Into the Garden

by Robert Hass

  Popbottle adjusted a pair of reading glasses on his nose. “She was a friend to all of you, too, the kind of gracious lady who would mend your shirt, babysit your child, or bring chicken soup if you fell ill. And in the doing, she would pat your hand and say a prayer, listen to your troubles, and always, always leave you with a smile and a sense of hope.

  “When Lydia loved, she loved forever. She loved this town, her home, her garden. She loved her family, especially Sloan, who was more son than nephew. Her pride in this strapping young man was immense, and she was never happier than when she was with him. England, Hawaii, Japan—she enjoyed their many trips, but most of all she enjoyed being with her nephew. He brought color to her cheeks and a bounce to her step. An old man like me could get downright jealous.”

  A quiet chuckle rippled through the mourners and the lump in Sloan’s throat grew larger.

  “For those of us fortunate enough to call her friend for a lifetime, she was a light. Some friends glow bright and then flicker out with time. Lydia’s light was a steady glow filled with warmth and goodwill that I will carry with me the rest of my life.”

  He paused, unfolded a white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the corners of his eyes. Sloan clasped his hands tightly together and leaned forward. His heart pounded like war drums, threatening to break out of his chest and splash tears on his face. He’d faced some difficult moments in his life, but this one ranked near the top of the list.

  After a few seconds, Ulysses Jones regained his composure, cleared his throat and continued. “Most of all, Lydia loved her God, a steadfast faith that carried her through the sorrows of life with grace, elegance and beauty. And it is in her love of God today that we find comfort. Lydia believed with all her heart that to be absent from the body is to be present with her Lord. So to Sloan, as well as to dear Annie, who cared for Lydia faithfully during the last year of her life, my message is simple. Love as she loved. Give as she gave, remembering that the legacy of our dear Lydia will live on through you.”

  Professor Ulysses “Popbottle” Jones stepped down from the podium and shook hands with Sloan before making his way to the casket. He placed a beribboned spray of lilies of the valley amidst the pink roses, and then with glassy eyes and great dignity, exited the building.

  Sloan sat on the veranda, legs stretched out on the plank porch, tie loosened, suit jacket off, although he’d not bothered to change clothes. Upstairs his employees were making themselves comfortable and he was grateful to Annie for helping prepare the seldom-used guest rooms. Tara had opted for a room at Redemption Motel, compliments of Kitty Wainright.

  He was grateful to Annie for a lot of things, the least of which was her stalwart support during today’s funeral. Now she was present at his request, though he’d told himself to let her go. Using Lydia’s death as a ploy for keeping Annie close was a shameless thing to do. If he was half a man, he’d get on a plane tomorrow with Tara, Mack and Harrison and leave Annie alone. He should get back to work and the real world anyway. The idea didn’t excite him as much as he’d expected it to.

  But there was Justin. He still hadn’t resolved that issue. Probably never would completely. No matter how many years had passed, the fact remained. Sloan had abandoned his unborn child and the girl he’d claimed to love. Even if God forgave a sin of that magnitude, He shouldn’t.

  Annie’s job as Lydia’s caregiver was over. She no longer had to be here, but she remained.

  He wondered if that meant anything other than her dedication to his aunt and her innate kindness to anyone in need.

  “You don’t have to stay,” he blurted when she came through the French doors.

  She hesitated, one hand on the wicker rocker across from him. “Are you asking me to leave?”

  “No.” He never wanted her out of his sight. “I’m giving you an option. You don’t work here anymore. There’s nothing to hold you.”

  She gave him a strange look. “I could say the same for you.”

  The truth of the statement cut into his soul. He was no one now. There were no Hawkinses left except for him and a boy who carried Hawkins blood but someone else’s name. Sloan’s roots were buried with Lydia. “I’m going to finish the garden before I sell the house.”

  Suddenly pensive, Annie went to the railing and gazed out over the half-completed garden. “Lydia would be overjoyed to hear you say that. She longed for weddings in the garden again.”

