Sparrow plunged her hands into the bathroom sink, the foaming soap clinging to her forearms. She was washing her lingerie—not the cotton panties that were unraveling around the waistband, but the green silk pair, lined with black lace. The bra that matched had a bit of padding to give her too slender body some shape. She almost never wore them, and the few times she had, she’d been too reluctant to go through with any romantic entanglements. Looking up in the steamed mirror, she saw that her normally pale cheeks were pink. The black hair clung to her temples, and her eyes glittered, pale gold grains of pollen still lurking in her eyebrows.
“What are you doing?” she asked the image, still gently squeezing the underwear in the soapy water. The face smiled back, giddy and ridiculously happy, a new emotion for her.
Two days ago, when she’d gone to the Market in search of the arum, there were so many different vendors hawking herbs and wild plants that she’d spent the better half of the morning strolling through the individual stands, chatting with organic gardeners, and rolling leaves between her palms to loose the aromatic oils. A farmer’s wife had talked her into buying a bouquet of early fall flowers, yellow black-eyed Susans and purple cone flowers, sprigs of orange bittersweet, and a handful of blue delphiniums. Another had convinced her to purchase a handful of dried lavender. “Sprinkle the buds in your clothes,” she said and winked.
Finally, in a small stand nestled beneath a huge spreading oak, Sparrow found the arum. She’d gone online at the bookstore to make sure she knew what it looked like, and she could not imagine why Serana had considered it so dangerous. And yet when she saw its single funnel-shaped blossom, green on the outside and burnt red on the inside, sheltering the tall brown stamen, she felt her pulse race. The closer she got to the plant, the harder it was to breathe properly. And yet the feeling was pleasant, even heady. She’d touched the waxy leaves, and leaned down to sniff the blossom, hoping that—like the herbs—it too would have a lovely aroma. A faint perfume, sweet and dusty, emanated from the yellow pollen packed against the base of the upright stamen. Inhaling deeply, she was suddenly warm all over, smiling.
“Are you interested?” asked the vendor. “Not too many are turned on by this beauty.”
Sparrow thought him attractive enough: reddish hair that fell in loose curls to the collar of his shirt, a squared jaw, hazel eyes. His teeth were white and much too even to be entirely natural. Not the real deal, she found herself thinking, a suburban boy slumming on the land. In another year he’ll be sick of peddling plants and go back to law school.
“Yeah. I have a friend who will dig it,” she said.
She studied him as he bagged the pot in a paper bag. Next to Robin’s angular face, with the narrow gap between his front teeth, and the dark haunted pools of his eyes, this spoon-fed boy in a farmer’s dirt-splatter T-shirt was too perfect and therefore uninteresting. She gave him a full smile, conscious that he was staring at her body. For once, that didn’t frighten her. In fact she let her hips sway as she walked away carrying the plant.
* * *
SPARROW HADN’T BEEN SURE TWO days earlier why the arum was dangerous. It simply felt right. Especially when she’d seen Robin sprawled on the porch taking a break from gardening.
When he saw her, he straightened up. She approached carefully, like a temple acolyte bearing an offering. He’d opened his hands to receive the gift even before he knew it was a gift.
“For you,” she said in a husky voice. “For the garden.”
“Thanks.” He opened the bag to glance inside. His head shot up and his eyes gleamed. “Really, thanks.”
She’d nodded then, afraid to say more and started toward the stairs, feeling the heat from his body on her thighs. At the threshold of the door, even though she tried not to, she’d turned and looked over her shoulder. He’d been staring at her, holding tightly to the bag.
* * *
THAT DAY, SPARROW HAD WATCHED Robin from her balcony. Watched him dig in the garden, watched him throw back his head to laugh at something Jack said, watched him tease Sophia. She’d seen Sophia’s eyebrows shoot up to the crown of her russet hair and the alarmed expression on her face when Robin showed her the arum.
So, Sparrow thought, everybody knows it’s here to start something. Even Jack knew, for he’d pulled Sophia aside to whisper in her ear and nod at the plant.
And on the following day, when the afternoon sun had been at its longest point, Robin had looked up and acknowledged her where she stood, leaning into the warm, burnished light. He hadn’t said anything, just stared with a smile that was at once hungry and sorrowful. She knew that feeling and as the heat flared in her chest, a ribbon of gold dust lifted from the red throat of the arum flower, swirled around the turgid stamen, and cast its pollen over the garden. She inhaled and caught the familiar scent of its dusty perfume, tasting its sweetness on her lips.
* * *
AT THE BATHROOM SINK, SPARROW squeezed the last of the soap and water out of her lace panties and bra and hung them to dry. Standing back to look at them, she rolled her eyes, abashed at the sight, and yet wanting to somehow be ready. She hoped that for once she might feel beautiful. She hoped that making love might be as lovely as she imagined it could be. That for once the invitation to sex would be about sharing not owning, about tenderness and not violence.
Turning off the bathroom light, she returned to the bedroom and shimmied into her old cotton nightgown with the border of white embroidery. Although it was falling apart at the hem and neck, the flimsy fabric around her legs made her feel feminine. And desirable.
As she lay down on the bed, hands resting lightly on her breasts, with Lily dozing the floor, Sparrow waited for Robin’s fiddle to play. The melodies were soft that night, and insinuating. As were her dreams.