The Secret Book of Flora Lea

by Patti Callahan Henry

“Despair leads us to stories, of course. We invent them so we can live in a world with meaning.

Hazel felt a deep tremor of an unsettling at the foundation of their life; he was annoyed by something that was as important to her as the next breath.

Hazel gazed around a room slathered in sunlight, like butter on toast.

If she was truthful, this was the way she’d always wanted him: attentive, absolutely hers, asking if she was okay, bringing her glasses of champagne, exclaiming how beautiful she was in her new green silk dress with the skirt that swung with her every move.

“The best stories are soul-making. But stories we tell about ourselves, and even the harrowing ones told by others about us, can also be soul-destroying. We have to choose what is good and true, not what will destroy.”

“What a fairy tale is meant to do,” she said, “if it’s meant to do anything at all, Tolkien says, is give us new perspective in our world, the consolation of a happy ending. A recovery of sorts. Like we leave that world to see ours anew.

“What if she brought her mother? What if they make a scene? What if they brought police or an attorney?” Wren smiled. “What if none of that is true?”

I don’t want to avoid things out of fear, or live only for things that look good, for pretense.

“I don’t want to be scared anymore, but I also don’t want to do things because they are safe.”

Hazel allowed the blessing of those words to fall over her.

Hazel had spent so many years worrying about who loved her that she’d forgotten to consider who she loved.