Love in Bloom Page 7

  She and Ty pulled apart like they’d been caught doing something wrong. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she said to Seth. “Go let Daddy feed you lunch while Mommy takes a shower. Okay?”

  “Come on, bud,” Ty said, steering Seth out of the room.

  She piled her dirty clothes on the bathroom floor and charged into the shower. After three doses of shampoo, she almost felt normal again. But normal these days wasn’t necessarily that good. She toweled off, put on clean clothes, and joined the boys in the kitchen.

  Ty had made panini with some day-old bread she’d brought home from the bakery. This particular sandwich was one of Ty’s creations, and it was her all-time favorite sandwich—a panini with mozzarella, red onions, tomatoes, a dash of Dijon mustard, and some fresh basil. Well, almost fresh. She’d found it in the veggie bin on the back porch of Helpline, the local food bank, along with the tomatoes.

  She sank her teeth in and felt instantly consoled. “This is great,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Another bite restored her equilibrium. “I can’t quit.” She’d already invested in seeds and gardening tools and put down her deposit on the garden plot.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Sure you can. There’s nothing wrong with quitting. Isn’t that what you told me?”

  The bit of sandwich she’d just swallowed stuck in her throat.

  He got up, took his plate into the living room, and turned on the TV.

  She followed him.

  “Mommy?”

  “Finish your food, sweetie,” she said to Seth, keeping him anchored at the table.

  She sat down on the couch opposite her husband, who was staring determinedly at the TV screen. “Are you comparing a garden to that restaurant?” she demanded, her voice low. That restaurant. Bad choice of words. She could see his jaw tighten.

  “Don’t start,” he said.

  “Mommy?” The lowered voices weren’t fooling Seth.

  This was pointless, anyway. She left the couch with a smile pasted on her face. “After lunch, we’ll take a rest and then when we wake up we’ll color. How does that sound?”

  Seth smiled, obviously relieved, and nodded.

  “Okay then,” she said and smiled back at her son with false heartiness. Boy, had she gotten good at that.

  Neither she nor her husband mentioned the garden again. Or quitting. Or much of anything. About two in the afternoon, Ty announced, “I’m going out.”

  She had the good sense not to ask if he was going to pick up applications. Wherever he went, she hoped he didn’t use much gas. They had five dollars left till payday.

  And she had a fortune in seeds sitting in her trunk. She thought of the old fairy tale about Jack and his beanstalk. Dumb kid, buying magic beans. But look what grew from those beans!

  Her hair was coming out of her scrunchy. She pulled the thing out and made a fresh ponytail. She couldn’t let her life keep getting away from her like this, she just couldn’t.

  She grabbed a pencil from the jar of pens and pencils she kept by the phone on the kitchen counter, then marched to the coffee table and picked up the yellow legal pad lying there. She plopped on the couch cross-legged and drew a big square. Over it she wrote: Amber’s Garden. Then she began to plan.

  EIGHT

  BY ONE ON Saturday afternoon, all of the Heart Lake High students had been in to pick up their flowers for the dance. Hope expected the afternoon to be relatively quiet, so she gave her sister a thank-you note and a check and set her free to enjoy a much-deserved break.

  “Are you sure?” Bobbi asked. “I don’t mind staying.”

  “You have to work to night. I’d feel guilty if you did. Scram.”

  “Okay. You talked me into it. Maybe I’ll see if Jason Wells likes coffee.”

  Coffee with Jason, that sounded good to Hope. You have more important things to do, she told herself. Like . . . watering your plants.

  Bobbi was barely out the door when a young couple entered the shop. Even before she saw the ring on the woman’s finger, Hope knew they were engaged. Everything about them said it, from the way they held hands like they were glued together to the intimate smile they exchanged. They were here to order flowers for their wedding.

  “We’ve heard you’re the best,” said the groom-to-be.

  Here was a good future husband, already wanting nothing but the best for his wife. “I do love doing flowers for weddings,” Hope told them, and seated them at her little wrought-iron table. She fetched her laptop, then pulled up a chair and joined them. “What are your colors?”

