Grampy Fernside's Arc

Chapter 20 of 22

Morning light fell on the secret bed. Grampy lifted the cloth and counted again, hoping the night had changed something. Seventeen zinnias glowed pink. One stood blue at the center, stubborn and bright. He had promised nineteen pink blooms, one for each year. Now there were eighteen flowers, and one wore the wrong color. He sank onto the toadstool seat and stared at the blue bloom. He saw it play out in his mind, clear as a picture. He would carry the bouquet to the pavilion where they married. Grans would smile, then count, then find the blue one. Her smile would slip. Forty years of promise, broken by a single petal. The daydream hung over him like a soft gray cloud, and he could not push it away. "Why are you sad? They bloomed." Delphine climbed the step, bare feet quick, a beetle riding her cap. His granddaughter had knelt in this dirt beside him, placed every seed with her own hands. She looked at the blue flower and tilted her head. "That one's my favorite." "It was supposed to be pink," Grampy said. "All nineteen. That's the promise." Delphine folded her arms. "You moved a fox. You built a water pipe. You planted every seed on your knees till your back gave out." She pointed at the bouquet. "Grans won't count petals. She'll count all of that." Grampy shook his head. "She loves flowers. She'll see the blue." "Then let her." Delphine crouched beside him. "Blue like the sky right before it turns pink. Like someone dropped a piece of morning in the middle." She grinned. "You can't fake that. It grew that way." He looked at the blue bloom again. Slowly, it stopped looking like a mistake. "Wrap it in the middle," Delphine said. "On purpose. Then it's not the one that went wrong. It's the heart." Grampy's throat tightened. He gathered the seventeen pink zinnias in a ring. He set the blue one at the center, tall and clear. He folded the fern paper around the stems and tied the ivory ribbon in a slow knot. The bouquet held together, eighteen blooms, one blue heart. It looked whole. "Better," Delphine said. "She still visits the pavilion tomorrow," Grampy said. "I want more than flowers." Delphine's eyes went wide with a plan. "A picnic. Scones with jam and cream. Honey mead. Strawberries in a white dish." She was already counting on her fingers. "I'll carry the basket. I'll set it all out before she comes." She held out her small hand. "And I won't breathe a word to Grans. Promise." Grampy shook her hand. His fear had turned into a plan. The blue bloom would stay. The picnic would carry the rest. But the pavilion sat across the meadow, and his back still bent him over the cane. He could not haul a basket that far alone.