by Robyn Carr
“How’d you find the book?”
“I like to hang out in bookstores...”
“So do we,” she said. “It’s one of the few things we both enjoy. Other than that, I don’t think my husband and I have much in common.”
“That’s not a requirement,” he said. “I have these friends, Jude and Germain, they are different as night and day.” He got to his feet and brushed off the seat of his pants. “They have nothing in common. But they have such a good time together. They laugh all the time. They have four kids so it’s compromise all the time and they make it look so easy.”
She frowned. “Which one’s the girl? Oh! Maybe they’re same sex...?”
“Germain is a woman and Jude’s a man,” he said, laughing. “I have another set of friends, both men, married to each other. We call them the Bickersons. They argue continuously.”
“Thus, answering the question about gender...”
“I have to go,” he said. “But... My name is Beau.”
“Lauren,” she said.
“It was fun talking to you, Lauren. So, when do you think you might need to spend time with the flowers next?”
“Tuesday?” she said, posing it as a question.
He smiled. “Tuesday is good. I hope you enjoy the rest of your week.”
“Thanks. Same to you.” She walked down the path toward her car in the parking lot. He steered his wheelbarrow down the path toward the garden shed.
Lauren made a U-turn, heading back toward him. “Beau!” she called. He turned to face her. “Um... Let me rethink that. I don’t know when I’ll be back here but it’s not a good idea, you know. We’re both married.”
“It’s just conversation, Lauren,” he said.
He’s probably a psychopath, she thought, because he looks so innocent, so decent. “Yeah, not a good idea,” she said, shaking her head. “But I enjoyed talking to you.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I understand. Have a great week.”
“You, too,” she said.
She walked purposefully to her car and she even looked around. He was in the garden shed on the other side of the gardens. She could hear him putting things away. He wasn’t looking to see what she was driving or what her license plate number was. He was a perfectly nice, friendly guy who probably picked up lonely women on a regular basis. Then murdered them and chopped them in little pieces and used them for fertilizer.
She sighed. Sometimes she felt so ridiculous. But she was going to go to the bookstore to look for that book.
* * *
Lauren was in a much better mood than usual that evening. In fact, when Brad came home in a state—something about the hospital screwing up his surgery schedule and flipping a couple of his patients without consulting him—she found herself strangely unaffected.
“Are you listening, Lauren?” Brad asked.
“Huh? Oh yes, sorry. Did you get it straightened out?”
“No! I’ll be on the phone tonight. Why do you think I’m so irritated? Do you have any idea what my time is worth?”
“Now that you mention it, I don’t...”
“Isn’t it lucky for you that you have a husband who is willing to take care of details like that...”
“Oh,” she said. “Lovely.”
“It might be nice if you said something intelligent for a change.”
“It’s the odd night when you’re not taking calls,” she said. “Were you hoping for a night off?”
“Obviously! Why do you imagine I brought it up? I’ve told them a thousand times not to get involved with my schedule. They’re going to cause patients unnecessary anxiety, not to mention what they do to me! But they think I’m at their beck and call, that I serve at their pleasure, when I’m the money-making commodity. Even when I very carefully explain exactly how they should manage the schedule, can they figure it out? I’m paying a PA, a very overqualified PA to schedule for me, my clinics and my surgeries, and the hospital brings in this high school graduate who took a six-week course and gives her authority over my schedule...”
Lauren listened absently and fixed him a bourbon, watered, because they had to go to that fund-raiser tonight. She poured herself a glass of burgundy. This was her job, to listen and let him rant, to nod and occasionally say, That must make you so angry. While she did that, he paced or sat at the breakfast bar and she unwrapped some cheese and crackers and grapes for him to snack on.
But while all this was going on she was thinking about the man with the easy smile, the tiny bit of gray, the dark blue eyes. And she fantasized how nice it would be to have someone come home and not be a complete asshole.
