“Because I am tired of wasting life on flowers and memories,” he answered before adding that they were no longer young and that he wanted a practical garden with vegetables such as peppers, corn, and beans instead of sentimental plants.
Something inside Theresa cracked at that moment, though she did not cry or shout because the deeper part of her spirit had already begun to close around the pain like a shell protecting its center.
She simply turned away and walked into the house while Franklin remained outside continuing his work with a rake while loud country music played from a portable radio. Inside the kitchen Theresa sat beside the window where a small cup filled with dry soil rested quietly on the sill.
Inside the cup a tiny rosebud still struggled to live.
She lifted the fragile plant carefully and whispered, “You are the last one left for me.”
Later that afternoon her son called from Charlotte to check on her because he had sensed worry in her voice earlier that week. Theresa told him calmly that everything was fine although she added quietly that perhaps it was time to change a few things in her life.