She still sees him. She still talks to him.
Alice works in her garden every single day, after having devoted her life to the flowers she grows and sells in her floral shop. It all leads back to the first day of spring twenty five years ago, when sh...
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ii. sunflower — wherever the sun goes / the sunflower will follow / through all of the pain / and all of the sorrow.
clytie, a nymph, adored apollo. at first, he loved her back, but soon he fell in love with leucothoe. because of her jealousy, clytie told leucothoe's father of the relationship and he punished her by burying her alive.
In anger, apollo turned her into a flower, but even in flower form she still loved him and would spend her days watching him as he moved the sun across the sky in his chariot, just like sunflowers move to face the sun.
The sun shone brightly that morning, but for what? Her garden was killed. Another part of her soul had died. There was only rain, thunderstorm and darkness left. Maybe the sun was mocking her. Alice could have thought that maybe the sun would prove that better things were coming, but she wasn't optimistic like that.
She was laying on the red couch, in a house that wasn't hers but felt more like home than her own place had ever done. Her head was resting in the lap of her best friend, who was gazing down at her with worried eyes.
After the disaster of Hal finding out about Alice's adultery and the garden that he had destroyed as revenge, he had taken her in without a second thought, as family does.
Alice meant everything to Fred. She was the sister he never had growing up, and since she was an only child Fred felt like a brother to Alice. He was stroking her hair, and he noticed that she was staring at a spot on the wall.
"I can't talk to him anymore." Alice suddenly mumbled quietly.
Her voice was trembling, and he could hear due to the crack in her voice that she was trying her best not to cry.
Fred knew immediately that she wasn't talking about Hal. After being such a big part of her life for so long, he knew better than anyone else that she couldn't care less about her marriage imploding.
She hated that it was hurting Betty, but she wasn't grieving the loss herself. No, she was talking about another man. Her son Charles.
Now the garden was gone, she lost him for the third time in her life. The first time had been twenty five years ago when she unwillingly had to give him up. The second time was when her husband told her he had passed away as an infant nine months later. Now she lost him again, when he destroyed the only place she could actually talk to her son.
Charles was always there. Every time she turned her head, he was suddenly standing there, casually leaning against one of the trees.
Usually she saw him as a twenty five year old boy, or man, actually. He had the smile of his father and her eyes.
She could talk to him about her worries, her fears, her doubts. He always listened, and gave advice. But at times, she saw an eight year old boy, or a sixteen year old teenager. As if she could still see him grow up, how he was meant to be.
