The Weed in the Rose Garden

My name is Coralee Skye. I'm twenty-four going on twenty-five, living in a relatively rural country town with my parents. We lived modestly; my mom was an elementary school teacher and my dad owned a local plumbing company. We were a quiet family in a quiet town. Pa built me an art studio at the back of the property where my Dad and I added a bedroom, bathroom, and small living room last spring. I resided there while my parents were in the old farmhouse. I spend my time creating paintings and sketches, selling them in the city a couple of hours away in an art gallery, thankfully, owned by my friend Marissa Dottery. When I was a kid, we had a couple of horses, chickens, and goats. When my older brother disappeared when I was ten, our father sold all the animals besides a few chickens and even a couple of acres to, in his words, 'lighten the load on our family,'. Life hasn't been the same since. It's almost like a dreary fog hangs over our old farm and refuses to leave. When Seth just seemed to vanish, he took all of the sunshine with him. Seth had been a gentle giant. He would do anything for anyone and had a huge soft spot for animals, all the while being a tall and burly man. His disappearance shook the community as well. Seth was a helping hand, a beloved neighbor, and a devoted man. I remember massive search parties and Dad being gone for weeks on end, staying in the woods in hopes of finding his son. Missing posters plastered our small town and people began to look at our family in a pitiful and remorseful way. Mother couldn't get out of bed for days at a time and struggled to take care of herself, let alone me. At just ten years old, my childhood seemed to fade quickly. From that point forward, I felt almost like a shadow in my parent's eyes. I was raising myself around a distraught and grieving family, feeling left behind and forgotten. Going to school was even worse. Rumors flooded in like a raging river and never left me alone. They followed me all the way until I dropped out in my junior year of high school. I heard many different tellings of the same story, that one or both of my parents had something to do with Seth's disappearance. After leaving school, I stayed mostly at the farm to help care for the land we had left and to focus on my art. The few friends I managed to have all graduated, most had moved to the city. Leona Wilden, however, has been my best friend since we were toddlers. She loves this town as much as I do and never really planned to leave. She currently works at her grandparents' restaurant and hopes to inherit it one day. She lost her parents to a tragic car accident a few years back and her grandparents gladly stepped in to care for her. She has become the sister I never had but so dearly wanted. Leona was supposed to come over this afternoon to help me pack up my most recently finished set of paintings, yet it was almost four o'clock and I hadn't heard from her. I tried giving her a call but she didn't pick up. Frustrated, I began meticulously packing up artwork that needed to be shipped or brought to the art gallery. Mom stuck her head in my front door after a quick knock to ask how I was doing. She had a stern look on her face. "Fine, Mom. Have you heard from Leona? She was supposed to help me with this..." I said, gesturing to the mess that occupied my small living room. She shut the door behind her. Turning to me, she said, "Actually, that's why I'm here. They had a fire at the Wilden home. Nothing major, no one got hurt. Martha called to let me know Leona would be sent over in a minute." My eyes widened. "What caught fire? You're sure everyone is fine?" I stuttered. "Yes, yes. Everything is fine. I didn't ask for details. I'm sure Leona will fill you in." With that, the conversation seemed to die, as it usually did between us. She never asked about me or my life, about my art, and never seemed to care about any of it either. I think we both share the disappointment that I didn't go to college or find a steady career off of the farm. However, my current life, although somewhat dreary, did make me content. Mom stood by my front door holding one arm with the other, glancing over the disorganization and clutter filling my small space. "Yes, Mom?" She took a moment and then looked up at me. Her brown eyes were dull with grief that never seemed to leave; mousy brown hair fell in tangled strands around her face. It's hard to remember her smile. "Do you think of him?" The question stunned me. Mom never once tried to share her grief over Seth with me. Not in fifteen years. "Often. Why?" "I just... My first born.. my son." Her voice choked but no tears came to her eyes. "You know I love you, right?" "I... Of course I do, Mom." I took a tender step toward her, wondering where this was coming from. "Sometimes I wonder if it's my fault he's gone." I barely heard her whisper. "How... How in the world could this be your fault?" His truck was found in the middle of the mountains, with no sign of him. It's not like he ran off, or was murdered. "He vanished, Mom." I whispered. She touched her ear, as she does when she becomes uncomfortable and begins to shift foot to foot. "I had a dream last night. Seth was in it. I've never dreamed of him before." I watched as she reached for the door. "It's probably time for me to get out of your hair, Leona should be here soon. I'd hate to interrupt." I was unable to say another word before the door closed behind her. A chill ran down my spine and I shook my head. What a weird conversation. Leona's voice carried from outside as she said hello to Mom.