“We might think about getting ready for the dinner,” she said. “I’d like to look at the auction items.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “I bought a table. We shouldn’t be too late.”
Of course people would expect him to be late, to rush in at the last minute. “I’m ready. Do you need a shower?”
“I’ll be down in five minutes,” he said, leaving and taking his bourbon with him.
“Happy anniversary,” she said to his departing back.
“Hmph,” he said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. “Nice anniversary,” he grumbled. “My schedule is all fucked up.”
* * *
The charity event was for the local Andrew Emerson Foundation supporting underprivileged children. They came to be known as Andy’s kids. Tonight’s event would raise money to provide scholarships for the children of fallen heroes. Professional athletes, businesses, the Chamber of Commerce, hospitals, veterans’ groups and unions from San Francisco and Oakland supported the charity with fund-raising events such as this dinner and auction. Andy Emerson was a billionaire software developer in San Francisco; he was politically influential and admired by people like Brad. Brad never missed an event and claimed Andy as a friend. Brad was a fixture at the golf tournaments and donated generously. The children of military men and women and first responders disabled or killed in the line of duty could apply for the scholarships generated tonight. To be fair, Lauren had a great deal of respect for the foundation and all that it provided. She also happened to like Andy and Sylvie Emerson, though she was not so presumptuous as to claim them as friends. This event was a very popular, well-organized dinner that would raise tens of thousands of dollars.
Brad and Lauren attended this and many other similar events; Brad’s office and clinic staff were invited and he usually paid for a table. This was one of the few times during the year that Lauren visited with Brad’s colleagues. And while Brad might be primarily fond of Andy’s assets, Lauren thought the seventy-five-year-old Emerson and his wife of almost fifty years, Sylvie, were very nice people. It’s not as though Brad and Lauren were invited over to dinner or out for a spin on the yacht—the Emersons were very busy, involved people. However, it was not unusual for Brad to get a call from some member of the Emerson family or a family friend with questions about an upcoming medical procedure or maybe looking for a recommendation of a good doctor.
Just as she was thinking about them, Sylvie Emerson broke away from the men she was chatting with and moved over to Lauren. She gave her one of those cheek presses. “I’m so happy to see you,” Sylvie said. “I think it’s been a year.”
“I saw you at Christmastime in the city,” Lauren reminded her. “You’re looking wonderful, Sylvie. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Thank you. It took a lot of paste and paint. But you’re aglow. How are the girls?”
“Thriving. Lacey is doing her post-grad study at Stanford so we see her fairly often. Cassidy graduates in about six weeks.”
“UC Berkeley, isn’t it?” Sylvie asked. “What’s her field?”
Lauren chuckled. “Pre-law. She’s scored beautifully on the LSAT and is bound for Harvard.”
“Oh my God. Are you thrilled for
her?”
“I don’t know yet,” Lauren said. “Don’t you have to be a real tiger to take on law? Cassie seems so gentle-natured to me.”
Sylvie patted her arm. “There is a special place within the legal system for someone like her. I don’t know where, but she’ll find it. And no one chose medicine?”
Lauren shook her head. “I’m a little surprised about that, since I have a science major as well. Though it’s been so long ago now that—”
She was distracted by a man who had been pressing his way through the crowd with two drinks and suddenly stopped. “Lauren?” he said. Then he smiled and those dark blue eyes twinkled. “I’ll be damned.”
“Beau?” she asked. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“Same as you, I suppose,” he said. Then he looked at Sylvie and said, “Hi, I’m Beau Magellan. I just recently ran into Lauren at church.”
Lauren laughed at that. “Not exactly, but close enough. Beau, this is Sylvie Emerson, your hostess tonight.”
“Oh!” he said, sloshing the drinks. “Oh jeez,” he mumbled. Finally, laughing, Lauren took his drinks so he could shake Sylvie’s hand...after wiping his hands on his trousers. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Emerson. I’m personally indebted to you!”
“How so, Mr. Magellan?”
