Susannah's Garden (Blossom Street #3)(2)
That was when Vivian sensed someone’s presence and opened her eyes. Joy coursed through her veins as she stared, wondering if her mind had betrayed her.
“George?”
Her husband of fifty-nine years stood beside her, shadowed under the nearby streetlight. His smile warmed her and she straightened, eyes wide open, terrified he’d disappear. George had come to help her, come to save her.
“That is you, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer but stood there plain as could be. He’d always been such a handsome man, she thought, admiring his broad shoulders and his confident posture.
They’d been high school sweethearts and known each other their entire lives. Vivian felt she was the luckiest girl in the world when George Leary asked her to marry him. They’d been apart for nearly three years while he was fighting in Europe. Then he’d gone to college to get his law degree on the G.I. Bill. That time of struggle had paid off, though, and after a few years of private practice, he’d been invited to join the bench. George had been the one and only love of her life and she missed him terribly. How like him to come to her now, in her hour of need.
Vivian reached out to him, but George backed away. She dropped her hand abruptly, biting her lower lip. No, of course—she should’ve realized she couldn’t touch him. One couldn’t touch the dead.
“I’m lost,” she whispered. “Don’t be angry with me, but I can’t find my way home.”
He smiled again and she was so relieved he wasn’t upset with her. She’d forgotten things before he died, too, and sometimes he got frustrated, although he tried to hide it. She’d even stopped cooking but that was because she’d forgotten so many of her recipes. The ones in cookbooks were too hard to read, too confusing. But George never complained and often heated soup for both of them.
Vivian felt she should explain what had happened. “I went to get the mail and I must’ve decided to go for a walk, because when I looked up I wasn’t anywhere close to the house.”
He stretched out his hand and she got to her feet.
“Can you take me home?” she asked, hating how plaintive and helpless she sounded.
He didn’t answer. Then she realized that dead men couldn’t talk, either. That was all right; she didn’t care as long as George stayed with her. Six months it had been since he’d died and every one of those months had seemed an eternity.
“I’m so glad you came,” she whispered, trying to hide the way her voice cracked with emotion. “Oh, George, I miss you.” She told him about the garden, even though she knew she was rambling. He’d never liked it when she talked too much, but she was afraid he’d have to leave soon, and there was so much to tell him. “George, I’m sure Martha is stealing. I just don’t know what to do. I watch her like a hawk when she comes to clean, but still I find things missing. I can’t let her rob me blind, and yet I hate to fire her after all these years. What should I do?” She hadn’t really expected him to answer, and he didn’t.
Then, suddenly, she saw the house. They were on Chestnut Avenue, where they’d lived since 1961. She walked laboriously to the front door, holding on to the railing and taking the steps one at a time. When she looked up to thank George for helping her, her beloved husband had vanished.
“Oh, George,” she sobbed. “Come back to me…please. Please come back.”
CHAPTER 2
Susannah Nelson dumped the leftover broccoli salad into a plastic container and shoved it inside the refrigerator, closing the door with unnecessary force. Brian, her seventeen-year-old, had mysteriously disappeared after dinner, leaving her with the dishes. She shouldn’t be surprised. He had a convenient excuse every night to get out of doing his assigned chores.
“Is something bothering you?” her husband asked from his perch in the family room. Joe lowered the newspaper and all Susannah could see were his dark brows and his eyes behind the steel-rimmed reading glasses.
She shrugged. “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed, but this is the third night in a row that Brian hasn’t done the dishes,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended.
“I’ll do them,” he offered.
“You shouldn’t have to do that,” Susannah told him. “Nor should I.”
Joe set the newspaper aside. “This isn’t about Brian, is it? You’re upset about something else.”
“Well, I am annoyed about the way he’s been skipping out on chores, but you’re right, that isn’t everything.” What concerned her most was her inability to identify a specific reason. She’d been on edge for weeks, feeling vaguely dejected.
It didn’t help that she’d dreamed of Jake again last night. Her high school boyfriend had been making nightly appearances, and that unsettled her as much as anything. Susannah was happily married and despite the abrupt ending to her teenage romance, there was no good reason for her to dwell on Jake. Her marriage had survived the crises that any successful marriage does. Her children were nearly grown; her daughter was in college, ready to start her own life. Brian had summer employment, working for a construction company, and would earn enough to pay his own car insurance. The school break would officially begin in a day’s time, and she’d be free for nearly seven weeks. Why, after more than three decades, was she dreaming of Jake? It made no sense whatsoever. There he was, big as life, filling her head with memories of a long-lost love.