The Flower He Had to Plant

The first time Elena brought Lyla to his apartment, Charles had the kitchen stocked with everything the housekeeper could imagine a child eating.

Lyla ignored the food and inspected his living room.

"It's all gray."

"It was expensive."

She looked at him sympathetically. "Did you want yellow?"

Daniel turned away before Charles could catch his expression.

The following Sunday, Lyla brought a yellow cushion Mrs. Bell had helped her choose. She placed it in the middle of his sofa and stepped back to assess the result.

Charles moved it to a chair.

She moved it back.

By dinner, it had acquired her rabbit and a book about a bear who couldn't sleep. Charles decided it would be unreasonable to disturb them.

Thomas arrived late that evening and stopped when he saw it.

"You've redecorated."

"I've been occupied," Charles said.

Lyla raised her hand. "I did it."

They ate at a table Charles had mostly used for documents. His housekeeper had set four places and quietly put the extra chairs within reach.

After dinner, Thomas helped Lyla complete a puzzle while Elena followed Charles into the kitchen.

"Mother asked me why I didn't come home when Adam died," she said.

He set down the coffee scoop.

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth. That I didn't want to admit I'd needed her after making her need me for so long."

Charles leaned against the counter, resting after the transfer from his chair to the kitchen stool.

"Was she angry?"

"Yes. Then she asked what he was like."

He watched her turn a spoon over in her hands.

"What was he like?"

Elena smiled faintly.

"He used to buy awful mugs from thrift stores. The uglier they were, the more he liked them. He said nobody else would give them a good home."

Charles thought of the chipped cup in her kitchen.

"The orange one?"

She nodded.

"I wondered why you kept that."

"Lyla calls it Daddy's cup. She doesn't remember him. I try to make sure she knows him anyway."

From the living room, Thomas protested that a puzzle piece couldn't be forced into a different corner simply because it was purple.

Charles looked toward the sound.

"You can bring the cup here," he said. "When you visit."

Elena's fingers went still around the spoon.

"I'd like that."

The Sunday dinners continued. Sometimes Margaret came into the city; sometimes they met in Connecticut. Mrs. Bell joined them whenever her card club allowed it. Daniel was included so consistently that Lyla began assigning him a place card.

Charles's other life did not disappear. Men still lowered their voices when his calls came through. His name still opened doors that respectable businessmen pretended not to know existed.

But one Sunday, when a lieutenant arrived at the apartment with urgent business, Charles sent him downstairs to wait.

"Ten minutes," Daniel said after checking the message.

Lyla tapped the bear book. "You said until the end."

Charles looked at the page, then at Daniel.

"Until the end," he agreed.

The man downstairs waited twenty-three minutes.

By July, the family records had been reviewed and the arrangements settled through independent advisers. Thomas's parentage was formally acknowledged. Elena stopped bracing herself whenever an official envelope arrived.

Thomas chose to direct the funds available to him toward a rehabilitation fellowship in Marianne's name. Elena began planning a community clinic with colleagues from her work.

Charles offered a building, then an entire staff, then a board seat for himself.

"You can fund equipment," Elena told him. "You can't choose my reception chairs."

"Your taste in chairs is deeply questionable."

"You slept on my sofa."

"Under duress."

She smiled, but he heard the boundary. After a long moment, he asked her to send him a list of what she actually needed.

His own progress was less orderly than the clinic plans.

He learned to use braces and, later, forearm crutches for short distances under his team's guidance. He still used the chair most days. Sometimes he wanted the chair before he wanted anyone's company.

Elena learned to knock before coming into his study after a difficult session. Charles learned to answer instead of pretending he hadn't heard.

In October, they gathered at Margaret's house for Lyla's fifth birthday.

The cake leaned slightly to the left. Elena blamed the frosting. Margaret blamed Elena's refusal to measure anything. Thomas arrived with six books and defended the purchase as a single set.

Charles tasted the frosting before dinner.

Lyla caught him with a pink streak on his thumb.

"That was for the cake."

"Quality control."

She looked at Thomas. "Can you put him in trouble?"

"As his attorney, I advise him to apologize."

"You are becoming expensive," Charles told him.

Thomas passed him a napkin. "You knew that when you hired me."

Later, Lyla led Charles toward the garden. He used his chair over the path and stopped beside a low raised bed Margaret had installed that summer.

The girl pointed to markers in the soil.

"That's Mommy's. That's Grandma's. That one's Uncle Tom's."

"What are they?"

"Tulips. They'll come up after winter."

She showed him her marker, decorated with a yellow sun, then an empty space beside it.

"That one's yours."

"You haven't planted it."

"You have to do it."

She put a bulb into his hand.

Charles looked at his trousers, then at the damp earth.

"This is an expensive birthday invitation."

Lyla offered him a small trowel.

He dug the hole. She leaned against his arm to watch, then helped him cover the bulb and pushed his name marker firmly into the soil.

"Now everybody's here," she said.

Charles looked down the row. Mrs. Bell had a marker. So did Daniel. There was one for Adam, and one Thomas had written for Marianne.

He turned toward the porch, where his sister stood watching them.

For once he didn't try to hide how much something mattered.

"Elena," he called. "Come see where she's put us."