What Emmie had been saying for the last few years was true. Joan had wrapped herself into a cocoon, insulating from the world to the point that any outside interference felt threatening. While inside her home, Joan felt safe and protected. Sheltered. After Jared’s death, she needed that comfort. The world outside her front door was risky. A virus ran rampant. People died. One place, and one place only, could she be guaranteed protection, and that was behind the locked front door of her home.
The letter seemed to shake the foundation she had stood on. It was almost as if she could feel the floor start to crumble beneath her. She needed to take action, and the sooner she dealt with this unpleasantness, the sooner she could retreat once again to what was familiar.
Sitting at her computer, she wasted a good hour on word games. The avoidance relaxed her to the point that she could look up information on local yard service companies. Several offered additional landscaping, along with weekly, biweekly, or monthly maintenance. After visiting the websites for four of the companies listed, she did due diligence and read the reviews. Two of the four had several five-star ratings and glowing comments.
Checking the time, she felt both businesses should be open by now. The first call went directly to voice mail.
“Thank you for calling Harrison Lawn and Landscaping service. I am currently unavailable, but please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you at my earliest convenience.” The greeting was followed by a loud beep.
“Ah, hi. I’m Joan Sample. My HOA said my lawn isn’t up to par. Would it be…could you kindly give me a call back. Thank you.” Not until she cut off the call did she realize she hadn’t left her phone number.
Dialing again, she listened to the spiel a second time and waited for the beep before she said, “Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. That’s the problem, clearly. I was the one who called because of the letter I got from the HOA. I need you, if you would, to stop by and give me a quote, but I failed to leave my number for you to return my call. Silly of me, right? If I don’t take care of this soon, I’ll be fined, and no one wants a pay a fine, right? Oh, and if you want the job, you must love flowers. My number is 206-876-…”
Beep.
She didn’t get to finish before she was cut off. She’d babbled on so long she didn’t have time to leave her contact information.
How was it that she couldn’t even manage to leave a voice mail without screwing it up? Tossing her phone down on her desk, she covered her face with both hands and felt the strongest urge to cry. At one time she’d been competent. Capable. Unflappable. Now she couldn’t accomplish a phone call without making a fool of herself.
Joan bit into her lower lip as she struggled to acknowledge the truth of the woman she’d become. For the last few years, her sister had tried again and again to open Joan’s eyes by suggesting counseling. On their last conversation, she mentioned Joan taking in a boarder. It was time—past time, really—that she faced the future instead of hiding behind closed doors. At the mere thought her heart raced, and she felt paralyzed about where to start.
Closing her eyes, breathing evenly, Joan pictured herself as a butterfly.
She knew that leaving the cocoon was painful and often difficult. It was the struggle that made the butterfly strong enough to break free and able to fly away.
As daunting as it felt, she needed to seriously consider finding a support group. That was certainly more overwhelming than contacting a landscaper. How would she even know where to start? She needed to remind herself she was a strong, capable woman, or she once was, and she would be again.
As she struggled to find the courage to seek out a counselor, a memory came to her. It happened shortly after Jared’s services. Gennie Davis, a friend from college, had connected with Joan and offered condolences. Gennie had lost her husband two years earlier and had mentioned a counselor who had helped her deal with the loss and pain that followed Joe’s death. They’d gotten together, Gennie and the counselor, for a couple meetings before Gennie had transferred to a grief therapy group.
Unlike Jared, Joe had died of cancer after fighting the disease for several years. Jared’s death had come about suddenly and had been a complete shock. Joan barely had time to get to the hospital, following the ambulance, only to arrive and learn her husband had been declared dead. The shock of it, the suddenness, had hit her like running into a bulldozer. She’d been devastated. When she’d first heard the news, she’d been convinced there was some mistake; someone had gotten it wrong. Jared couldn’t be dead. Surely the medical team should be able to do something to bring him back.
Remembering that dreadful day sent Joan’s thoughts spiraling down a deep, dark hole. She had to shake herself to pull her mind back into the present. If she were to book an appointment with a counselor, Joan would need to relive all that again and she couldn’t do it, couldn’t go through the agony of that dreadful day one more time. Once had been bad enough.
She’d call a counselor later, Joan decided, another time when she was better able to deal with that pain. She had never been one to rush into things. She was methodical. Until then, she’d make the effort to get out more. When she started to feel more like herself again, she’d revisit the idea. It might take a while, but it was important that she be mentally ready to take the step that would help her move forward. That time wasn’t now. Or anywhere close to it.
* * *
—
Phil Harrison listened to the voice mail and couldn’t contain his smile. The only criteria the caller wanted was simple: He must love flowers. She sounded a bit distressed, as if this letter from the HOA had unsettled her.
He sat in his pickup and was ready to return the call, when another came in from his dad. Phil had taken over the family business a few years earlier when his father decided to retire. His dad had been shocked that Phil would give up a thriving law practice to mow lawns and weed flower beds.
It’d surprised Phil, too, but he’d badly needed the change, needed to get out of the office and the courtroom. As a kid, he’d hated working for his dad and did everything he could think to avoid yardwork. Then the accident had happened, and everything had changed. His entire world had imploded. Afterward, Phil felt the urge to get back to basics, close to the earth, to nature. The desire burned in him, and he started helping his father the way he never had as a youth. Digging into the earth, planting flowers and trees, bringing color and life into a world that had felt ugly and dark, revived him. Soon he was spending more time doing yardwork than he was in the office. It was about the same time that his father suffered a heart attack, and the doctors advised him to retire. Phil knew taking over the business was what he wanted, what he needed.
His dad kept his hand in the business, but most of his time was spent at the senior center with his friends. He’d taken up woodworking in his spare time and had become a rather good cook, much to Phil’s surprise.