  “Red and orange,” said the bride.

  Well, there was a new one. She could only imagine what the bridesmaids’ dresses would look like. But red and orange together made for striking floral arrangements. “We could do your bouquet in red and orange roses,” she suggested.

  “Oh, I like that,” said the bride. “Roses are my favorite flower.”

  It didn’t take long to settle on flowers for the boutonnieres, the tossing bouquet, the chapel, and the reception. “I love the idea of using carnival glass as part of the arrangement for the food table,” said the woman. “I’ve never seen that done before. In fact, I never heard of carnival glass,” she added, running a finger along the edge of the orange pedestal candy dish Hope had produced.

  “It will be unique,” said Hope. Everyone was special and the flowers for their event should be special, too.

  Her customers left, beaming, and she smiled as she put their deposit check in her cash register. “Life is good,” she reminded herself for the umpteenth time that day. Then she happened to look out the window to see Jason Wells walking down the opposite street, talking into his cell phone. He was smiling. He went from smiling to laughing. Was he talking to Bobbi?

  If he was, that was a good thing, she told herself. She would be happy for them if they fell in love. Jason would never have a dull moment with Bobbi, and Bobbi would have a dependable man. And Hope would have a nice brother-in-law: a win-win situation for everyone. So, she should feel like a winner. Okay, feeling like a winner here. She drummed her fingers on the countertop. Feeling like an antsy, irritated winner. It was time to close up shop for the day. It wasn’t even two yet and she always stayed open until four on Saturdays, but she needed garden therapy right now, today, or her heart would explode.

  She turned the sign on her door to Closed. Under it she taped a note that said, “Sorry. Flower emergency.”

  Then she drove to the Trellis and bought the goodies for her garden: basil, cilantro, dill, and nasturtiums, which would give her pretty orange blossoms to use in salads. She enjoyed growing garden goodies for cooking, and now that her appetite had returned she was looking forward to spending time in the kitchen again. Others, like the baby’s breath and the root beer plant, she’d dry and use for flower arrangements.

  She left the nursery with a feeling of anticipation. It was sunny and warm. It would be the perfect day to start her garden.

  Her cell phone rang. It was Megan Wales, one of her best customers and also now her lawyer and good friend. “I never heard back. Are you coming to night?”

  Megan’s legal chick-flick night—she’d completely forgotten.

  “You don’t want to miss my salad buffet,” Megan added.

  A change in lifestyle and a significant weight loss had made Megan the queen of salads. Not only was she a good cook, she was good fun, and being out beat staying home. “You’re right, I don’t,” Hope decided. “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. See you at seven.”

  Gardening and friends—life was good. Not always perfect, not always what a woman wanted it to be, but good. And for now, good was just fine.

  Hope arrived at the community garden to find that she had neighbors. Their plots were to the east of hers, side by side. It looked like they were already on their way to becoming friends as they stood conversing: an old woman and a woman who looked around Hope’s age. The younger woman had a little boy beside her, playing in t
he soil. She was slim, clad in jeans and a black sweatshirt. She had long, brown hair and a slightly long face made pretty by brown eyes and full lips. She looked familiar although Hope couldn’t remember where she’d seen her.

  The older woman was slender and delicate as a coral bell. She was wearing the kind of smile that said, “You want me for your grandma.” She was also wearing purple slacks and a floral blouse topped with an ancient-looking lavender sweatshirt cardigan. A straw sun hat banded by a purple ribbon shaded her eyes from the afternoon sun. When I’m an old woman, I shall wear purple. Hope wondered if this woman was a member of that red hat club her grandma had belonged to when she was alive.

  Hope walked over and set down her armload of goodies. “Hi,” the younger woman greeted her.

  “We were wondering who our neighbor might be,” said the grandmother, tucking a wandering lock of silver hair behind her ear.

  Hope introduced herself.

  “I’m Millie Baldwin,” said the grandmother, “and this is Amber Howell.”

  “And this is Seth,” Amber said, pointing to her son. “Can you say hi, Sethie?”

