Jennifer's Garden

by Dianne Venetta

  # # #

  Aurelio reached over and squeezed her hand, the gesture warm, reassuring. “It will be fine, sweetheart. The yard will turn out better than you expect, you’ll see.”

  Staring down at the gold-rimmed china, chunks of lobster covered in cream sauce, Jennifer wanted to believe him. Hopeful, positive, he sounded so sure.

  “Michael’s a stickler for details. If he thinks the man can handle the job, then I’m inclined to agree.”

  She glanced at him, and relaxed into her first real smile of the evening. Michael was certainly particular with a penchant for detail. “Of course,” she replied, willing the silky glow of the restaurant to ease her doubt.

  Aurelio had made reservations at her favorite Chez Vendome, a Coral Gables institution, but its rich, indulgent atmosphere was no match for stress she felt over the wedding.

  Aurelio smiled. “You know what you want. Communicate it to him and all will be well. Trust me.”

  Gazing into dark brown eyes, she sighed. “Do I have a choice?”

  “None.” He laughed. “Absolutely none.”

  She tried to laugh with him. Almost two years ago Aurelio Villarreal had walked into her life and changed it for the better. He never wavered over the last year, during the worst of her mother’s diagnosis, and he wouldn’t waver now. “None, he says. Absolutely none. Well, that is reassuring!”

  But like it or not, Aurelio was right. She had no choice.

  “Michael hasn’t let you down yet, has he?”

  “No,” she murmured, and cast her gaze down toward her plate. That much was true.

  But still. Preparations for the wedding were crushing her calm, her mother’s condition providing the crank. It was a lethal combination, but to admit as much made her feel like a heel. Like a thundercloud looming over her big day, it undermined the joy she should be feeling and instead, made her feel like a schoolgirl wearing a new dress. One who must continually glance over her shoulder in her rush to avoid the downpour, keenly aware of the emotional meltdown that would surely follow if she didn’t make it to class on time.

  “Sweetheart, relax. Everything will turn out, you’ll see.”

  Jennifer dragged her gaze back to him. Was she that transparent?

  “Now listen. I want to discuss the opening.”

  Grateful for a change in subject, she brushed her own thoughts aside.

  “We’ve added a few artists to the list.”

  “Really?” An avid art collector, his latest venture was a gallery specifically geared to showcase new and upcoming talent. Prominently located in South Beach’s art deco district, Illuminations offered the chance of a lifetime for budding artists. Not only to display their work, but to meet Aurelio’s extensive clientele.

  It was a priceless opportunity.

  “Yes. Two from Ft. Lauderdale and one is actually a student transferring down from New York.”

  “What type of work do they do?”

  As usual, when Aurelio discussed artists his face lit up, and it was then she found him most attractive. Raven-black hair was cut in impeccable layers, a length stopping just shy of his collar. Full black brows appeared flawlessly manicured, yet were completely natural, giving his face striking definition. His features were soft, much like his fine olive skin and where his smile was quick and brilliant, his creative mind proved more of the same.

  Taking his pristine white napkin, Aurelio dabbed the corner of his mouth, then returned the linen to his lap. “There have been some interesting new developments as well.”

  “Developments?” His expression had closed just a bit, the flicker of candlelight swayed in his eyes.

  “Yes. I’ve scheduled a tour.”

  “Tour?”

  “Yes. There have been quite a few international buyers expressing an interest in our project. More than we imagined.”

  “Excellent,” she replied, confused by his reticence.

  This brought a smile to his face. “Yes, it is.” He reached over and took her hand. Rubbing a thumb lightly back and forth across her palm, he said, “It’s been very rewarding to know my efforts are getting noticed.”

  “Noticed?”

  “There is a well-known philanthropist extremely interested in continuing our concept, linking with some of the universities in his country.”

  In his country?

