Flowers in a Dumpster (20 page)

I rose to my feet, my knees cracking like burning kindling. “Do you need something? Are you having another one of your spells?”

“No, no, dear,” Pee-Paw quickly assured me. Recently, Pee-Paw had been suffering from debilitating bouts of dizziness and exhaustion. He would be reduced to lying in bed for weeks at a time, unable to muster the strength to rise. I would prop his head up with several pillows and feed him soup as if he were an infant.

“You should be resting,” I said, hurrying across the heat-dried grass, the brittle blades crunching like hard-shelled insects beneath my feet. Placing the back of my hand against Pee-Paw’s sweaty forehead, I added, “It’s too hot for you out here. You’ll tucker yourself out.”

“I was going to make lunch for us.” Pee-Paw grinned. Several of his teeth were missing, those remaining spelling out some Morse code message that I was incapable of deciphering.

“You shouldn’t be making lunch,” I chastised, clucking my tongue disapprovingly against the roof of my mouth. “I’ll fix something.”

He took my proffered arm and allowed me to lead him back into the shadowy coolness of the house. “It doesn’t look as if anyone will be fixing anything. That’s what I came out to tell you; it seems we are pitifully low on supplies.”

“Oh yes, that’s my fault. I’ve been meaning to go to the market all week. There’s so much to do around here.”

I instantly regretted my last comment. Although Pee-Paw didn’t actually say anything, I could feel his body sagging against mine. I knew how he hated the frailty that came with old age, his inability to do even the simplest household chores like washing the dishes or picking vegetables. He told me once that it was as if his body had betrayed him, and I usually tried my best to make him feel useful. Sometimes, however, I made innocent statements that came out sounding like accusations.

“It is a beautiful day,” Pee-Paw said as I helped him into his bed. His room was sparse, the drab gray walls bare of shelves or pictures, the splintering wood of the floor unadorned by rugs. The only furniture in the room was his sagging bed and near-empty wardrobe. He’d given his most valuable possessions—monetarily valuable, like his gold pocket watch, and sentimentally valuable, like photographs of my parents—to me over the years. Most of his clothes he’d given to various families in the village. I did not even like to think what significance this throwing off of worldly possessions might have.

“Would you like for me to sit with you awhile, Pee-Paw?” I asked, smoothing back his oily hair. Not for the first time, I felt more like his mother than his granddaughter. At times, I wanted to wrap him in my arms and never let go.

“That won’t be necessary, my dear Isabella. Go on to the market. The walk will do you good. It is a beautiful day.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Have I?” he asked, his bushy eyebrows coming together above his nose as if to shake hands. “Well, it is truly glorious. Not a cloud in the sky. Who would guess that on such a day as this . . . ” Pee-Paw’s words trailed off, and I was more than happy to let them go.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay here by yourself?” I asked, reluctant to leave. In my mind, I kept hearing the chimes of the clock and seeing poor Ben Fuller’s weatherworn face.

“I don’t need you hovering over me like a nursemaid. I am perfectly capable of lying in bed without any assistance. Besides, if you don’t go to the market, we’ll both surely starve before long.”

“I should only be a half an hour or so,” I promised, and he waved at me, his arm dropping back to the coverlet as if weighted with lead.

After twisting my shoulder-length black hair into a tidy bun, I placed a faded pink sunbonnet atop my head and tied the straps under my chin in an elaborate bow. Stopping in front of the water-spotted mirror in the bathroom, I inspected my reflection in the glass. What I saw saddened me greatly. Staring back was a plain woman with bland features and a sallow complexion. My ankle-length dress, the same faded pink as my bonnet, bulged slightly at the midsection. Sickly purple sacks hung under my eyes like rotten fruit, standing in stark contrast to the paleness of my skin. I found it hard to believe that the face in the mirror belonged to a girl of twenty.

