Mrs. Lou shakes her hips and slides the diced onion into a hot pan, the sizzle loud in the open space.
“I’ll leave you to it.” I keep going, following Heirloom out the back door, along the pool deck and to the greenhouse. When I open the door, he jets inside and hops up on the worktable.
The last rays of sun are fading as I inspect a row of plants, each of them rarer than the last. It’s not that I particularly enjoy plants or greenery, but certain plants are worth a fortune. Some of these are the last of their kind. Priceless. That makes them fall under my purview, and I keep them here as part of my collection.
I spritz a few of them with a water bottle, then continue my inspection. Mr. Lou has been doing an excellent job keeping everything in top shape. But I came here to look at my prize–a rare golden orchid.
It’s one of only three known to exist in the world, and I have it right here.
When I open the door to its special room, Heirloom pads in and looks around, his nose in the air as if he smells something I can’t.
I stop in front of the orchid’s pot. The leaves are wide and only slightly curved, golden veins running through them in variegated patterns. It’s beautiful even when it isn’t in bloom, but I’m here for the true payoff. At the top of a thin stem, there are four dark green buds, each one tightly wrapped in on itself.
Once they open, their insides will practically glow gold but only for a single day. After that, the blooms will wither and die until conditions are right for another bloom. That could take years.
I’m careful not to breathe on the plant, and I certainly don’t touch it with my bare hands. It needs to blossom on its own.
Heirloom, however, jumps onto the counter, his nose still in the air as he sniffs.
“Not too close, boy.” I scratch the top of his head and shoo him back to the floor and out of the room.
When I close the door, I hear something else click. Turning, I stare around the greenhouse to find the source of the sound.
Nothing moves.
I stare for a while.
Then Heirloom hops onto the worktable again, his eyes on me.
“Come on. Let’s go in.” I scoop him into my arms, but he wriggles free and darts into the bushes beside the pool. Leaving him outside isn’t ideal, but I can tell by the twitch of his tail that he’s on the hunt.
Once again, I’m jealous. I used to be on the hunt. Now I stare at flowers and wait for them to bloom. I rub my temples and keep striding toward the house.
“Heirloom, last chance,” I call when I open the back door, but he’s disappeared into the deepening twilight.
I let the door close and unlock his cat flap at the bottom.
It’s fine. He won’t go far.