  The little boy was very busy running a toy truck through the dirt, but he managed a happy hello.

  “You look familiar,” Hope said to Amber. “I’m trying to figure out where I’ve seen you.”

  “Ever come into the bakery?”

  And then she knew. “Of course. I’ve seen you behind the counter.”

  Amber nodded. “That’s me. I’m a lot more at home in the bakery than in the garden, let me tell you. Thank God I met Millie. She’s going to be my garden guru and cure me of my disease.”

  The word made Hope’s heart catch. “Disease?”

  “Gardenus ickus.” Amber raised a hand, thumb up. “I’ve got the world’s biggest black thumb.”

  Millie chuckled and Hope allowed herself to breathe again.

  “The only difference between you and me, my dear, is that I’ve had many more years of practice,” Millie told Amber. She smiled at Hope and peered over at her box. “And what are you growing? Oh, I see herbs!”

  Hope ran a loving finger over a feathery dill plant. “I like to cook. And I’m a florist. Some of these I’ll dry and use during the year.”

  “Do you work at that florist shop downtown?” asked Amber.

  “Actually, I own it.”

  “How lovely!” cried Millie. “I always thought it would be fun to have a flower shop. But I must admit that between my family and my garden and my church activities, I don’t know when I’d have found the time. Owning your own business is a lot of work.”

  Amber’s genial smile shriveled, and Hope couldn’t help wondering what nerve Millie had accidentally hit.

  Millie obviously saw the change in Amber. “Well,” she said briskly, “now, thanks to Amber, I can get started planting. Although you really didn’t need to turn the soil for me,” she told Amber. “I could have done it.”

  Amber brought back some of her smile. “I needed the exercise anyway.”

  The women set to work laying out their gardens. Hope felt soothed by the sun and the sound of Millie’s soft voice as she gently coached Amber. “I think your pumpkin and zucchini would do better if you plant them in little hills. Yes, that looks about the right size. That was nice helping, Seth. Now, make six little holes around the mound. Just like that. Lovely. Now, drop in the seeds. You’ll be able to make wonderful zucchini bread with your harvest.”

  As the day moved on, Hope learned a lot about the other two women. Millie had moved to Heart Lake from back east and was helping her daughter with her two children. But she seemed lonely, happy to have other women to talk to.

  “I miss being near my mom,” said Amber. She dropped out of the conversation to redirect her son’s Tonka truck traffic away from the hill where they had just planted the zucchini.

  “Me, too,” said Hope. Florida sometimes felt like the other side of the world. But just the day before, during their weekly phone chat, Mom had mentioned the possibility of buying a lot on Heart Lake and putting up a small summer home so they could spend summers near their daughters. “Do you and your daughter do a lot of cool stuff together on the weekends?” she asked Millie.

  “Debra is awfully busy,” Millie hedged. “Anyway,” she added briskly, “a woman should always have a life of her own, no matter how much she loves her children.”

  Hope could see Amber frowning in disapproval. Their gazes met and an unspoken agreement flashed between them. They would make sure this woman felt wanted and appreciated. That wouldn’t be hard. Millie was a sweetie.

  Millie was the first to quit. “Well, I think it’s about time to go home,” she said, straightening and stretching out her back. “I’m afraid I don’t have the stamina I did at seventy.”

  At seventy? How old was this woman?

  “You’re older than seventy?” asked Amber, voicing Hope’s thought.

  Millie smiled, obviously flattered. “I’ll be seventy-seven come June.”

  Hope vowed right then to make Millie a special bouquet for her birthday.

  “Wow. You’re amazing,” Amber said. “I hope I’m in as good shape as you when I’m your age.”

  “I’m sure you will be,” Millie said. “You young girls all work so hard at staying fit.”

  Some of us just work hard at staying alive, Hope thought.

  Millie said her good-byes, and the two women watched as she climbed into a big boat of a car with a dented fender and sailed off.

  “Wow, she’s something else,” said Amber. “Do you picture us being like that when we’re old?”

