“If I could start my life over I’d be a lilacina,” said Meredith, with a dreamy look in her eyes.

Debra dropped the garment in her hand and wrinkled her nose in distaste. “What? It sounds like the name of a cult group.”

“It’s a lacecap hydrangea with blue or pink florets. Blue. I would definitely be blue.”

“Honestly, if we aren’t the antipodal of each other. You racing off to la-la land spilling out silly notions, while I remain firmly grounded to the task at hand. Now if you were a painter, knee deep in oil colors and painted canvases of flowers overflowing an atelier, I could try and imagine such a statement coming out of your mouth. But good grief, we’re sitting on your sofa, not even a floral print at that, in the dead of winter on a cold and rainy afternoon, sorting through these boxes of clothing for the church bazaar. How ever did you manage to come up with such an idea?”

That was Debra, quick to asseverate Meredith’s situation applying positive affirmation without knowing all the facts. Meredith fired back her own quick reply. “Blame it on Robert’s beautiful blue eyes. The exact color of my mama’s lacecap hydrangea.”

Debra snapped her head up and glared at Meredith. “Robert?” Robert who?”

Meredith’s eyes darted to the window and she released a sigh. “He sped by in his car and splashed muddy water all over my dress. When he stopped and backed up. I just stood there blinking through the muddy droplets running down my face. He said, ‘A person could get wet walking around on a day like this.’”

Meredith paused and took a deep breath. “It happened on a day just like today. We both laughed at such silliness, introduced ourselves, and he took me home. He picked a hydrangea from mama’s bush near the front door and pressed it into my hand. Then he looked at me with those gorgeous blue eyes for the longest time, without saying a word. Well, I couldn’t help myself. I fell in love with him right next to the lilacina hydrangea bush.”

Debra set her brow into firm lines. “In all the years we’ve known each other, you’ve never once mentioned a Robert, or for that matter hydrangeas.”

Meredith blinked at Debra. “Haven’t I? No, I suppose I haven’t. I didn’t want to share him with anyone. He’s mine. All mine. You might classify him bland, but his caring eyes...so capable of soothing or eliminating pain...and the way they erased all my imagined fears, replacing them with a relaxing country journey, without aid of my feet ever taking a step, would right my world again. A rare anodyne few possess.”

Heavy rain pierced the window and drew Meredith closer. She set a hand on the glass and held it there, as though someone stood on the other side doing the same. A smile touched her lips. “He was my first love. My true love.”

Debra tossed a pile of sweaters aside. “What? Why didn’t you marry him? And what about John, your husband of forty-three years?”

“War is a cruel thief. But it can’t steal ones memories. And John? He’s Robert’s brother, though no two brother’s could be more different.” Meredith wiped at a single tear. “Once again, just for tonight, John and I will pull out the old family album. We will remember the beloved younger brother on the eve of his death forty-eight years ago, and I’ll place a bouquet of blue lilacina hydrangeas on Robert’s grave in memory of our anniversary of the day we met, one year earlier.”