“Lilies and daisies,” Dani announced.
Sandra grew still. “What did you just say?”
“Lilies and daisies. Her husband. My grandfather. He liked lilies and daisies. She told me that two days ago, didn’t he?” But Sandra was looking away. That was her answer. Dani stood up slowly. “It was sacred in her mind. Isn’t that all that counts? That it was sacred to one of them.”
“They just flowers.”
“Funny.” Dani’s voice dripped in disdain. “Those were her words, too.”
Sandra O’Hara looked away.
“She cared enough to remember him. She named her son after him.” Dani turned away. “Those were my mother’s favorite flowers, too. Lilies and daisies. They’re my mother’s flowers, so don’t say they’re just flowers. They’re more than that. They meant something.”
“Why are you doing this? Why do you care after all these years? These are secrets better left buried. They just…they just bring pain to everyone involved.”
“So says the one who’d rather have her sins left buried.” Dani shook her head. This was wrong. It was another wrong that was being buried. This wrong affected people. The cycle had to stop. The pain had to stop. “You’d like everyone to forget about you, don’t you? You want to forget what you did, what you did to your daughters. You don’t want to be remembered because then you gotta look at your decisions.”
“It’s not like that.”
Dani’s blood began to boil. “That’s all this family has right now: secrets. I barely talked to two of my sisters growing up, and I don’t talk to the one living now. Julia’s like an anal, obsessive-compulsive stranger who just knows all my hurts. Secrets got us where we are right now. I think I have a right to find out who I come from!”
“You’re going to tear up this family—”
“There’s no family to tear apart!” Dani cried out. “We got the same name. That’s it. There’s no family anymore, and it started with you!”
“Now, I didn’t—”
“You told your daughter to give her children away. You told her that Mae could have me, if she cleaned up her act. You acted like we were cattle to give away to the richest owner. You told your daughter, who came to you—knowing that she was dying—you told her to split her children up.”
“I gave my two cents. That’s all I did—”
“Words have power! I never felt a part of that house. You were a mother who told her dying daughter what to do. She listened to you. You did that! Not my mother! You tore my home apart, and you did it because that’s where you came from.”
“I didn’t…”
The evidence was right in front of her. “You—”
“No.” Sandra bunched up her blanket on her lap and began shaking her head. Her eyes grew wet, and her lips started to tremble, but she wasn’t looking at her granddaughter anymore. She reached for a button clipped to the bed. Her hand curled around it. She held it tight, like it was a weapon. “Leave. This is my room. This is my home, and I get to say who comes to judge me. I say leave and don’t come back.”
Dani couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She looked around in exasperation, and she caught sight of a single clove on her grandmother’s nightstand. One clove, tucked underneath the Bible, and Dani knew it had been kept for a purpose.
“I always found a clove under my pillow. I never knew who put those there, but I guess it was your mother. She was always worried about me.”
“The cloves were for…” Dani scrunched up her face, trying to remember.
“The cloves were to attract my guardian angels. My mother told me one night, and I’m telling you that, too.” Dani’s mom smiled down at her, tucking a stray hair strand behind her ear. Her fingers lingered over her cheek, feeling how smooth they were. “You remember that, my little Dani. You see a clove, you remember that I put it there.” She lowered her head, resting her forehead to her daughter’s, and whispered, “Because I’ll be your guardian angel if we’re ever separated. I’ll be looking out for you.”
A clove. That was all it took.
Anything else she’d been about to say died in her throat. Dani couldn’t explain it. She stopped. Everything. She stopped pushing for answers. She stopped interrogating her grandmother. She let it all go, and she knew that she was done. Sandra O’Hara was done with her, too. There’d be no more visits. Dani left. Sandra’s stubborn face never looked back at her, not after she left the door open, not as she trailed past her window, and when Dani got outside, she turned around and peered up.
The window to her grandmother’s room was blank. No one stood there watching.
Dani knew Sandra was locked within herself, and in that moment, she pitied her, but she also pitied herself, too. Her grandmother couldn’t physically run, but that was what she was doing.
Dani would never be that person. She was done running.
She’d stay.
She’d stand.
Phylllis watched from the second floor window. She mused, her arms wrapped around herself like she was chilled, “That’s a shame. I don’t think that one will be back.” Then she went back to her desk and didn’t give Dani another thought.
Henrietta was in the corner, wrapped in a blanket and rocking back and forth. She looked up, and saw dancing lilies and daisies in the sky. She whispered to herself, “No one will be back. It’s going to break.”