Love Like Rosemary's Read online

This was probably his last chance to change her mind, he told himself, as he posted it to the address on Rosemary’s card. Standing at the corner mailbox in the gloom, he was afforded a panoramic view of the grey day ahead, the somber faces moving to and fro on the sidewalks between rain showers.

  A little glimpse into the forecast for his own life, he supposed.

  At the outdoor cafe, he waited alone at the table, a bouquet of flowers lay before him, his coffee untouched at his elbow.

  His body was stiff and sore from his tumble off the greenhouse roof. A few bruises were disguised with band-aids, but not enough to avoid the questioning glance of his mother, the sideways exchange between his father and brother.

  In the note, he asked Rosemary to meet him at one o’ clock. He showed up at twelve and now it was three o’ clock. Wondering if Sturman would fire him for taking this impromptu afternoon and neglecting the reports on his desk.

  It didn’t matter to him right now. Not if Rosemary didn’t show up.

  Three-thirty came and went. He was still alone at the table, surrounded by grey skies and lonely patrons.

  *****

  The gravel driveway before the greenhouse was empty when he arrived, the shutters closed over the front windows. When he knocked on the door, he found it firmly closed, unyielding beneath his touch.

  He rapped on it several times before giving up. If Rosemary was inside, she had no intention of answering the door to talk to him.

  The sound of tires on the gravel made him turn his head. Approaching the greenhouse was a green truck, the wide nose and heavy fenders of a vintage model. The wood-framed bed filled with rows of trees waving in the breeze, bright leaves and miniature fruits.

  It pulled to a stop in front of his car. The driver’s door opened and Herman hopped out.

  “Need something?” the nurseryman asked. “I’ve got a key to the greenhouse if you’re supposed to pick something up.” As he spoke, he dropped the truck’s tailgate.

  “A key?” repeated Grady. “Where’s Rosemary?” He watched as Herman strode towards the greenhouse, a key in hand.

  “Didn’t she tell you?” Herman glanced over his shoulder as he pushed open the door. “She left for England yesterday.” He disappeared inside the greenhouse as Grady followed.

  “England?” The shock in his voice was evident to the nurseryman, who was lifting trays of herbs from near the door.

  “Yeah, to Scarborough Fair.” Herman hoisted the crates against his body. “She’d been planning to go for months, but she left a week sooner than she planned. That’s why I’m picking up my nursery plants early.” He brushed past Grady as he exited the greenhouse.

  “Mind turning that door lock for me?” he called. Automatically, Grady’s fingers turned it in response, numb to the feeling of cold metal beneath them.

  “When will she be back?” he asked. Without turning around, he could picture Herman loading the trays, the scraping sound of the tailgate raising again.

  “Couple of weeks; maybe longer,” answered Herman. “She wasn’t sure; she just asked us to check on the place until she gets back, pick up our plants, and forward any important mail.

  The truck door slammed. “See you around,” said Herman.

  “Sure,” Grady answered. He heard the sound of the engine starting, turning around in time to see the vehicle disappearing down the driveway again, its trees waving goodbye as they jostled along in the back.

  He stood there for several minutes before he climbed in his own car. Thinking about the lonely hour in the cafe yesterday, the hurtful scene in the restaurant.

  A breeze stirred a few stray leaves and sent them somersaulting across the gravel drive. The green vines dangling from the cottage sides seemed to beckon him forward, swaying away from the stones as a shower of rose petals drifted from the first spring blossoms pulled apart by the wind.

  He felt the sunshine steal across his hands on the steering wheel. Opening his eyes, he watched as the light broke through the overcast skies, a golden haze that slowly bathed the interior of his car, the outline of Rosemary’s cottage and greenhouse glowing with color.

  Almost like that scene in the marketplace the day he first glimpsed the girl in the striped tent.

  With a determined expression, he turned the key to his ignition. It was time to keep his promise to Uncle Edwin.

  *****

  The door to Grady’s apartment slammed behind him as he entered, tossing his keys on the table en route to the bedroom.

  “Grady, wait!” The sound of voices coming from his living room, where his parents, brother, and sister-in-law were all seated in a semi-circle, as if in a deep conference interrupted by his presence.

  “Where are you going?” His mother demanded. “We need to talk–”

  “Later,” he replied, undeterred until his father caught his arm.

  “Son, what’s been happening to you?” his father asked. “We’re worried–”

  Grady pulled away from the clinging hands and concerned faces. “Listen,” he said. “I’m not going crazy, I’m not depressed, I promise. It’s just–”

  “Is it a girl?” his sister-in-law asked. “Because I know a counselor–”

  “I fell in love,” he blurted out. “With a girl from who sells herbs. I met her, I asked her out, but she thought I was dating Emily at the same time, so she stopped speaking to me–”

  “A girl selling herbs?” his mother repeated. “You mean the one you bought my plant from?”

