He is thinner than the last time I saw him. His t-shirt flutters over his abdomen in greeting.
Shrimp dance about the pan as he shares the mundane.
“Went to Ace Hardware today!”
“Oh, yeah? What did you buy there?” I add a splash of Worcestershire.
“Oh, you know…those flowers you always had.”
I smile into the steam of sautéing shellfish.
“Honey, that doesn’t help me.”
“You know! The ones you always pinched the dead blooms off of…”
Another smile, as I moved the pan to a cooler surface.
“Ok…”
“I think Nanny had ‘em…Four-o-clocks? Were they Four-o-clocks?”
“Yes!” I turn to face him. “Four-o-clocks! You got Four-o-clocks? You know they spread. You will have lots of Four-o-clocks!” I smile at the image of my son in his garden. I never pinched Four-o-clocks. Four-o-clocks don’t require pinching. But he remembered. He remembered the pinching. The flower is of little consequence.
“I know…” I see the smile spreading underneath his hanging head. He did it for her.
“Heather picked ‘em. I told her they spread. She got those, and the others you always had…Begonias? Didn’t you always have Begonias?”
“Yes.”
“And, Bachelor Buttons. She got Bachelor Buttons!”
“Ok, the Bachelor Buttons are small. You need to plant them in front of the Four-o-clocks.”
“Ok…”
The conversation continued as I relished the memory. He never came out with me. He never accompanied me on my walks through the garden. He never commented. He never asked a question.
But, somehow, he knew. Somehow, he was there, as we grew together. And, when the memory surfaced he acted on it, creating new memories…his memories, and hers.
Mother’s potted plants lined our patio. I never went out with her. I never accompanied her as she watered each one. I never commented, or asked a question…but, somehow I knew…
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