Page 85 of Butterfly Effect

Any memories have been fed by these pictures.

Stymied grief regrows like a lizard’s severed tail. It’s heavy, threatening to suffocate and crush me under its weight.

Wade reaches across my back to palm my shoulder and pulls me to his chest, a silent invite to curl into him and let out every pent-up emotion. I shoot off a pleading look, but it’s no use. His Adam’s apple wobbles. Water clouds his eyes, too.

If I don’t stand in the next three seconds, I’m going to come apart, and not in the way he’s seen before. I fight the collapse.

A shallow sob exits my mouth, and I leap upright, excusing myself to the washroom.

I fumble to turn the venting fan on before slamming the toilet cover shut and plopping down. My head finds its place between my knees in an attempt to steady the sharp, gasping breaths.

A soft rap on the door cuts through.

Even softer is his tone. “Gabe, let me in.”

I know Wade means the washroom, but I’m not ready to show him the worst part of me. The part I’ve sliced away, wanting to forget. Like an untreated wound, it festers, the infection too deep for the covering bandage to aid in its healing.

Feet shuffling to the door, I press my cheek to the wood and speak through it. “Just gimme a minute, okay?”

He sighs, vibrating the door. “Okay.”

Tears dabbed away and fake toilet flush complete, I emerge to Wade’s weak, concerned smile.

“Your dad wants to go to the greenhouse.”

Chapter 15

Mr. Charming, Mr. Feel-Good, Mr. Center-of-Attention

Wade

It’s killingme to see Gabe like this.

I have no words of solace to offer her raw, reddened eyes or blotchy complexion from hiding her tears. I wish I could tell her I understand better than anyone what it’s like to be left behind and never heal from those scars.

I don’t let her ignore me, slipping my fingers between hers on our short walk back to Terry.

He claps his hands together before standing. “Let’s visit the plant babies.” His focus moves from his daughter to me. “I have an extra pair of boots for you.” Terry peeks over his shoulder while walking to the door. “You can show Wade around and do your quarterly inspection.”

Our hands remain clasped through the wet grass, rubber boots squeaking on the moss-covered pavers leading to the nursery.

Steel framing and the curved top of the opaque structure make up the classic hoop house.

Each of us ducks as we enter, the six-foot door slightly too low for our height. Hot, humid air greets us with a hiss.

“Welcome!” Terry beams.

Tropical plants and trees in crooked rows and irregular-shaped groups line the inside. Hoses attached to water barrels stretch across the length.

“We’ve got the palms over here, ferns and philodendrons over here, then the broad leaves like these giant elephant ears next to them. But monstera are more popular these days.” His hand grazes over strawberry-shaped leaves that look clipped. “Hibiscus, plumeria, gardenia over there…”

It’s so beautiful, the fragrance so sweet I almost can’t breathe.

Like Gabe.

I turn to her, the growing ache in my chest needing relief, but she lets go of my hand, knocking the air out of my lungs.

Her steps take her to the furthest white flowering bushes, leaning down every so often to inhale.

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