“My sons have a friend whose dad was killed on the job, Oakland police, and she received a scholarship. Now I’m a big supporter of the cause.”
“Magellan,” Sylvie said. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“I have no idea,” he said, chuckling. “I’m sure our paths wouldn’t have crossed. Magellan Design is my company. It’s not a big company...”
She snapped her fingers. “You designed a rooftop garden for my friend, Lois Brumfield in Sausalito!”
He beamed. “I did. I’m very proud of that, too—it’s incredible.”
Sylvie looked at Lauren. “The Brumfields are getting up there... Aren’t we all... And they have a single-story home in Sausalito. They didn’t have any interest in a two-story anything, their knees are giving out. So they put the garden on the roof! And they have a lift! They sit up there any evening the weather will allow. It’s gorgeous! They have gardeners tend their roof!” Sylvie laughed. “They have a patio on the ground floor as well, nice pool and all that. But that rooftop garden is like their secret space. And the house is angled just right so it’s private. From there they have an amazing view.”
“There’s a hot tub,” Beau said. “And a few potted trees in just the right places.”
“Really, if the Brumfields had more friends, you’d be famous!”
“They have you,” Beau said.
“Oh, I’ve known Lois since I was in college. She’s outlasted most of my family!” Then she looked at Lauren. “Church?”
Lauren laughed. She put Beau’s drinks on the table she stood beside. “I stopped to see the gardens at Divine Redeemer Catholic Church—they’re beautiful. And they’re right on my way home. Beau was replacing a few plants. I thought he was the groundskeeper.” She made a face at him.
“I love the grounds and I’ve known the priest there for a long time,” Beau said. “I gave them an updated design and got them a discount on plants.”
“Do you have a card, Mr. Magellan?” Sylvie asked.
“I do,” he said. He pulled one out of his inside jacket pocket. “And please, call me Beau.”
“Thank you,” she said, sliding it into her slender purse. “And of course, I’m Sylvie. Lauren, the weather is getting nice. If I give you a call, will you come to my house, have lunch in my garden? Just you and me?”
“I would love that,” she said. “Please do call! I’ll bring you a plant!”
“I’ll call. Very nice meeting you, Beau. Excuse me please. I have to try to say hello to people.”
And that fast she was gone.
Lauren looked at Beau. “What am I going to do with you? Met me at church, did you?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he said. “Seeing you here is even more startling.”
“We’re big supporters,” she said. “See that bald guy over there? With Andy? My husband.”
“Hm,” he said. “He’s friends with the host? Andy Emerson?”
“He believes so,” she said. “Like I said, big supporter. Do you play golf?”
“I know how,” Beau said. “I don’t know that you could say I play, in all honesty.”
“That’s right,” she said, laughing. “You read psychology. And fish. And garden.” She glanced at the drinks. “Should you get those drinks back to your table?”
“They weren’t dehydrated last time I looked. They’re signing up for auction items.”
“It’s possible we have friends in common,” she said. “My brother-in-law is an Oakland cop. I remember a fatality a couple of years ago.”
“Roger Stanton,” Beau said. “Did you know him?”
She shook her head. “Did you know him?”
“No, but the boys know the kids. You’ll have to ask your brother-in-law...”
“Oh, Chip knew him. Even though it’s a big department, they’re all friends. It was heartbreaking. I’m so glad his daughter is a recipient.” She nodded toward the drinks. “You should probably get those drinks back to your wife...”
He shook his head. “She’s not here tonight. I brought my boys, my brother and sister-in-law and a friend.”
“But not your wife?” she asked.
“Pamela finds this sort of thing boring and the friend I brought is a guy. But I don’t find things like this boring. So tell me, what are you doing Tuesday?”
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to check on the plants, maybe hoe around a little bit. H-O-E,” he specified, making her laugh. “I’m going to put some bunny deterrent around. See how things are doing. I like the plants to get a strong hold before summer. Do you think you’ll want to be uplifted by flowers?”