  “He feels it is vital to the development of his nation if young artists are granted the opportunity to participate. I’ve been discussing the possibility of setting up similar galleries in key cities, encouraging as many amateur artists to apply as possible.”

  “What country are we talking here...?”

  Chapter Six

  “The Gambia.”

  Jennifer balked. “The Gambia?” South America, Central America, she could imagine—but The Gambia? Where was that?

  Aurelio’s eyes sparked with excitement. “Yes. Surprising, isn’t it? Did you know the continent of Africa has seen one of the largest increases in tourism?”

  Obviously not she mused, shock filtering through her limbs as she tried to absorb what he was saying. She had no idea.

  “While other destinations are experiencing drops in the number of visitors, Africa is on the rise. And they want to expound upon this by raising the value of culture within their continent. For so many years, they have struggled through economic and political strife and they see this as their opportunity to introduce the new face of contemporary Africa.”

  Wow.

  “They’re raising the bar, both economically and socially.” He paused. “The two really are tied together you know.”

  She withdrew her hand from his. Yes, it sounded reasonable, though she didn’t know much about Africa at all. But she supposed, if one were developing a country, it made sense it should be a well-rounded effort.

  “It’s an exciting time for them and they have asked me to help.”

  Jennifer hesitated, unsettled by his fervent tone. “Help?”

  “They want me involved at the ground level.”

  But peering at him more closely, she wondered exactly what did he mean.

  “The first of several art galleries will be established along the coast of Africa.”

  First of several?

  “We’ll begin in The Gambia. It’s a small country located on the west coast, within Senegal. A sliver of a country really, but they’re working to increase their stature within the world and it’s been decided to start there. Isn’t it exciting?”

  Exciting? “Yes,” she mumbled, a million thoughts racing through her mind. Did he plan to travel there? Was it safe?

  How well did he know these people? Did they speak English? Were they modern? Staring into his eager expression, eyes filled with more enthusiasm than she had seen in a long while, Jennifer couldn’t help but be pleased for him. It was an exciting prospect, she couldn’t disagree.

  But what did it mean for the two of them?

  “When do you start? I mean, do you go there? Will you work with them from here?”

  “Of course my first priority is the opening of Illuminations. But once gallery operations are underway, I can hire someone to oversee the day-to-day business, which would free up my schedule considerably.”

  “Hire someone? What kind of commitment are we talking in Africa?”

  He looked at her as though it were a ridiculous question. “Setting up a gallery doesn’t happen overnight, darling. There is location to consider, not only in regard to the student artists, but retail areas, airports, train stations. It’s an enormous undertaking to say the least. Our galleries will be at the heart of bringing art and culture to a more prominent position within their society.”

  “Yes, but—“

  “You can’t expect me to agree to a proposition of this magnitude without committing my full attention.”

  “No,” she mumbled, abandoning the fork on her plate. “Of course not.” Digesting the news of the evening, there was no room for food.

  “We’re building a found
ation for the future. South Africa is no longer the only contemporary nation that has seen a boom. Many of the nations along the west coast have enjoyed increased prosperity as well.” He paused, and held her gaze. “It’s an incredible opportunity.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” she agreed, put off by his vigor and tone, heightening with each and every word—every promise.

  Wonderful, except where did she fit in? Once they were married, did he expect her to drop everything and follow him?

  “The exposure alone will do wonders to raise the bar, encourage creativity and innovation. Remember, it’s the youth of a nation that will dictate its direction.”

  Jennifer nodded. All true, but what about their life together? Her mother’s last days?

  He grasped the bowl of his wineglass and leaned forward. “Once we’re married, we’ll travel the continent. We’ll see and visit places completely different from the states, from everything we know. Think of the discoveries we’ll make, between art and music, food and drink.” He raised his glass as though in toast. “Why, you’ll be in veritable heaven, scouring their markets for the next interesting piece of furniture for our new home.”

  Our new home.

  “The opportunities are endless but first, the opening of Illuminations.”