I gave my head a resolute shake, trying to dispel all of these negative thoughts like a dog shaking off fleas. I grabbed a pristine white apron from the kitchen and tied it around my waist, efficiently covering my extended abdomen. After a momentary consideration, I changed into a more comfortable pair of shoes. It was only a ten minute walk into town, but the gravelly road could be murder on the feet.

Maroon-colored stepping stones led the way from the front door to the road. I remembered how as a child I had pretended that the lawn was a tumultuous ocean populated with child-hungry sharks. I would carefully cross the stones to keep from being gobbled up. A sudden wave of nostalgia hit me with such force that halfway to the road I swooned, in danger of toppling into the sea and falling victim to a shark attack. The spell passed after a few seconds and I continued on my way.

The road was made of packed dirt covered with loose pebbles. Hoof prints were embedded in the dirt, as well as the narrow ruts made by wagon wheels. I heard fanciful stories that men and women once rode in great metal machines that propelled themselves forward without the aid of horses. It was amusing science fiction, but I could not imagine such wild tales having any validity to them.

As I progressed toward the village, playfully kicking rocks into the weeds that bordered the road like sentinels, keeping an ear open for the jangling bells that would signal an approaching wagon, I studied the strange artifacts that littered the sides of the road. One object in particular caught my interest. It appeared to be a rusted rectangular box, partially buried in the ground with three busted glass circles covered with metal hoods set into the front. A length of black wire hung limply from the top like a dead snake. I could not comprehend what such a bizarre object could have been used for. This was merely another mysterious relic from a bygone age.

The oldest citizens of the village—those who still remained—sometimes told tales of a world gone mad, a world with too many people and not enough resources. There were stories of starvation, murder, and wars fought over land that was suddenly too scarce. These stories were both horrible and incomprehensible to me.

Pleasant Hills was a utopia by comparison. No one ever went without in Pleasant Hills; there was plenty for every citizen. Every family was guaranteed a warm home and good food on the table.

The houses I passed on my way to the market were a lot like the home I shared with Pee-Paw—small but sturdily built with four rooms and an outhouse, as well as a vegetable garden out back. I passed few houses, though. The entire population of Pleasant Hills was only seventy-five persons, and that number never varied. In order to maintain the plentiful lifestyle the citizens of the village had grown accustomed to, it was necessary that the population be kept low and steady. In a town meeting that was held a year and a half before I was born, it had been decided that seventy-five was all that the village’s resources could adequately support.

I came out of my reverie to find myself in the town square, a cluster of shops and clerical offices with a small park at the center. I purposely averted my eyes from the clock tower on the west side of the square, shooting up several stories like an accusatory finger pointed at God.

Crossing a rickety wooden porch, the beams bowing under the weight of my feet, I pushed through the swinging doors into Nell’s Market. Nell, a polite older gentleman with bright eyes and a ready smile, was in his usual spot behind the counter, playing cards laid out in front of him. As I entered, he flipped more cards over and placed them on top of others.

“Morning, Izzy,” he said, rising from his stool like a proper gentleman. “Here for the usual?”

I nodded, taking a wicker basket from a pile by the doors. Nell continued to chat with me as I wandered about the store, placing various items into my basket—green apples, a sack of flour, a block of cheese, a few strips of cured bacon.

“That Ellis boy was in here askin’ ‘bout you the day ‘fore yesterday,” Nell said, causing me to turn quickly in his direction, nearly dropping a jug of fresh, frothy milk. “I was surprised to hear you two young’uns had split.”

“Well, these things happen.” I placed the basket on the wooden counter and deposited a few wrinkled bills into Nell’s cupped palm. There were more items I’d intended to purchase, but I was suddenly eager to leave the market.

“Tell your grandpa I said hey,” Nell called as I rushed out into the square. “Our prayers are with ‘im.”

As I began the trek back home, I started to feel foolish for the way I’d behaved, but the mere mention of Ellis’s name never failed to upset me.