  “I’m not sure I picture myself being old at all,” Hope mused. She didn’t want to think about that today though, not here in this place filled with growing things.

  “I already feel old,” Amber said with a sigh.

  “Mommy, I want to go home,” said her son. “I’m hungry.”

  “Okay. Let’s go see if Daddy’s got dinner ready.”

  “Your husband cooks for you?” asked Hope.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Yeah. Lucky me.” Amber’s smile was tinged with melancholy. “Okay, Sethie. Pick up your truck. Nice meeting you,” she said to Hope. “See you next weekend?”

  Hope nodded and watched as Amber led her son away. Interesting neighbors she had here at the community garden.

  PLAYING IN THE dirt and enjoying the fresh air left Hope refreshed, and enjoying the company of friends left her grateful to be alive. That night she dreamed about her garden. The dill grew waist high, and some of Millie’s English garden seeds migrated to her plot and produced a wondrous flower chorus, swaying in the breeze and humming “The Waltz of the Flowers.” A beautiful butterfly with lavender wings and a silver body appeared, fluttering from flower to flower. The movie camera of Hope’s subconscious zoomed in, showing her that it wasn’t a butterfly but a fairy—a beautiful fairy with naked, perfectly formed, rosy-tipped breasts. And her face—the fairy was her! Only more beautiful than she could ever have imagined herself.

  She woke up with the morning sun kissing her cheek and sighed, still warm from the aftereffects of the dream. With a dream like that, she simply had to have a wonderful day. How could it be otherwise?

  It began with a favorite ritual. On Sundays Bobbi wandered down from Apartment 302 in the Lake Vista Apartments to have lunch with Hope in number 103. Hope always made a soup or salad and served it with homemade oatmeal muffins or whole wheat bread from the bakery, and Bobbi brought dessert to encourage Hope to “live a little.” Today’s offering was chocolate from the Chocolate Bar, the new chocolateria in town that specialized in all things chocolate, from truffles to hot cocoa.

  “To night’s the night,” Bobbi said, setting out the pink candy box of truffles for dessert. “We are going line dancing at the Grange.”

  No need to ask who the “we” was. Hope reached for a chocolate. She’d have just one. “So, he’s already getting the dance
test.”

  “Why not? Anyway, we couldn’t exactly go out last night.”

  “Did he ask you out for last night?”

  “Yeah, but I suggested to night instead.”

  “Did you give him a reason for why you couldn’t go out last night?”

  Bobbi took a truffle. “I played it mysterious and said I had plans. It’s good to keep a man intrigued.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “He is so gorgeous.”

  “Amen to that,” Hope said. She needed another truffle.

  “We talked on the phone for an hour yesterday.”

  Hope remembered watching Jason walk down the street, smiling as he talked into his cell phone. She popped another truffle. “What did you talk about?”

  “Gosh, just silly stuff, you know. Where we grew up, what we like to do for fun.” She frowned. “He likes to hike. That is not a plus.”

  Hope tried not to envision herself and Jason walking in a meadow at Mount Rainer or hiking to the Sol Duc Hot Springs in the Olympic National Park. Have another chocolate.

  “Whoa,” said Bobbi, watching her put a fourth truffle in her mouth. “Are you on a chocolate bender or something?”

  Hope looked at the box. There was only one left. What the heck? She took that and ate it, too. “No. Just in the mood for chocolate. Life’s uncertain, eat dessert first.”

  “Not funny,” Bobbi said with a scowl. “Not after what we just went through with you.”

  “Sorry. I guess I should have said that I’m just trying to live life to the fullest like you’re always telling me to do.”

  “Well, you’ve got to be full now,” Bobbi grumped, looking longingly at the empty box. “I guess I should have bought more.”

  “Thank God you didn’t. That was my sugar quota for the month.” How many cancer cells had she just fed?

  Bobbi grinned. “Better your hips than mine.”

  “You’re just trying to make me fat ’cause you can’t stand the competition,” Hope cracked and tried not to think about hungry, out-of-control cells running around her chest, devouring everything in sight like Pac-Man.