“You’re coming on to a married woman,” she said.
“I apologize! I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’ll get out of your space,” he said, picking up the drinks.
“I might check out the plants,” she said. “Now that I’m pretty sure you’re not a stalker or serial killer.”
“Oh Jesus, do I give off that vibe?” he asked, sloshing the drinks over his hands again. “I’m going to have to work on my delivery!”
“You sure don’t give off the waiter vibe,” she said, lifting a napkin from the table to assist him.
Just then, Brad was at her side. “We’re down in front, Lauren. Don’t make me come looking for you.”
“I know. Brad, this is Beau Magellan, a landscape designer. A friend of Sylvie’s.”
Brad’s black eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Maybe we’ll have you take a look at ours.” He put out a hand to shake, once he heard there was an Emerson connection, but Beau’s hands were full of drinks. They were wet besides.
“Oh. Sorry,” Beau said, lifting his handfuls clumsily.
“Okay,” Brad said with a laugh. “Another time. I’ll save you a seat,” he said to Lauren.
“Sure. Be right there.” She looked back at Beau, a mischievous smile playing at her lips.
“You’re a liar, Lauren,” Beau said.
“I’m sorry.” She laughed. “It was irresistible. I hope we run into each other again, Beau. Now if there’s anything left in those glasses, get them to your table.”
CHAPTER TWO
Lauren knew she’d be going to the church gardens on Tuesday after work even though she thought it could be foolhardy. Becoming attracted to a man was not a part of her plan. In fact, it could be a major inconvenience. But she liked him. She liked that he read a lot and wanted to talk about what he’d read. She enjoyed how flustered he was meeting Sylvie. She adored the way he sloshed the drinks
he carried. And it moved her that he was there to support a scholarship recipient who’d lost her father.
Of course he was there. She saw his back moving through the plants and shrubs. He was pulling off dead leaves and dried flowers. And putting them in his pocket!
She noticed there were some things on the bench—the one she had occupied the last time. A bag containing something and two Starbucks cups. It made her smile. He shouldn’t have known that Starbucks would make her happy.
She cleared her throat. He turned toward her with a smile, shoving a handful of dead leaves and buds in his pocket.
“Hi,” he said. “I brought you a mocha with whipped cream.”
Perfect! Of course. “That’s very thoughtful,” she said, just standing there, feeling awkward.
“And something else,” he said, lifting the bag.
“Oh, why did you do that? You shouldn’t be giving me things. You should sit and relax and enjoy the flowers. And you were tidying up.”
“I’m always grooming plants. Maybe it’s a nervous habit.” He pulled a handful of dried leaves and small sticks from his pocket, dumping them in the trash can. He handed her the bag. Inside was a book. Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience.
“This is great!” she said. “I actually went looking for this book! But I didn’t ask for it, just looked in the psychology section.”
“I had to find it at the used bookstore...”
“Did it change your life?”
“No, but it was enlightening.”
She sat down on the bench, looking through the book. He handed her a coffee and stood at the other end of the bench. “I guess it didn’t make your wife any happier,” she said.
“No,” he answered with a laugh. “She has always wanted something more. Something else. Listen, full disclosure, my wife and I are separated. We’ve been living apart for six months. We’re getting divorced.”
“Ah,” Lauren said. “And you’re getting back in the game.”
He looked stricken. “No! I mean, that has nothing to do with you! I’m not looking for anything. You’re a complete surprise. I might’ve done this even if—” He shook his head, looking embarrassed. “You just seem like a very nice person, that’s all. And you complimented my flowers. This divorce—it’s long overdue. It’s not our first separation. And no, I haven’t been known to mess around on the side. I have a couple of sons. Stepsons, actually. I wanted to keep their lives stable for as long as possible. They’re seventeen and twenty. I think they understand we should be divorced and that I’ll always have a home for them. If they don’t know they can count on me by now, they never will. I’m not going anyplace.”