Beneath the Sunflowers

The scent of lavender hit Elena Reyes the moment she stepped out of the dusty train car and onto the weathered platform of Solana Station. The same old fragrance she remembered from her childhood summers—wild lavender growing by the tracks—mingled with the thick, sun-baked scent of dry grass and anticipation. The town looked exactly as she remembered it. Maybe a little smaller. The faded green sign with peeling gold letters still welcomed visitors with, Welcome to Solana—Where the Sun Always Shines. And beneath that slogan, someone had spray-painted in white: And secrets grow like weeds. Elena allowed herself a dry smile. Solana hadn't lost its sense of irony. The streets were nearly empty except for a lone pickup truck parked beside the general store and a group of teenagers dragging their bikes along the gravel shoulder. Her suitcase wheels struggled over the uneven cobblestones as she made her way toward the taxi stand—or rather, the bench where Old Man Jasper still offered rides for a “friendly fee.” He wasn't there. Of course, he wasn't. Elena sighed, tugged her sunglasses higher on her nose, and started walking. The sun pressed against her back, heavy and unrelenting, and her black boots were already collecting dust. The hem of her skirt fluttered in the breeze as she passed the diner, the pharmacy, and the bakery that still had the same sign: Pastries by Pearl. The scent of butter and sugar tried to tug her in, but she resisted. No distractions. Not today. She hadn't returned to Solana for comfort food or nostalgia. She was there to settle her grandmother’s affairs. The bookstore waited at the end of Main Street like a forgotten relic, nestled between a faded flower shop and a closed-down music store. The windows were cloudy. The wooden sign that once read Reyes Reads hung crookedly, one chain loose. A thin layer of dust clung to the glass like memory. Elena stood still in front of it, keys clenched in her hand. "Well," she muttered to herself, "Let’s see what kind of mess you left me, Lola." The inside smelled of old paper and time. Rows of bookshelves loomed in shadows, and specks of dust danced in the sunlight, slicing through the cracks in the curtains. The air was warm, dry, and quiet—almost reverent. She dropped her bag by the front counter and took a slow, deep breath. Then she began. First, she opened the windows. Then she pulled back the curtains. Light flooded the room, illuminating titles she hadn’t seen since she was thirteen—The Secret Garden, Wuthering Heights, and an entire wall dedicated to Filipino poetry. Elena found herself smiling before she could stop it. An hour passed in a blur of opening drawers, inspecting notes, and wiping down counters. She didn’t notice the time until the bell above the door jingled—and a voice said, “You’re not Mrs. Reyes.” Elena turned around. He stood in the doorway, a little too tall for the frame, with dusty jeans and a worn flannel shirt rolled at the sleeves. Sunlight lit the edges of his messy brown hair, and his eyes—blue-green, maybe gray—narrowed as he looked at her. “No,” she said, straightening. “I’m her granddaughter.” He frowned. “She’s gone, then.” Elena nodded. “Two weeks ago.” He stepped inside and removed his hat, holding it against his chest. “I’m sorry. She was a good woman.” “Thank you.” He paused. “I’m Liam Carter. I run the sunflower farm past the creek.” “Elena Reyes.” “I know,” he said quietly, surprising her. And then he turned and left without another word. Elena watched the door swing shut behind him. Solana had always been strange—but this, she hadn’t expected. She turned back toward the counter, where a dusty envelope sat where she hadn’t seen it before. It was addressed in her grandmother’s handwriting. To Elena. Only open when you’re ready to remember.