I Should Be Laughing: Things Change, Home Changes

It was a dream.  It was the dream. It was her dream becoming reality. Renny paused inside the doorway, the smell so overwhelming it sickened her, as did the music; Mother’s music, echoing throughout the first floor and pricking her eardrums. Standing by the door, her hand on the knob, she waited for the iron bars to drop across the doors and windows, waited for the locks to latch, leaving her alone in the house with the hands, and the shears. But the flowers…these flowers…

These weren’t roses. Renny stared, baffled by the immense bouquet of odd flowers on the entry table: Nasturtium and Irises from the Forever Fields, the pink, orange and red buds ringed by the brilliant purple blossoms of California Wild Lilac, lush Scotch Bloom and Evergreen Rhododendron. All these glorious flowers and blooms and buds, twigs and scrub, gathered from the edge of Skeleton Road, from the side yard and the Forever Fields, the brim of the cliff, sprouted from a green glass urn in the center of the foyer.

Stumbling upon the hastily arranged flowers, and reeling in their sweet perfume, which ran amok in the front hall, Renny exhaled deeply, and relaxed. Flowers everywhere and not a rose in sight; nor were there chrysanthemums or lilies; no daisies. Only these tangy, brightly colored blooms the likes of which she had never seen in this house, at least not in her dreams or her childhood.

And it wasn’t only flowers, the scent filling the air with vibrant color, there was also music. A sultry voice wafted from the back parlor, and Renny closed her eyes, summoning up the house of her childhood, full of flowers and music to ward off the impending gloom of a visit from Grandmother. It was Sarah Vaughan, singing…Summertime… in the back of the house; Renny could practically hear the dust motes in the decades old vinyl, the lyrics sounding warped and wobbly.

“Harry?” She called out, running her palm over the downy petals, puncturing her finger on a scotch bloom as she lifted a lilac from the crystal vase. Enraptured by the bouquet, she didn’t hear her brother come from the kitchen.

“You like the flowers?” With only socks upon his feet, and dressed in a ragged pair of Levis and thick sweater, Harry came wandering into the foyer, wiping his hands on a checkered dish towel he had casually flung over one shoulder. “Wyatt picked them from the yard. He thought we’d had our fill of roses.”

“They’re lovely.” Twirling the stem of the lilac between her fingers like a Fourth of July sparkler, Renny grudgingly took her eyes off the flowers and smiled at him. “I can’t believe they’ve been here all this time and we never…”

She stopped when she saw a grin flood Harry’s face.

“Far too common!” Brother and sister shouted in unison, mimicking Grandmother Pierce’s oft-repeated phrase.

“My goodness, Barbara Jean.” Renny sharply cried. “You can’t fill the house with such shoddy flowers. What—.”

“—will people think?” Harry finished the sentence with a slight snicker, and then said, dryly, “I think these are better than roses any day.”

“Mmmm.” Renny agreed; then she startled herself and Harry when she quickly leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. He barely heard her say, “Thank you.”