Roses are red, violets are blue

Chapter 29: Marigold Mourning

The sunlight streamed through the grocery store's large windows, casting long shadows on the tiled floor. Lila ran her fingers absentmindedly over the fresh produce, the scent of ripe tomatoes and earthy potatoes filling her senses. She had promised herself she'd cook something wholesome tonight—something James would have loved. But as she reached for a bunch of vibrant carrots, the sight of the orange hue stirred a pang in her chest. Marigolds.

James had always loved their bold color. She could almost hear his voice, insisting they attend the Day of the Dead festival for his grandmother, Rosa. He had carried a bundle of marigolds that night, his face a mix of solemnity and joy. "They're for celebrating, Lila," he'd said, handing her one. "Life, even in its pain, is worth celebrating."

Now, standing in the grocery aisle, the memory weighed heavily on her. She gripped the shopping cart tighter, grounding herself against the tide of emotions threatening to sweep her away.

"Lila?"

The voice startled her, snapping her back to the present. She turned and saw Clara approaching, her face warm with concern.

"Hey, you okay?" Clara asked, placing a comforting hand on her arm.

Lila nodded, though her throat felt tight. "Just…thinking about James."

Clara gave her a small, understanding smile. "I get it. It's hard not to. But you're here, living, and that's what he would have wanted."

Lila's lips curved into a faint smile, appreciating Clara's effort to console her. They began chatting as they walked through the aisles, Clara animatedly describing her plans for the weekend. Lila listened, grateful for the distraction.

But as they approached the checkout line, the atmosphere shifted.

"Lila. You."

The sharp voice made her freeze. Turning slowly, she saw James's mother, Miriam, standing a few feet away, clutching a basket of groceries. Her graying hair framed a face lined with both age and anguish.

"Miriam," Lila said softly, stepping closer. "It's good to see you."

But Miriam's expression twisted with anger. Her voice rose, trembling with fury and grief. "Good to see me? After everything? How dare you pretend everything is fine?"

"Miriam, please…" Clara interjected, stepping between them.

"No, Clara!" Miriam's voice cracked, and tears pooled in her eyes. "She doesn't get to walk around like she's innocent. She killed him. She killed my James!"

The accusation hit Lila like a physical blow. Her heart pounded, her hands shaking as she struggled to form a response.

"I—Miriam, that's not true," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

But Miriam wasn't listening. "If it weren't for you, my boy would still be alive! You distracted him, made him reckless, and now he's gone!"

Shoppers around them had stopped, their curious and concerned gazes adding to the tension.

"Miriam, stop," Clara said firmly, placing her hands gently on the older woman's shoulders. "This isn't fair, and you know it."

Miriam's face crumpled, and for a moment, her anger seemed to dissipate, replaced by confusion. Her lips moved, as if trying to find words, but then she wavered, her knees buckling.

"Miriam!" Lila cried, rushing forward just as Miriam collapsed.

Clara was quick to react, helping Lila lower Miriam to the ground. "Someone call 911!" Clara shouted to the onlookers.

Lila cradled Miriam's head, her heart racing as she watched the older woman's face slacken. "Miriam, stay with me. Please."

Minutes felt like hours as they waited for help to arrive. Lila's mind spun, guilt and fear intertwining. When the paramedics finally arrived, they assessed Miriam and began preparing her for transport.

"She'll be okay," one of them assured Lila and Clara. "Looks like she fainted—maybe stress or dehydration. We'll know more after we get her checked out."

As the ambulance doors closed, Clara turned to Lila, her expression a mix of concern and anger. "You didn't deserve that, Lila."

"She's grieving," Lila said quietly, staring at the empty space where the ambulance had been. "And…she's not wrong."

Clara grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing Lila to meet her eyes. "Don't you dare say that. What happened wasn't your fault. Miriam…she's not herself. You know she's been struggling with dementia, right?"

The words struck Lila like another blow. "Dementia?"

Clara nodded. "She's been declining for a while now. She's not thinking clearly. That's why she said those things."

Lila's legs felt weak as she sank onto a nearby bench. "I didn't know. I haven't seen her in so long…I didn't know."

"She's hurting, Lila. But that doesn't mean you should take on her pain too." Clara sat beside her, her voice softening. "You've carried enough."

Lila nodded, though her mind was still reeling. Miriam's words echoed in her head, but now they were tinged with a new understanding. The anger, the blame—it wasn't entirely Miriam speaking. It was the illness, warping her grief into something cruel and untrue.

As they left the store, Lila carried a small bouquet of marigolds she had impulsively picked up. Back at home, she placed them in a vase on her kitchen table, their bright orange petals vibrant against the dim light of the room.

She sat down and stared at them, memories of James swirling in her mind. The festival, his grandmother, his words about celebrating life even in pain.

"Miriam is right," she whispered to herself. "Life is full of pain."

But as she gazed at the marigolds, their warmth seemed to challenge her despair. They were a reminder—not just of loss, but of love, resilience, and the beauty that persisted even in the darkest times.

Lila wiped her tears, taking a deep breath. Tomorrow, she would visit Miriam. She didn't know if Miriam would remember her or if they would argue again. But she owed it to James—and to herself—to try.

The marigolds stood silently on the table, their color glowing in the fading light, a quiet symbol of hope.