “What are you doing on Saturday morning?”

“Nothing,” Jesse replied.

Lorraine got a conniving look in her eye. “I’ll pay you a $100 an hour to help clean the beach. Deal?”

Jesse wanted to laugh at Lorraine’s serious expression. “Silly, you don’t have to pay me to help with that. I can volunteer, just like everyone else.”

“But if I pay you, you’ll go for sure?”

Jesse smiled, wondering what Lorraine was thinking. “Sure.”

*CLIVE

Clive joined the bustling crowd gathered for the community beach clean-up day. Aunt Lorraine had insisted he attend. Not that he minded. Especially now that he realized Jesse was also volunteering. He stole glances at her. Her easy smile and happy spirit always reminded him of his Michelle before her illness, and now, as they stood side by side with gloves and trash bags in hand, he felt a flutter of excitement.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.” Jesse grinned and gestured toward the scattered debris littering the shoreline.

The sun cast a warm glow over the sandy shore. The Beautify the Beach Bunch, an army of volunteers wearing lime-green vests and carrying trash sticks stood near the lifeguard tower awaiting instructions. In the water, surfers caught waves while families played volleyball on the sand and sunbathers soaked up the warm rays. The sound of the crashing tide and laughter filled the air.

Still, even with everything going on around him, Clive had a hard time focusing on anyone other than Jesse. He barely listened to the Beautify the Beach Boss, a kid in his thirties with a nose smeared with sunscreen and carrying a whistle. After the instructions, the bunch were set loose.

Clive and Jesse fell into an easy rhythm spearing trash, chasing seagulls, and exchanging jokes. Their task carried them to a secluded cove encircled by black towering boulders, rugged cliffs and lush vegetation.

Clive struggled to find something to say, but after a moment, came up with a joke. “Why did the tide blush?”

Jesse slid him a glance. “I don’t know.”

“Because it saw the ocean’s bottom.”

Jesse half-snorted and half-laughed. “Okay, that was bad, but I have one that’s worse. Why don’t oysters share their pearls at the beach?”

“Because they don’t want to cast their pearls before swimmers?”

Jesse straightened. “That’s good. That might be even better than the real punchline.”

The real punchline? Should Clive admit to her that he might be in love with her? Even though they’d never even been on a date?

“Because they’re shellfish,” Jesse said.

When Clive didn’t respond, she said, “Get it? Shellfish?”

He barked out a laugh because that was what she expected from him.

Jesse stumbled; her foot caught in an abandoned fishing net hidden beneath the sand.

“Are you okay?” Clive dropped his trash stick and reached for her.

Jesse grimaced, shaking her head. Standing on one leg, she fought to free herself. “I think I’m stuck.” She took his proffered hand.

Clive nodded, reaching down to help her untangle her foot from the net. But when he pulled, he felt the net tightening around his own leg, trapping him in its snare. “Uh oh,” Clive muttered, realizing he was now tangled up in the net alongside Jesse. He fell and took her down with him. She landed on his lap, but only stayed for half a second.

Inching away, she fought the net.

Laughter bubbled up between them. They tried to free themselves, but their efforts only seemed to make matters worse. And to add to the chaos, a friendly dog bounded over, a piece of driftwood clutched firmly in its mouth. With each enthusiastic wag of its tail, the dog accidentally sprayed sand onto Clive and Jesse.

Their hands and ankles brushed as they struggled to free themselves. Somehow, the net seemed symbolic of Clive’s tangled emotions. He had to tell her. But it had been so long now, he didn’t know how.

Jesse stopped fighting the net and sat back on her heels. “A piece of rope went into a bar.”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“It’s a joke. A piece of rope went into a bar and the barkeeper said, ‘Hey, you! Didn’t you read the sign? No ropes allowed.’”

“So, the rope went outside, tied himself into a knot, and ruffled the end of his rope before returning to the bar.”

“’Hey, aren’t you a rope?’ the barkeeper demanded.’

“’I’m a frayed knot,’ the rope replied.”

This time, Clive really did laugh.

The dog took this as a welcoming sign and climbed onto Clive’s lap.

Clive wished it was Jesse in his lap, but he laughed, grabbed the dog’s stick, and sent it flying.

But for Clive, being stuck with Jesse wouldn’t have been a nuisance at all. To find out if they ever get untangled—and to discover the mystery of the ‘walking’ box—download the full story HERE!

Know someone in need of a happily-ever after? Forward this email and share the love! May all your stories have happy endings,

Kristy