Ellis and I started dating when I was eighteen and he twenty. He was the only man who had ever told me I was beautiful, and being with him had made me
feel
beautiful. Everyone in Pleasant Hills had assumed the two of us would eventually marry, and I had assumed the same thing. Three months ago, however, I had abruptly broken off our relationship. Ellis had not taken it well; he demanded an explanation, but I didn’t tell him the reason for my decision. I had not told anyone.

But I would not be able to hide it for much longer, and then it would be announced in the paper.

I suddenly paused in the middle of the road, my hand splayed across my belly and a few tears streaming down my cheeks, leaving shiny streaks like slug trails on my face. The wicker basket felt unaccountably heavy, as if filled with bricks. The air seemed to have substance, bearing down on me, threatening to crush me under its oppressive weight.

“Hey lady, move your ass!”

The voice startled me, and I realized that the inelegant sound of bells filled the air. I turned to see a wagon pulled by two horses rapidly approaching. Gasping, I scurried to the side of the road, barely avoiding being run down. I actually felt the wind from the passing wagon buffet my body. Pebbles kicked up by the horses pelted my legs.

In my hasty retreat, the wicker basket tipped over a little too far, and the sack of flour fell out, hitting the ground with a dull
thump.
A snowstorm of fine powder circulated through the air, coating my shoes and ankles.

Badly shaken by this near-miss, I practically ran the rest of the way home, ignoring the painful stitch in my side. I stayed to the side of the road, mentally cursing myself for such foolishness. By the time I reached the house, I was so winded that I had to lean against the door for several moments, gulping air like water.

“Are you okay, Isabella?” Pee-Paw asked as I entered the kitchen. He sat at a butcher-block table, arranging a colorful bunch of flowers in a vase that had a noticeable crack up one side. “Your color is hectic.”

I sat the basket on the table by the vase. “I’m fine. What are you doing out of bed, Pee-Paw? I thought we agreed you need your rest.”

“Oh, pish-posh,” he said, flipping his hand in the air. “I’m feeling much better. The weather is doing my old body some good.”

Indeed, Pee-Paw did look better. There was some healthy color in his cheeks, and when he took the vase over to the window, he limped only slightly. Hating myself, I felt a pang of anger at Pee-Paw’s improving health. It would be so much easier if I could believe he had only a little time left anyway.

“Isabella, dear, whatever is wrong?” Pee-Paw asked, and only then did I realize that I was crying. I collapsed forward onto the table, knocking the basket to the floor, the items inside scattering about like escapees, the jug of milk shattering.

Pee-Paw rushed to my side, being careful to skirt around the jagged glass, and cradled me in his arms like he did when I was a child, whispering encouragements that only seemed to intensify my agony. I felt that I didn’t deserve his love or the comfort he wanted so desperately to give. I had betrayed him, and because of me he had only six months left.

He took my hands and kissed my forehead. “Honey, talk to me. What’s the matter?”

“Pee-Paw,” I said in a hoarse whisper, my head bowed. I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. “I think you’d better sit down. I have something to tell you.”

WHAT SHE NEEDS

“Excuse me, Lily?”

Lily was on her way out of class, but she turned to find Keith standing behind her, his books held down in front of his crotch as if trying to hide something incriminating there. He didn’t look directly at her, but instead gazed at her shoes. She and Keith only had this one class together, but she’d noticed him around before. With his muscular frame, shy of being what she thought of as a steroid build, his hulking figure was hard to miss. Yet the two had rarely spoken. In contrast to his appearance, Keith was shy and introverted and usually kept to himself.

When he didn’t say anything for half a minute, Lily prompted, “What can I do for you, Keith?”

He shifted from foot to foot (the
pee dance
, Lily’s father had always called it) and glanced up at her without raising his head. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

Keith gestured toward her face. “That’s quite a shiner you have there.”

“Oh,” Lily said, raising a hand to her right eye. She’d used concealer on the purple-black bruising but apparently hadn’t done a great job. Prodding the swollen flesh with her fingers, she inhaled air through her teeth. “Yes, it’s just my usual klutziness. Got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, tripped over the shoes I’d left by the bed, and face-planted into the bedpost.”