When Ainsley was six, her mother let her help in the garden for the first time. Her mother had spent hours upon hours in that garden, and Ainsley was thrilled that she was allowed into this part of her mother's life. It felt special in a way that could never be recreated.
"Mommy, what are these?"
Ainsley fingered the petals of a long stem, giggling as the tiny petals tickled her fingers. Her mother smiled before leaning over to pluck a strand and then turning to weave it in Ainsley's hair.
"These are lupine, dear. They need lots of sun, and the seeds need to be soaked in warm water before planting."
"But what do they mean? Who do you give them to?" Ainsley looked up at her mother, innocent curiosity adorning all of her features. Her mother laughed.
"People with desire that burns bright and fast in their gut and cannot be stopped."
"How do you know?"
"You will learn how one day."
And Ainsley believed her mother, even though she dodged all of her questions as they walked through the garden, even though sections were avoided altogether, even though some flowers caused her mother to stop in her tracks, a look of longing on her face.
(Ainsley never received explanations for the flowers that always littered the store floors, though, the ones with red soaking into the delicate petals, oozing out onto the floor, creating stains that came back with the next visitor. Ainsley wasn't so sure she wanted to know.)
~~~
When Ainsley was eleven, she got a camera for her birthday. It wasn't expected, but she was ecstatic nonetheless.
She started taking pictures of whatever caught her eye, and so her camera came to be largely filled with flowers. Every picture was frame after frame of flower. Morning glories, carnations, crocuses, rosemaries—Ainsley captured all kinds, stopping time to remember the flower as she saw it.
Eventually the flowers grew to be too little, and she began taking pictures of the people who came into her mother's store. Each had their own story, and Ainsley was determined to remember them.
She snapped pictures of the young ladies who came into the store with a lovestruck, bittersweet aura around them. She took pictures of middleaged business men who seemed to be alive for the first time in their lives. She took pictures of teenagers with fear on their faces, their first experiences tarnished by the depth of which they fell. She took pictures of lots of people, but she never meant to take the picture of the most important person.
"Ainsley, go get the new shipment from the back."
Ainsley groaned from her perch on the counter.
"Mama, I'm looking through pictures right now."
"It is not a large one. It will barely take a few minutes."
She continued to grumble as she stood and headed towards the back room.
A layer of musk covered the back room, seeping into the weeks old herbs. The air
was thick and humid, and the aroma of flowers was overpowering. The farther Ainsley went in, the stronger the scents became.
Eventually, she found the box her mother wanted, and knelt to pick it up. As she did, a flash of sunlight struck her eyes, drawing her attention to a partially covered window. Task forgotten, Ainsley climbed around the clutter to peek out.
She sucked in a breath as she took in the scene. Although she has seen the back of the shop on many occasions, the early afternoon sun cast an amber glow over everything, illuminating the lot in a way that made her heart swell and drop to her stomach at the same time.
