As I strolled through Grandma's garden, stopping to touch a tender bloom or to pluck away the weeds, memories warmed my heart.
Zinnias meant friendship, sunflowers were wishes, and the gray-green moss symbolized charity. Growing up, I spent summers with Grandma, and she made a game of teaching me about the flowers.
"They speak a language all their own, you know."
I looked up to see Grandma standing at the edge of the garden. "I thought you were napping."
As I child, I loved visiting Grandma, and l always looked forward to seeing Josh Barron. We went swimming together in the old creek and played games of tag in the fields. Late at night, when the scent of tea roses and heliotropes hung heavy in the air, we’d sit on the porch and watch the stars.
“Still stubborn as ever, I see.”
I looked up from a petunia I was replanting. “Josh? What are you doing here?”
The next few days flew by. Little by little, my defenses came down, and I began to feel comfortable with Josh again. Maybe too comfortable. I looked forward to seeing him each day and enjoyed being near him as we worked and chatted casually.
I found Grandma's wicker picnic basket, grabbed an old quilt, and together Josh and I hurried off to the corner store to pick up our usual picnic fare: sandwiches, soft drinks, and potato chips.
I heard a rustling in the garden. My eyes grew wide.
He looked up from a patch of crepe myrtle.