Maybe Tomorrow by Kim Golden

Author:Kim Golden
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kim Golden

Later when all three of us were too full from lunch and Eddy had fallen asleep in the shade of the sun parasol, Alma declared herself ready to go home. I moved to wake up Eddy, but my grandmother persuaded me to let her sleep. “She’s got a lot on her mind, and New York is on the horizon for her…let her sleep. You’ll be back soon.”

In the end, I left a note on the kitchen counter. During the drive, my grandmother thanked me for our day together. She touched my cheek and said, “You could have spent these last few days alone with Edwina. You didn’t need to bring me along.”

“It was Eddy’s idea,” I admitted. “I had more selfish plans.”

“Are you in love, Henrik?”

“Farmor, you know how I feel about love.”

“And yet, when you look at her, I see it shining from your eyes. All this love. Don’t let it slip through your fingers, my dear.”

“She’s leaving soon. Even if I tell her how I feel, she’s still moving back to America.”

“It’s not as though you’ll have to take a slow boat to China to see her, my dear.” Alma shook her head. We drove past fields of barley, and she let out another sigh. “If you love her, distance means nothing.”

“What if she doesn’t love me?”

“Oh, don’t be daft, Henrik. Edwina is just as smitten as you are. You both know it, yet you pretend this is simply a summer fling. You should be embracing this moment, planning your lives together. Instead, you’re pretending.”

“I can’t make her stay. She wants to go home.”

“And yet, it sounds as though she wants to stay. Perhaps, you should give her a reason.”

When we arrived at my grandmother’s house, she headed straight for the garden. I followed her, wondering what she had planned. She found her gloves and sectors and then began inspecting her roses. She snipped eight in the palest shade of pink and then bound their stems in twine until it made a posy.

“Give this to Eddy when you return. She always loved my roses.”

“I will, Farmor.”

“She’s like a wild rose…she is searching for a place to plant her roots; she could plant them here. Perhaps, she’s waiting for some sign.”

“Farmor…”

“She isn’t Iben. Edwina has so much verve. She and Laney have been so good for you boys.”

“She’s moving. She’s already made it clear that she’s going back to New York, come hell or high water.”

“Hmph! Think about what I said. This is your chance at happiness.”

I kissed my grandmother goodbye and then drove back to Snekkersten. The light had already shifted, and the trees along the road cast welcome shadows. The roses rested on the passenger seat, the petals still damp and velvety.

When I was younger, my mother taught me the symbolism of flowers. Red roses were the most obvious…the cliché of love. Yellow roses, though lovely to look at, meant friendship. White roses stood for purity…the rose for brides. And pink, undying affection, true love. My mother wasn’t a romantic, though she taught poetry and often spoke of chivalry and its code.

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