Flora sat on the velvet-cushioned window seat in the parlor. The sun shone in on her through the wide glass panes and tickled her skin. The day was a crisp, bright chapter of early spring, and the sunlight was warm and soothing despite the frost that still coated the yard.
That soft, mid-morning warmth was a great comfort to Flora. Her fiancé had just confessed to her the night before that he had been in love with another woman, and that he wanted to break their engagement. She had simply nodded, feeling nothing but dull shock, and returned to him the ring he’d given her. Later in the night, when the cruel reality truly set in, Flora had spent hours lying on her bed, sobbing until she could no longer keep her eyes open to shed tears. Her pillow was still damp when she woke up in the morning.
Hence the comfort in the touch of the sunshine. It dried the tears of the night’s events, in a spiritual sense. She still clutched her handkerchief close to her in case her despair bubbled over again, but for the moment, she was content enough to sit and stare at the trees, neatly lined up along the driveway, and sip her tea.
For a while, nothing changed dramatically in the scenery. The breeze rustled through the budding leaves of the trees; once or twice a squirrel appeared before darting away upon noticing Flora at the window. The frost on the grass slowly melted into dewdrops before evaporating entirely under the sun’s glow. It was serene and comforting, and it served as a sort of visual lullaby for Flora, with the colors and shapes impressionistically soft, and the unity of the scene sweet like a song, and she began to fall asleep. After what felt like no time at all, however, the loud rumble of a car’s motor jarred her awake. She lifted her head to see a shiny red 1940 Chevrolet careening up the driveway and screeching abruptly to a halt. A sharply dressed young woman stepped out of the car and strode to the front door of the house. Flora looked on with confusion for a moment, then rose to her feet and hurried to greet this unexpected and unknown visitor.
“Hello,” said the unfamiliar woman. “Are you Flora?”
“Yes,” Flora replied hesitantly, uncertain of where the situation was headed. “To - to what do I owe the visit?”
“I understand that my being here came as a surprise to you,” the woman said. “I’m very sorry. But as far as I know, Raymond was - or perhaps still is? I don’t know the details - involved with you. And I think there may be things that we both need to know.”
Flora looked at her blankly. What a cryptic thing to say, she thought. How in the world am I to respond to that? In the end, she settled on a trembling, “Well, I wouldn’t want to leave you standing out there on the porch; do come in.”
Flora led this unfamiliar woman into the parlor and hastily hid her half-empty cup of cold tea and soggy handkerchief behind the sofa. “Pardon the mess,” she chuckled nervously.
“I’ve seen worse,” her guest replied, her voice devoid of any particular sentiment.
Flora smiled, still uncomfortable, and stole a glance at the woman, who was still standing, rigid and expressionless. “Oh, do sit down. I’ll go put on the water for tea, if you’d like…?”
“No, it’s all right; I think we should get straight to the point here. I don’t mean to be impolite, but this is important, and once you hear it, you’ll understand.”
Flora tried not to appear taken aback. She laughed timidly and sat down in the chair across from her visitor. “Well, let’s hear it, then. I’m sure it is quite important, yes; quite important.”
The woman settled into her seat, legs crossed and heels pointing glamorously to the frayed rug. “Well, it’s a wild thing, really. Raymond - he broke off our relationship last week, saying he was in love with another woman and he could not stay with me. So I did some - some detective work, I suppose, and I found this photograph -” She produced from her pocket a picture of Raymond with his arm around Flora’s shoulders. Flora gasped.
“I - tell me if I’ve got this right. Raymond was - he was involved with you?”
The woman nodded.
“But then he told you that - that he was in love with another woman?”
Another nod.
“And then you found a photograph of him and me at the shore?”
And another.
“Might I ask where you found it?”
The woman sighed softly. “It was in his sock drawer, under a pile of, well, socks. But that wasn’t the only thing I found.”
“Oh? Pray continue, then.”
From the same pocket that she’d drawn the photograph, she now brought out a stack of letters and other photographs and passed them to Flora to examine. “I’m Lilla, by the way. I’ve no idea who Amelia and Polly are, but one of them, I forget which, sent Raymond quite the risqué letter. It’s the one with the red lipstick kiss at the bottom corner by the signature.”
Flora leafed through the collection of notes. She found thirteen letters that she herself had sent to her ex-fiancé, twelve and a postcard from Lilla, fourteen from Amelia, and a whopping twenty-eight from Polly. Her eyes settled on the “risqué letter,” as Lilla had described it, which had been written by a possibly intoxicated Polly. She began to read it to herself. Her eyes rolled across line after line of progressively poorer quality and filthier content. By the time she’d gotten halfway down the page, it had become too much. She set it on the table with disgust, then looked up at Lilla.
“I read it to the end,” Lilla said grimly. “You are a smart woman for setting it down before it got to the worst part.”
Flora nodded, still shuddering. She resumed her examination of her ex-lover’s various correspondences. Sappy love letters from Amelia; crisply written yet dreamy letters from Lilla; various other grotesqueries from Polly; and from Flora herself, a collection of sweet, simple letters about ordinary, everyday occurrences; nothing particularly important, but many things that were joyful in their own little way. She forced back a few unexpected tears, not wishing to cry in the company of a veritable stranger.
“It’s okay, Flora,” Lilla said softly. “We’ve both been duped. I was thinking we could perhaps get in touch with Amelia and Polly, let them know what was going on all this time. They deserve to know, too, if they don’t already. You have every right to be upset about this, every right and more. Raymond… he didn’t deserve your love, with what he did. But it’s going to be all right.”
Flora nodded and began to sob. Her face burned with the embarrassment of crying in front of Lilla, but she couldn’t control it.
“Well,” Lilla said, standing up, “I think I’ll go put on the water for tea, if you’d like?”
Flora looked up, saw her new acquaintance through her glistening tears, and smiled, thinking that perhaps this could be the beginning of a solid friendship. “Yes, thank you.”
Emma Kortz is a junior who loves to write and draw. She plans on majoring in English and Creative Writing in college.