  Annie was still attired in the jade dress that brushed the tops of her calves and shaped her figure. Her blond hair had pulled loose from a clip and the ever-present breeze flirted with the stray locks. He wanted to touch her hair. Touch her. Hold her and take care of her.

  But he was about twelve years too late for that. She was wary of him. He was wary, too, mostly of himself. After the events of the day, he felt directionless.

  “Restoring the garden seems right. Even when I sell the house, the garden will live on.”

  Annie turned from the railing. “You’re really going to sell, then?”

  “What else can I do with an old house in Oklahoma?”

  Annie wrapped her fingers around the top of the white railing. The flirtatious wind tossed a few strands of hair across her mouth. Sloan resisted the urge to go to her and pull them away. Looking at her mouth brought back the kiss.

  He hoped his feelings didn’t show on his face. He glanced to the side.

  “What about Justin?” she asked quietly.

  His gaze snapped back to hers. Green eyes bored into him. He wanted her to ask “What about us,” but she hadn’t. She’d asked about their son. The boy’s needs were far more important than his. Trouble was Sloan had no clue what Justin needed.

  “I don’t want him hurt by this town. They won’t be nice if they discover he was sired by that Hawkins boy.”

  “You might be surprised.”

  He doubted it. “He’s helping restore the garden. He can take pride in that. Even if no one else knows the truth, Justin will know this is his heritage. The Hawkins name used to matter—Lydia and her parents and grandparents helped build this town. That’s all I can give him.”

  Annie gave him a long, searching look. “Maybe it is.”

  And he wondered what she meant.

  She stepped away from the rail and settled in the rocker. A hummingbird hovered like a tiny helicopter over the vacated space before zooming toward the rose arbor.

  “I remember your mother, Sloan. She was a good person, too. Don’t forget that part of who you are. When I was small, Daddy would take me into the diner for pie. Joni knew my favorite was banana cream and always served it with a free piece of bubblegum on the side. I’m sure she paid for that herself. And she’d talk to me as if I was somebody important, not just a little girl tagging along with her daddy. She was a lot like Lydia in that respect.”

  Sloan had never made the comparison. “I guess she was. She’s been gone so long sometimes I forget the details of the time we had together. But I know she loved me.” He chuckled softly and held his arms out to the side. “Hey, what’s not to love?”

  Annie didn’t go there. “Don’t you wonder where she went and what became of her?”

  “Sure. I wonder where she’s living—if she’s still living—if she married and had other kids. If she’s happy. Mostly, I wonder why. I could never accept that she would abandon me the way she did.”

  “But there’s no other explanation. Her clothes were gone and so was she.”

  “Yes.” He sighed. “She could have left a note.” The memory of that last night surfaced, familiar because he’d relived it hundreds of times. “She promised to take me fishing. Up until that night, Mama had always kept her promises.”

  Annie stopped rocking. “I agree. That part is odd.”

  “I think so, too.”

  “Maybe she forgot. Or maybe she was caught up in the moment.”

  “Maybe,” he said, a tad morosely. “If she forgot, it was the only time.”

  “Tell me again
what you remember. I’ve heard a mix of stories over the years until I can’t sort fact from fiction.”

  “That’s Redemption,” Sloan said, surprised not to feel bitter. God must really be working on him. Or maybe he was too mentally exhausted from the funeral to muster up the resentment. “The night she left, there was a man in the living room with her. She knew I worried when she let people come to the house late at night and crash on the couch. I know what other people thought, but Mama wasn’t…what they said. She had a big heart. Her family had died in a car accident and she said she’d never forgive herself if she let a drunk drive and somebody else was killed the way her parents were. So she’d take a guy’s keys and let him sleep it off on the couch.”

  “The man you saw was drunk?”