  Illuminations.

  “Then, what do you say to a honeymoon in the Canary Islands. We can indulge in one another for a lazy week, then head south for the first of many tours across the continent.”

  Of Africa.

  “The perfect combination of work and play.”

  Perfect. Somehow that wasn’t the word that came to mind when she envisioned this dream he was painting. Africa. She didn’t have time to travel to Africa!

  He pulled her hand from the table and placed a delicate kiss on her knuckles, then another next to her diamond engagement ring. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Staring at him, reeling from the quick-fire of change he was hurling, she was struck by the glitter in his eyes. Alive, his spirit brimming with life, with passion, his eyes sparkled like the jewels in an overhead chandelier. Her gaze dropped to the ring on her hand.

  The two carat stone seemed dim by comparison. “I think I need to concentrate on the wedding before I can consider honeymoon destinations.”

  He beamed. “May is a beautiful time of the year in the islands, I hear.”

  Jennifer forced a smile. “I’m sure it is.” Gathering the napkin from her lap, she placed it alongside her dish and said, “Listen, sweetheart, do you mind if I head home? It’s late and I have to meet the landscaper in the morning.”

  Aurelio sat back in his chair, moving on seamlessly to the next stage. “Of course not. I really should be getting along as well. There’s still so much to do yet, before the opening next week.”

  Illuminations. Africa. Landscape. Wedding. A mild shudder raced across her shoulders. Her mother. Yes, there was still so much left to do—and discuss—but not now. She didn’t have the stomach for any more grief than was already on her plate.

  # # #

  Showered and dressed in a plain white cotton tank and tan linen Capris, her dark brown hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, Jennifer was ready to greet the landscaper.

  Again. Pulling in a deep breath, she waited outside in her front courtyard and prepared for what was sure to be an awkward meeting. She had several ideas for her landscape and hoped he was ready to listen. No need to waste time in the planning phase when there was so much work to be done. In fact, she was going to insist he start with the actual planting as soon as possible.

  Startled by a loud pop, she whirled around to see the beat-up truck pull into the driveway. Her pulse quickened. Polite and firm. And smile, she reminded herself, as though coaching one on the finer points of business negotiation.

  To be honest, a part of her wanted to prove his first assessment wrong. Michael had not “missed the mark” about her. Surprise had gotten the best of her, but it would not do so today. Stepping forward, she opened the narrow entry gate as he pulled around the tight circular drive, then waited on the top step. She was a professional and she’d prove it.

  The engine cut off with a sputter, and the door made a horrible squeak as he opened it, causing her to cringe. He seemed oblivious, sliding out effortlessly, slamming the door closed.

  He made haste in his approach. “Good morning,” he said a skip to his voice. Jeans and white T-shirt, he evidently didn’t feel the need to dress for the occasion. Nor did he bother to run a brush through his hair. She noted it was the same unruly mess, most tufts sticking straight up, competing with others that jogged left and right. Did he really think the style was appealing?

  She gazed down at him from the top platform. “Good morning.”

  He leaped up the three steps and extended his hand. “Jackson Montgomery,” he introduced, as though for the first time.

  She took his hand, startled by the jarring softness of his skin. How could this be a laborer’s hand? The skin was so smooth, much like his complexion. Shouldn’t both be weathered from hours spent working under the sun? “Dr. Jennifer Hamilton.” She saw that his smile held the same easygoing quality she remembered from the other night, completely unaffected and under no stress, despite their prior fallout.

  Just as one would expect from a lawn guy who tended bar on the side. Notwithstanding, her manners urged courtesy. “Allow me to apologize for yesterday.” She pulled her hand from his grasp. “I wasn’t expecting to see a familiar face.”

  “No big deal,” he said quickly. His hands went straight to his hips and settled along his belt. “Mike explained you’ve been working overtime. It can get to the best of us.”

  All business, he was very matter-of-fact. Tolerant.

