True Places(99)

“What sort of something?”

“A project. A rather large one.” She smiled.

“And this project, does it involve me?”

The crease above her left eyebrow appeared. “No. Well, that’s up to you. Let me tell you about it.”

The floor seemed to drop away. Keep talking. She wants to talk. “Great. How about I get the rest of the wine?” He left the room before she could answer, desperate for a moment to regroup. A project? Clearly not one of her charities, not in this context, the context of “something I want to do.” Whit descended the stairs, turning away from the sounds of the television, the presence of his children. He navigated through the near darkness of the dining room, feeling disembodied, like he was trailing a little behind himself, part of him insanely curious about what Suzanne had in store and another part wanting only to return to their normal life.

The light was on over the cooktop. The half-dark kitchen soothed him slightly. This was their home. He could not articulate exactly what that meant, but he was certain nothing had ever meant more to him.

He retrieved the wine bottle and returned upstairs. Suzanne sat on the chaise holding a stack of notebooks. Whit placed the bottle on the nightstand, picked up his wineglass, and took a seat on the bed.

“Okay,” he said. “What’s this project?”

She showed him the notebooks, which had belonged to Iris’s mother and to Iris’s grandmother before that. The pages were filled with information about plants and their uses. Suzanne explained that most of the plants were local to Virginia, but some were found only in mountainous areas farther south and west, suggesting Iris’s mother was from the Smoky Mountains or the Ozarks.

“But that’s not the most interesting part,” Suzanne said. “At least not for me.”

Whit nodded, eager for her to get to the point and yet dreading it.

“While I was at the cabin alone, I realized what I had in my hands.” She weighed the notebooks in her palms. “Not what Iris’s mother or grandmother discovered per se, but what might be discovered using these observations and others like them.”

“Wait,” Whit said. “You were at the cabin alone?”

“Yes. I got there first and stayed there by myself for one night.”

Whit stared at her, stunned.

“I was fine, Whit.” She smiled to reassure him. “Totally fine.”

“How?”

She shrugged. “I was determined to find the cabin, I guess. And to be there for Iris, to help her discover her family’s truth.” She looked down at the notebooks. “And in the process, I think I’ve discovered, or rediscovered, mine.”

Whit had no idea what she was talking about, but her face was so animated, so full of intent, he swallowed his questions. “Okay. Tell me.”

“You probably saw that the property has a house, the barn, a couple of other buildings, plus the cabin, and two hundred and fifty acres, mostly wooded.” He nodded. “I want to buy it.”

“Why? For what?”

“A center for the study of medicinal uses for local plants. Not a quaint museum for amateur herbalists, but a place for scientists to work, for students to learn, for the public to appreciate the complexity of what is growing in their backyards.” She held up one of the notebooks. “There’s so much knowledge in here, but it’s just the beginning.”

Whit tried to digest what his wife was saying, both the ideas she was presenting and the fact that she was having them. Meanwhile, Suzanne kept talking.

“I’ve done some research, just preliminary, but I think I want the focus to be the development of new antibiotics. Remember when Iris had that MRSA infection? Very soon, too soon, we’re going to be defenseless against dangerous bacteria. The drugs doctors have aren’t working anymore, and we’re running out of ideas for new ways to fight them.” She leaned toward him, her eyes bright. “Plants can help. Because they can’t move, they have to defend themselves right where they are against all sorts of attacks, including bacteria.”

“But aren’t people already doing this?”

“A few. It’s pretty new. People are waking up to the antibiotic problem now, but no one has the answer.”

Suzanne looked at him expectantly.

Whit took a deep breath and took a sip of wine. He didn’t know where to begin. This was all so crazy. Their kids—Brynn, mostly—had gotten into trouble, and he hadn’t handled it very well, so Suzanne had gotten angry and taken off. Now she was back with a plan to save the world from deadly bacteria, and somewhere in there, he was pretty sure his marriage was hanging in the balance.

“Look, Suzanne. I know you got upset about what happened on prom night, and I take the blame for not seeing it coming. I’ve admitted that, not just to you, but to Reid and Brynn.”

She frowned. “But not enough to talk to Robert.”

“I didn’t see the point. I still don’t.”

She exhaled sharply and pulled back from him. “I was telling you about my project.”

“I know. But why now? You can’t just cut and run from our life because you came up with this idea.”

Suzanne raised her eyebrows. It wasn’t an expression he was used to seeing on her and it unsettled him. “I’m not cutting and running, Whit. But you are right, absolutely, that I haven’t yet figured out what it might mean for our life together. I honestly haven’t.” Her face softened. “I do know that I can’t go on like before. I was a very organized, efficient zombie. That’s over. I have to do something I care about.”