  “That’s the weird thing. He wasn’t. And he wasn’t the usual type Mama brought home.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was fancier.” He shrugged. “I told your dad all this the next day but he didn’t find anyone fitting my description. I was a kid. My observations were too vague.” The diner had called Chief Dooley when the dependable Joni didn’t report for work. The chief had picked Sloan up from school and told him his mother had apparently left town during the night. Sloan, accustomed to getting himself off to school, had assumed his mother had gone in at six for her usual shift. “The man wore a blue dress shirt and dark slacks. Most of Mama’s visitors were regular guys, truckers, laborers. They didn’t dress up. This guy wore a fancy turquoise bracelet. I remember distinctly thinking it was a sissy piece of jewelry for a man, and that Mama was safe with a sissy.”

  “Maybe he was rich and promised her a better life.”

  “And he didn’t want an eleven-year-old kid tagging along.” With her husband in prison, Joni was a lonely woman struggling to make ends meet in a small, judgmental town. Life could not have been easy for her. Still, the idea that his mother could forget him stung. Perhaps that was why he’d never quite believed it.

  “Oh, Sloan, I’m sorry, but that’s the way it looked then and the way it looks now.”

  “I know.” He rubbed the heels of his hands against his tired eye sockets. He’d not slept much in the past few days. “But I’m still puzzled by something else that didn’t fit. Everyone said she left with a trucker she met at the diner.”

  “But no one remembered his name.”

  “Right. No one could pinpoint a specific trucker who’d been in the diner that night. And no one had seen Mama leave with anyone. She was a good mother. Why did she go without a word to anyone, especially her only child?”

  “Back then, I never thought about it, but now her actions seem out of character to me, too.”

  “I’ve tried to figure it out for years and come up empty every time. I suppose the puzzle will never be resolved. And Redemption will never forget.”

  They sat in thoughtful silence for a while, the heat fading with the day.

  At one point, Tara came to the porch to announce the trio was going for pizza. Annie had laughed. The house was filled with food and the Virginians wanted pizza. After his friends departed, Sloan and Annie talked about the funeral, about Lydia, about life in general.

  With Annie sitting next to him, rocking slowly back and forth in Lydia’s chair, Sloan’s imagination went crazy. There were so many unanswered questions between them—questions that, like his mother’s disappearance, would never be answered—but he couldn’t help wishing he could freeze the moment. Being with Annie felt right. It always had.

  He wanted so much to tell her everything.

  Love warred with truth. Would telling her the truth about that long ago night hurt her more? Or make things right between them?

  “Annie.” His shirtsleeve whispered against wicker as he reached across the short space and twined his fingers with hers.

  She turned toward him, green eyes serene and curious. In the garden, bees buzzed and a gentle, hopeful breeze coaxed fragrance from the blossoms.

  Annie’s cell phone rang, vibrating against the metal patio table. She withdrew her hand from his to answer. “Hello? Dad?” She slanted a glance toward Sloan. “Yes, I am. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

  Her shoulders drooped in annoyance and she rolled her eyes but got up from the chair and turned her back to Sloan. Her voice was low and intense. “Today was the funeral, Daddy. Don’t you have any compassion?”

  Compassion. Right. Sloan didn’t have to be a genius to decipher the content of their conversation. He got the message. Chief Dooley didn’t want his daughter hanging out at the Hawkins’ house even on the day of a funeral.

  The call ended and Annie snapped the phone shut with a little too much force. She came back to the wicker rocker but didn’t sit. The call had clearly agitated her. “What were you about to say?”

  Jaw tight, Sloan shook his head. Some things were better kept inside. “Nothing important.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Who was that gorgeous redhead?”

  Annie and her friend, Jilly Fairmont, a redhead herself, browsed the racks at Zinnia’s, the only clothing store in Redemption. They’d been rehashing the week’s events, including Lydia’s funeral and the restoration of the Wedding Garden. Justin was working with Sloan as usual, and Delaney skipped around Zinnia’s, talking to everyone in the place.

  “Her name is Tara. She works for Sloan’s security company.”

  “Works for him?” Jilly looked doubtful. “Are you jealous?”

  Annie pretended interest in an orange tank top. “Of course not. Why would I be?”

  Then why had her stomach clenched the moment she’d seen the petite Tara clinging to Sloan’s elbow?

