A Different Kind of Forever(77)

“No. Should I?”

“I guess not. She’s a singer,” Rachel explained, “kind of New Age-y. Anyway, there was a thing, and this Moira had an interview. She said that all the English women were shit out of luck when it came to Mickey Flynn, because he was madly in love with some older woman back in the States. She knew you lived in his hometown. And that you taught at a local college.”

Diane was stunned. “How did she know any of that?”

“I don’t know, Mom. Maybe somebody else from the band. Who knows? You two didn’t exactly keep things a secret, you know?”

“Oh, God.” Diane felt sick. “Do you think Emily or Meg have seen it?”

“I don’t know. Remember Chloe? From the group? She read it, I don’t know where, and asked if it was about you. You and Michael came to see us a couple of times, remember? She was just curious, since you had just been there with Quinn.”

Diane ran her fingers through her hair. “Can you talk to Emily, please?” she asked. “Just to try to find out if she knows. If she does, I’ve got to explain.”

“Sure. You were going to tell them anyway, right, when he came back?”

“Of course. I just didn’t think anyone would - shit, I’ve been so stupid. Of course, something was bound to come out. I just figured if he was over there, I wouldn’t have to worry just yet.”

“So, is he really madly in love with you?”

Diane took a breath. “Yes, actually.”

“Oh, Mom. That’s amazing. So then, what’s with Quinn?”

“Nothing, Rachel. I told you, we’re friends. It’s possible, you know, for men and women to be just friends.”

Rachel was quiet on the phone, and then sighed. “I bet this whole thing really sucks, him being away so long. It’s been over a month. Do you ever, like, talk to each other on the phone? Like normal people?”

“No,” Diane said softly. “It would be very hard for me, hearing his voice. It’s easier when he’s just a few words on a computer screen. Then missing him is not, I don’t know, as real.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Rachel said. “Look, I’ll try to see if I can get anything out of Em. I don’t think Megan would really care that much, but with Emily, well, you know.”

“Yes. I know.” Diane hung up, suddenly worried.



That Saturday, Diane answered the door, and Ed, looking large and embarrassed, stood at her door with a stocky, disapproving-looking woman.

“Remember, me?” Ed asked. “Mike sent me out here back in May?”

“Yes, Ed. How are you?”

He grinned. “Good. So. Mike called, from England I guess. This is Mrs. Whitmire. She’s from the New Jersey Rose Society.”

Diane looked at the woman with interest. “I didn’t know there was a Rose Society in New Jersey.” Diane said.

Mrs. Whitmire puckered her lips. ‘Yes. Apparently you need a lesson in pruning your roses and preparing them for the winter?” Her voice was shrill and condescending.

Diane looked at Ed, who was trying to keep a straight face. “Well, of course I’d be grateful for any advice. Come in.”

She led them through the house and into her back yard. Leaves had begun to fall, and things were looking shabby and tired. Mrs. Whitmire walked through Diane’s small rose garden, turning over leaves and clucking to herself. Diane looked sideways at Ed.

“What did Michael tell you to do, find a Rose Nazi?”

Ed cleared his throat. “He said to find an expert. If I’d known she’d be the one, I’d have grabbed the little guy from the garden department at Walmart.”

Mrs. Whitmire came up to them, shaking her head disapprovingly. “Black spot, of course. Didn’t you spray? No Japanese beetle, thank heaven, and your Louise Odier is suffering from iron deficiency. But, on the whole, they should survive. You have an interesting assortment.” Mrs. Whitmire looked vaguely displeased. “Most people try to select roses that have some common trait.”

“Well, I picked ones that smelled good,” Diane said apologetically. “I didn’t realize there was some kind of Rose Protocol.”

Mrs. Whitmire sighed, and led Diane back to her roses, and for the next hour gave Diane a fascinating and helpful lesson in how to prune, and when, how to wrap the roses against wind, and what to do the following spring. Diane thanked her, thanked Ed, and spent the rest of the day outside, starting to clear dying plants, raking, waiting until it was late enough in the day to call Michael in England. He had been staying at Seth’s, and he had given her the number there. She tried to calculate the time difference, knowing he stayed late at the studio.