“Hey, girl,” came Anna Beth’s voice from downstairs, then a slam of the back door. “I ate some of this chicken salad on the way over here. Hope you don’t mind.” Her feet thudded up the staircase. “I was starving since you left me high and dry for lunch.”
Her friend appeared in the doorway to the empty room, fanning her damp face. “It’s hot as two cats in a wool sock out there. And you wouldn’t believe the line at the Pig. They’ve got their chicken legs on sale ninety-nine cents a pound, and it’s brought out all the bargain shoppers. You know there’s nothing I hate more than bargain shoppers with their coupon binders. Now, how are you?”
Betsy smiled. Anna Beth was always in a frenzy about something—the blazing heat that blanketed their part of Alabama for at least eight months out of the year, beachgoers invading Elinore for its “charming” dining and shopping, or how parents in their district always disregarded the deadlines for signing kids up at the elementary school. She was the school registrar and had to deal with the latecomers who insisted their child be registered, even after class lists had been posted. Talking to Anna Beth, you’d think those parents were late for tea with the queen.
“I’m fine,” Betsy said. “Thanks for bringing lunch.”
“Mm-hmm.” Anna Beth glanced through the bedroom. “Your nieces’ll sleep in here?”
Betsy nodded. “It’s not much. I need to pick up some coloring books or something for them.”
“I’ll bring a few things over. I have some toys up in the attic, and we still have a ton of books.”
“Thanks, but I’m sure Jenna will pack some of their toys.”
Anna Beth snorted. “From what you’ve said, Jenna might not come prepared. You’ll need something if it rains. Kids go stir-crazy when it rains. At thirteen and fifteen, mine still go crazy when they’re stuck inside all day, despite a whole world of electronic doodads all over the house.”
Anna Beth turned toward the stairs. “You ready to eat? I got the chicken salad you like—the kind with all the grapes and nuts in it.”
“That sounds great. I just need to grab one more thing.”
She opened the top dresser drawer and pulled out Henderson’s Book of Fanciful Flowers. Written by Albert Henderson in 1918, the back cover was held on by threads and the corners were jammed and bent, but the pages inside were still crisp and flat. She’d bought the book years ago at a used bookstore, the first and only time she’d let herself buy something to decorate the room she hoped would one day be her nursery. Back then, she was in her garden every day weeding, pruning, and fighting off aphids. She used to love it—getting her hands dirty, seeing her hard work result in color and life popping up from the soil—but it had been a while since she’d visited. The garden was mostly full of dandelions and crabgrass now.
The Book of Fanciful Flowers may not have been a true children’s book, but the dreamy watercolor loops and swirls, depicting everything from sunflowers and roses to peonies and forget-me-nots, seemed whimsical and childlike. Along the edges of each page, Mr. Henderson had written, in careful ink, descriptions of each flower.
A peony bush full of flowers brings good luck, but if the flowers fade or fall off, prepare for disaster.
While known to signify everlasting union, dahlias can also symbolize betrayal and dishonesty. Use caution when gifting dahlias to a beloved.
Her plan had been to cut out the pages and frame them, but the pages remained between the covers, and the book had been shut up inside that dresser drawer since the day she threw it in there and slammed the drawer closed with enough force to splinter the wood. She ran her hand across the fragile cover, like reintroducing herself to an old friend, and propped it against the mirror.
Anna Beth leaned forward and peered at the cracked drawer. “Gorilla Glue will take care of that. That’s what I love about antiques like this. You never know what troubles they’ve been through.” She patted the top of the dresser. “But it makes ’em tough.”
Downstairs, they spread their lunch out on the table. While Betsy dragged one of the two laundry baskets from the couch over to her kitchen chair, Anna Beth retrieved two wineglasses from the cabinet and poured cold pinot grigio.
“I don’t know, AB,” Betsy said, already bringing the glass to her lips. “It’s a little early for happy hour.”
“Psshhh,” Anna Beth muttered. “Cheers.” She clinked her glass to Betsy’s. “Oh, this reminds me. I’m having a little get-together at my house on Wednesday for some new neighbors. I’d ask you and Ty to come, but we’re having margaritas and tapas from El Gato. Not exactly kid-friendly.”
“What about Lucy and Jackson?”
“They’ll spend the night with Tom’s parents in Elberta. They’ll eat a pound of Cheetos, drink a gallon of sweet tea, and come home with three kinds of stomachache, but it’ll be worth it for a night off.” She took a sip of her wine and looked pointedly at Betsy. “So what’s up with Jenna? Does she always make plans at the drop of a hat like this?”
Betsy smiled. She was used to Anna Beth’s express train of thoughts, swerving and veering all over the place. “She’s spontaneous—or at least she used to be—but she just found out yesterday she was accepted at the retreat. I think she told me as soon as she could.”
Anna Beth narrowed one eye. “How close are y’all, really?”
Betsy hesitated, tapped her fingernails on her wineglass. “I don’t know. We were close once, but it was a long time ago. When I left for Auburn, she still had two years at home with our parents,