  Had to be. Because of her. Her behavior had been less than cordial and quite unlike her, though he had no way of knowing as much. He simply saw difficult and was working around her. But grateful there was no attitude with which to contend she replied, “Thank you.”

  Must be Michael, she mused again, gazing into friendly brown eyes. The man could be like a papa grizzly when it came to his friends.

  “You have a nice place here. A large lot, by Coral Gables standards.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced around. “Yes, it is.”

  “Mike said you recently completed some remodeling.” He looked up at the house, took a sweeping survey, then returned his gaze to her. “I like what you’ve done.”

  Navy blue awnings, more flaps of canvas speared by black iron rods presented a pleasing contrast against the warm yellow, almost golden color of the exterior. Classic red clay barrel roof tiles coordinated with the brick driveway, and keystone blocks fanned out from the front windows and door. It was classic Gables, and when combined with the enclosed courtyard, she agreed. It made for a memorable entry.

  She nodded, slightly uneasy in the spotlight of his praise. Streets flanked by spectacular red-orange Poinciana trees and lined with coral-hued haciendas, Mediterranean architecture was the norm here. “Yes, well, I wanted to keep within the style of the neighborhood.”

  “The house looks to have been built in the 1920’s.”

  “1926, to be exact,” she replied, suppressing her surprise. How did he know such detail? Was he from around here?

  “This architecture was pretty standard fare back then,” he continued, frank and unpretentious. “They used a lot of limestone and coral, forming it into arches, accents mostly of wrought iron.” The man basically described her home. “Nice and private, too,” he added.

  “I put the iron gates in.” Ensconced behind a four-foot wall, the top trimmed in keystone, her driveway was accessed through an intricately formed wrought iron gate. “Over there, as well,” she said, and pointed to the driveway passing alongside the home. “That leads to a garage apartment in the back.”

  “You have a good eye.” He flipped his full attention back to her. “It’s perfectly in line with the character of the Gables and what makes this city unique, right al
ong with Coconut Grove.” He shot his thumb upward. “And that balcony is phenomenal.” Jackson smiled, clearly impressed.

  “Yes,” she said, taken aback by the extent of his enthusiasm. “It’s one of the reasons I purchased the home. The balcony and courtyard here are what sold me.” Sequestered behind another four-foot wall, capped with a single row of roof tile, the small courtyard acted as an outdoor foyer, adding more privacy and charm. Coral Gables was the only place she could ever imagine calling home. She grew up here, three blocks over.

  “I agree,” he said. “They really make a statement. You have good taste.”

  Her pulse skittered. “Well,” she began, smoothing the back of her pants. “I have some ideas for the yard that I’d like to discuss.”

  “Great. Why don’t we start here, out front?”

  Jennifer had prepared to start with the back, but acquiesced. About to proceed, she realized he was empty-handed. “Don’t you want to take notes?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Fine? How was he going to remember everything she told him to do? But with no easy way to voice her concern, Jennifer reluctantly began, by pointing to the empty space within the center of the circular drive. “For starters, I was thinking maybe one of those Sago palm trees should go there. I feel it would make a great centerpiece for the front yard.”

  “A Sago is a nice choice,” Jackson said. “But I’d also consider a fountain. A three-tiered, Italian-style fountain with nice curves and a large basin encircling it. Around the base,” he gestured with his hands, “I’d like to see a low shrub, or some flowers. I think it would add to the romantic feel of your home, yet stand out in its own right.”

  Startled by the suggestion, she tried to cover her surprise by fixing on the image he was forming in her mind. Italian fountain? Bushes and flowers around the base?

  Jackson smiled again, open and engaging. “People are drawn in by fountains. Sort of an invitation to come on in and relax. Enjoy. I’d also add some flower boxes,” he turned toward the house, hands outlining them like a mime. “Beneath the windows. They do wonders for bringing in warmth, both inside and out.”