Reggie sends us to the Topeka lavender fields.
Acres full of purple bushes stretch every which way, almost as colorful as the sunset painting the clouds in the sky. We’ve arrived just in time, it turns out. Harvest comes soon. We could have shown up to barren fields.
Wouldn’t that have been ironic? Bring my dead brother’s remains to the lavender he missed in life, only to find ourselves a little too late for it, too.
I wander down a row of the flowering bushes and let my hands brush against the fragrant stalks as I ponder timing and the trickster that is my brother.
“Do you think he meant for us to come back?” The question is out of my mouth before I consider if it was a good idea to articulate it.
Dom follows along behind me, so massively tall that even with a few feet between us I can still feel his presence looming.
“What do you mean?”
I stop my aimless wandering and turn to face him, trying not to admire the way the dying light of the day makes it appear as though there are random golden strands in his dark hair. “I mean, the beach in the middle of winter. The glow worms. Larva. Whatever. You can’t see them year-round. And here.” I sweep my hand over the purple expanse, glad the other sightseers are a distance off so the only one who can hear this conversation is the man staring at me with an unfathomable expression. “Lavender only blooms in certain months. We just happened onto this in the right time of year. Pure luck.” I let my arm drop. “But what if we weren’t lucky? What if we showed up and the fields were harvested? What if we showed up to Ink Ever After and they were closed for the day? Or the week?”
“You think Josh wanted us to make these trips more than once.” Dom’s jaw firms and relaxes as he lets my observation sink in.
I huff a laugh. “I think he would have thought it was funny if we had to. We’re talking about Josh. The traveling man. The guy who would never tell me exactly where he was, only a general time zone and a hint or two.” Sometimes he could be so infuriating that I refused to play. Other times I’d spend a half hour researching what a maned wolf was and what waterfall it might drink from just so I could understand where in the world my brother was. “I bet he thought about putting more info on the outside of the letters but didn’t. He wouldn’t see doubling back as a hassle. He left us more than enough money to cover these trips twice over.”
Two weeks ago, whatever postmortem process for distributing the willed money finished, and I received the funds my brother wanted me to use for these trips. I opened a second checking account, put all the money in there, and named the account “Evil World Domination Fund.” Hopefully that makes someone at my online bank laugh rather than report me to the FBI.
Do you think I have the time to constantly get on a plane and fly across the country? I silently rail at Josh. Guilt quickly follows the selfish thought.
Can I hold this against Josh, when he didn’t even get to come here once? Am I complaining that I might have to scent this delicious lavender multiple times in my life?
What a torturous existence.
“Forget I said anything,” I mutter, blushing with frustration and shame.
Dom doesn’t respond, which I’m grateful for. This day has been too weird and raw, my wrist throbs, and this scene is so beautiful it makes my heart ache. I don’t know if I want to run away or stay here forever. But as the light fades from the sky, I know it’s time to do the task we came for.
As I reach into my bag, my wrist protests the movement, a reminder of the words sketched into it.
Love, Josh
What a perfect metaphor, because damn, does that love hurt right now, too.
“I guess this isn’t a bad place to rest,” I muse, holding the Rubbermaid up so Josh can watch the sun sink and the sky turn a darker shade than the plants around us. “You’ll get to be somewhere that smells nice.”
Dom grunts a noise that sounds like disagreement to my ears.
A spark of temper lights off in my chest. My melancholy eases, replaced with irritation.
“You’ve got a problem with lavender?”
He stares over the plants, his face in that familiar, frustrating, stoic mask. “It’s fine.”
“Fine?” I hug Josh to my chest, offended on his behalf and on behalf of these fragrant plants surrounding us. “Lavender is an amazing scent. Light and fresh and an earthy kind of flowery. Soothing and not overpowering. Lavender is divine. Have you ever had a lavender latte? They’re delicious. That’s right, this scent is so good you can drink it. If good dreams have a smell, it’s lavender. If angels exist, you better believe they’re taking showers in lavender water and scrubbing their asses with lavender soap.”
As I rant about the glory that is lavender, Dom focuses on me, his brows raising with each of my fervent, completely factual arguments.
“I have it on good authority that people who like lavender are physically, mentally, and emotionally superior. Meanwhile, people who don’t like lavender are soulless robots who want to suck all the happiness from the world. Isn’t that right, Josh?” Holding up the container of ashes, I press my ear to the lid. “He says I’m right and that Dom should get his nose out of his not-lavender-scented ass.”
Dom crosses his arms over his chest and goes back to staring over the fields. “Rosaline used to wear lavender perfume.” He shrugs. “I always thought it was fine. Just fine. Guess that’s the robot in me.”
The rest of my snarky arguments dry up as his words register.
Great. I just spent the last five minutes inadvertently rambling about how amazing his ex smells. And damn it, she probably smells like lavender naturally and he just thought it was a perfume. That’s how amazing Rosaline always was.
And now I’m questioning my love of lavender. Did I come by the preference on my own, or was the scent something I told myself I liked because when I was younger, I wanted to emulate Rosaline in all things?
Gritting my teeth, I turn my back on Dom so I can pull in a few calming breaths and remind myself that I was going to try not biting his head off every time I see him.
What happened between us was years ago, and I never plan to give him that power over me again. For these few short trips, I can pretend to be a mature woman. Possibly.
When I’ve got my temper under control, I ease the lid off the Rubbermaid and face toward the west, where the sun has disappeared beneath the horizon, but some of its light still remains.
“I hope you enjoy the scent,” I say to my brother, then glance at Dom, giving him the chance to say something, too.
His eyes are on my hands as I cradle the container. “I think he did,” Dom murmurs. “And now he always will.”
Josh’s ashes spill out and mix into the lavender breeze.