  “Yes,” he answered, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Yes, and now she’s gone to England and unless I do something, I’m gonna lose my chance with her for good.”

  They stared at him in silence for a moment. He was tempted to leave them all and grab his passport from the drawer, taking off for the nearest airport without saying goodbye.

  His father stirred. “Well, then,” he said, “we had better help you pack.”

  Now it was Grady’s turn to freeze with shock; only his mother had him by the arm, hustling him from the room as the rest of his family followed.

  “Now, don’t take that oversized sweater you always wear,” she said. “And you’ll need your good raincoat–it’s very rainy in England.”

  “Where’s your passport?” asked his sister-in-law, clinging to the other elbow as they entered Grady’s room. “Do you want your carry-on or your checked luggage?”

  He felt Seth’s hand on his shoulder as his brother caught up with them. “I’ll take care of the packing,” he said. “You call the airline and get your flight.”

  A smile flickered to life on Grady’s face, his eyes reading a twinkle in his brother’s. “Thanks,” he said, softly. “Thanks, guys.”

  His father cleared his throat. “I’ll handle the flight information,” he said. “I have a friend with contacts at the airline.” He gave his son a firm stare that ended in a wink. “When you’re ready to leave, I’ll be downstairs in my car, waiting to drive you.” With that, he left the room.

  A hand tugged on Grady’s sleeve. “Tweed or grey?” His mother was holding up two different jackets, a suitcase already open on his bed as his sister-in-law yanked open drawers.

  “Whichever you like best, Mom,” he answered. Leaning down to give her a peck on the cheek.

  “Well, don’t thank me,” she said, slightly flustered. “Thank your Uncle Edwin. He’s the romantic in the family.”

  *****

  Somewhere, music was playing at the annual marketplace gathering in Scarborough Fair. Grady recognized the strains of a folk tune from a hammered dulcimer’s strings, half-buried by the murmur of voices from tourists and customers going to and fro.

  He ducked beneath the canopy awning of a tent, its yellow fabric lit with one of England’s cherished skies of sunshine. For a moment, he saw the brown and gold stripes in the marketplace, the memory of the beautiful girl tying ribbons around bundles of herbs.

  Everywhere he looked was a sea of green. Leaves in soft shades both pale
and dark, faint blossoms that filled the air with spice. The familiar scent of damp earth and sunlight.

  Somewhere in here, he would find Rosemary. He felt certain of this. An event like this, the opening of market season, the timing of her departure: it all fit. Even without seeing her plane ticket, without having the faintest idea about her hotel or travel plans, he knew this was the place.

  Customers brushed against him as he walked, men and women carrying baskets of herb cuttings and tiny plants in biodegradable pots. All laughing, all chatting, all absorbed in the atmosphere of rich smells and colors. In the distance, he could see a performer juggling scarves, hear the sound of children laughing.

  And then he saw her. Standing in the doorway of the tent, gazing around as she held a wicker basket. When she caught sight of him, she froze in place. Staring at him with amazement as he drew closer.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hello.” He detected surprise in her voice, but no anger. No trace of suspicion, either.

  “I know this is strange,” he said. “But I had to see you again. I didn’t want you to think–” he paused, searching for the right words, “–that Emily and I were something we weren’t. Such as a couple. Or that I had feelings or dinner invitations or any connection this past week to any woman but you.”

  Without waiting for her response, he closed the distance between them, until they were only a foot apart. “I just wanted to tell you that in person. So even if I never saw you again, things didn’t end between us the way they did at the restaurant.”

  After a moment, her lips parted. “Now that,” she said, “is more like your Uncle Edwin.”

  His gaze softened, a look of surprise appearing on his own face as she moved closer, until they were separated by inches. Her free hand touched his shoulder, sliding higher until it cradled his cheek.

  “Then–you missed me?” Grady whispered.

  She nodded. “I did.” She reached up to meet his lips as they kissed, his arms wrapped around her in an embrace. Her basket slipped from her fingers, sprays of lavender and tarragon escaping in a spray of green. His eyes opened slightly, aware that passing customers were watching them curiously.

  Not that it mattered. His eyes sank closed again, feeling her hair brush against his cheek, her fingers against his jaw. Like magic sending a tingle down his spine, turning the world around them to gold.

  Uncle Edwin would be proud, he decided. He had kept his promise.