Take Care of Her For Me

He made me promise, and I have kept it.

It’s the only thing left that I have of his life.

We didn’t have much when we had the accident, and I have even less now.

That’s all right. I get by.

I don’t need much. I’m all alone now. Just me… and her.

Please, sweetheart, take care of her, it’s the only legacy I have…

I had hopes for a family. A cozy life, a small house of our own, with a bit of lawn, a dog. A child.

I’m sorry, darling, I have to go, I can’t stay…

Pieces of letters swirl in my head. I burned them years ago, for the heat in the winter. I remember every word. The color of the paper, the smell of the cedar-wood box I kept them in, the dried flowers pressed like memories in a diary. Gone, all gone now. To keep her warm, to keep her alive.

I sold the rest of the collection when he died. I could only take care of one, unlike him, who had more than a green thumb. So painful, the memories, but I re-live them, over and over. It is what keeps him alive in my heart.

I miss him so much.

He taught me to take care of her. Misting the leaves, dribbles of water. The right substrate for potting, the right amount of sun from the right window, the right fertilizer mix. When to cut, when to propagate. Leaf health.

I was bewildered, at first. When I met his babies. Each one named, notes on when he got them, under what circumstances, careful, precise, details. Each journal went with the new owner, so they knew how much their children were loved.

I was terrified to touch her, so afraid I’d do something wrong. By the third year, it was obvious I needed to propagate, and built some sort of trellis. I followed the journal, painstaking notations, in his tiny handwriting. So rare nowadays. I treasured those notes, so close to holding his hand, but it was also sacrificed to the fire when the cold snap hit.

I don’t need the notes anymore. I know her health better than my own. I’ve breathed the same air, respire, suspire, exhale, changing and interchanging, for, what, twenty years? I know her, each node, each curve of leaf. We’ve fought mealybugs and spider mites, and ooohhhh the thrips! One of the few times I left her side was to buy insecticide soap, and a unique scissors to cut away the damaged leaf parts.

And every year, on the anniversary of his death, a special meal. Just the two of us. Hers in her fertilized water, mine in my tea.

It’s all I have left of him.

She’s too big to move outside anymore, but we used to sit on the porch in the springs and summers. I would carry the pot outside, and we would sit, and drink water, and watch the breezes in the trees. When she got too heavy to move, I would open the windows and doors, and invite the breezes in. I would tell her stories of him, and his love for her, for me, reciting the letters from memory, his notes on her care and safe keeping.

And when the winters turned cold, we would huddle near the fireplace, with doors shut and windows covered, while I checked her skinny leaves for signs of frostbite. Pans of water for the right humidity.

I had enough to get by. The wrongful death settlement filled my needs, but didn’t bring him back. The delivery service doesn’t charge extra for the long trip, though I tip him well. The handyman doesn’t charge me much either; I think he feels sorry for me. I can almost hear him: The potty widow who lost her mind when her husband died, she seems all right, I took off the second story of the house and piled the wood on the back porch like she asked, so she could use it as firewood. I offered to get her real firewood, she said she might take me up on it later, but she made a promise. What does that even mean?

I keep my promises, is what it means.

Darling, don’t let anything happen to her, she’s my best baby, my biggest prettiest baby…

He would be so proud. She is glorious, so beautiful. Her arcs, her festoons, they have taken over the room. I brought my little cot in to sleep with her, and chopped up our bridal bed for firewood. It was too big for just me, alone. I couldn’t. It seems fitting that the heat of its consumption kept us alive.

Darling, promise me, please…

I cannot do it any more. The money is gone.

I stopped eating when it became a choice of food or fertilizer for her. There was never any question who would survive. It was just the details.

I saved some paper. I begged a pen from the delivery man; he gave it to me for free.

He’s due to return in a few days. It will be all over by then, I can feel it. I haven’t been able to leave my cot for a week or so. The door is unlocked, and the papers are visible on the floor. He will do what’s right, I am sure.

Darling, wait for me…

I’m coming, my love. I promised. She’s as safe as I could keep her…

***

“Chief, you called me?”

“Yeah, Smith, can you come over here?” Smith was young, but he was sharp. But not ready for some sights in the world, as it were.

“You’re into house plants, right? Know a lot about ‘em?”

“Sure do, Chief. What’s this about?”

“Can you ID one for me?” Chief angled his phone. Smith took one look and sucked in his breath.

“Whooo, whee, Chief! That’s a monster! Well, no – the Monstera species are another group. That there is the most perfect specimen of a Philodendron tortum I have ever seen! It’s amazing! It covers the whole room, with arches and pillars? Phenomenal! The size of that pot! My God, can I meet the owner? Please?”

Chief shook his head sadly. “She died last week, son, I’m sorry. These are pics from the scene, and I’m not showing you the pic of her body on her little bed. Poor Wheatley found her this morning, trying to deliver an order. Which she didn’t have the money for, and apparently knew it. What I’m not showing you, is that her cot was positioned in such a way that her body would feed the plant, if she wasn’t discovered in time. Found her will there and all, seems she knew it was coming. Nothing left but the tiny property, and it’s been reduced to a single room with a bath off one door.”

“But, Chief, why? That plant’s worth a large fortune! She could have sold it at any time, made millions!”

“Now, kid no way-”

“Chief! I mean it! That there is the most perfect specimen in the world. Talk to an auction house, you will see people flock here from all over the world, with very deep pockets. Like, Swiss bank account deep. Private planes. Gold plated everything. I’m not kidding, Chief, call in an expert or two. Make sure you catch them when they pass out from seeing it.”

“You putting me on, Smith?”

“I swear on my mother’s grave, though she ain’t dead yet. She’s got the plot, though.”

“Hunh.” Chief sat back. “That’s strange, all that money for a plant. And she didn’t leave, didn’t sell it, but made sure it was so well taken care of that she may have accidentally died young. Widow Jones was an odd duck, but this, this is beyond my ken. It looks like she even fed her husband’s ashes to the plant as well, we found an almost-empty urn near the cot. Just a tiny sprinkling left, small doses over the years, barely enough to identify what they were.”

“Chief, I’ll tell you, we plant people are crazy. She sounds pretty normal to me, for that result. Any notes in a journal, that I can look at?”

“No, son, just the will, and final directions. No notes.”

“That part’s odder to me than the rest. Um, can I go and see it?”

“Her body? No, son, the coroner’s there, dealing with detaching her from it.”

“I mean the plant, Chief. Maybe I can get a cutting, if I may. I have a kit in the car, just in case. That’s a fine plant I wouldn’t mind adding to my small collection. No one will even notice a node or two, to propagate. In fact, you’d better call the coroner, let me help him. I can make sure the detaching’s done safely.”

“You’re mad, Smith. You’ve never seen a dead body, and this one’s not in the best of shape anymore.”

“But the plant’s alive, Chief. I can help do it right. It’s important to the plant’s health.”

“You’re a nutter.”

“I’m also right.”

Chief sighed. “All right, get out there, I’ll call. Are you serious? Millions?”

“I’m guessing five to ten, to start.”

“All right, then. Insane, you lot. Get out there, I’ll tell Mason you’re coming.” Smith grinned and hustled out while the Chief dialed.

I’m coming, darling, I’m coming, to rescue you...