  “Oh, please, Annie, spare me the pretense. This is your BFF you’re talking to. I know all your secrets.”

  Well, not all of them. “Sloan and I are old news. I wish everyone would understand that and stop trying to push us together.”

  “Then why are you still hanging around the Hawkins’ place? And why do your cheeks flush and your eyes light up whenever I mention his name?”

  She was asking herself the same questions. The answer was simple. Annie Markham was an idiot. “Lydia worried about how Sloan would handle her death. She asked me to be there for him. I’m a friend helping a friend through a difficult time. As a nurse, that’s my job.”

  “As simple as that?”

  “Yes.” There was nothing simple about her confused mass of feelings about and for Sloan Hawkins. Using Lydia’s request was her best excuse. She had promised, though being with Sloan every day was harder and better than she’d imagined. His learning about Justin further complicated the issue. She definitely felt something for him. With all her heart, she prayed it was only friendship.

  “Very nice of you to be so compassionate. I’m sure Sloan appreciates having his old flame at his beck and call.” Annie whacked her with a hanger, and Jilly’s freckled nose wrinkled in laughter. “I think it’s kind of romantic. Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerously Handsome comes back to town after all these years to find his first love divorced and lonely, just waiting for him to sweep her off her feet.”

  “You watch too many Hallmark movies.” Annie yanked a skirt from the rack and held the beige cotton against her body. “I am not lonely. I have two active kids, a busy church, a demanding career, plenty of friends.”

  “And no boyfriend. Not one date since Joey the Jerk hit the trail.” Jilly yanked the skirt from her hands and jammed it back on the rack. “Too frumpy.”

  “I’m not lonely,” Annie insisted, riffling through the skirts some more. “I don’t have time for dates. My life is full.”

  “Why don’t you ask Sloan out? I dare you.”

  “Jilly! I’m going home if you don’t stop. Besides, my father would have a fit.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Annie. You’re a grown woman.”

  “Tell my dad that.”

  Jilly laughed. “I’ll pass.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Annie took a white blous
e from the rack. “What do you think of this one?”

  “Too frumpy.”

  “Would you stop saying that? I’m a nurse and a Christian. I dress modestly.”

  “Dressing modestly is not the same as living in scrubs and wearing your grandma’s cast-offs.” Jilly extracted a satiny turquoise button-up. “Try this. It’ll look great with your eyes and show off that curvy figure.”

  “Ooh, that is pretty.”

  With her usual exuberance, Jilly wiggled her eyebrows and said, “I’m sure Sloan would agree.”

  Annie rolled her eyes. “He’s going back to Virginia soon.”

  “After the house sells and the garden is completed,” Jilly shot back. “Which could take months.”

  “Jilly, seriously. I don’t need the grief. Sloan will leave. That’s the whole point. I can’t take another loss. Let it go, okay?”

  Jilly’s bow mouth dropped open. “Oh, wow.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I was just kidding around, but—” Jilly cocked her head to one side, a hand to her hip “—oh, Annie. Girl, girl, girl. You’re in love with Sloan Hawkins.”

  The next afternoon Annie cleaned and sorted the medical equipment inside Lydia’s old bedroom. The medical supply company was coming to pick up the oxygen bottles and other reusable objects in a while.

  From here she could see outside. She thought about how much Lydia had enjoyed watching the progress in the garden and ached with missing her patient and friend. The old Victorian seemed quiet and sad without her.

  She went to the window. Delaney had ingratiated herself with Sloan to the point that he’d hired her, too. Annie figured the child was in the way, but Sloan claimed she added an element of cheer and was a terrific gofer. Delaney had giggled, thinking he meant a small, furry rodent. At the moment, the nine-year-old dangled by her knees from a maple branch, singing at the top of her lungs, her long, pale ponytail pointing toward the ground.

  Meanwhile, Justin did the real work. He lugged a large pot of something toward the far end of the garden. She was proud of her son. After he’d paid restitution for the broken windows, he kept working for Sloan by choice.