Jennifer's Garden

by Dianne Venetta

  “Hello.” She took a quick survey of the area and noticed that weeds were gone, dirt was raked and organized into beds. It seemed he’d been busy, but did he really expect to complete this job himself? “Wouldn’t it be quicker if you had help?”

  “I did, but I have other jobs that need completing so I sent them there. I’m finishing up here today.” He wiped the back of his hand against his brow. “But don’t worry.” He smiled. “We’ll have it done on time.”

  Glancing around once more, she wished she shared his optimism. “Yes,” she murmured. One can only hope.

  With nothing left to say and more than a few questions swirling in her mind, she retreated into the house. Moving to a window hidden from view, she watched as he dumped a bag of dirt onto the ground, then moved it around with a metal rake. It looked grueling, and by the way his muscles were contracting and expanding, it seemed his body agreed.

  His body. It was the first time she ever really looked at him, at Jackson the man, and here alone in her home and sheltered from view, she took the moment to linger.

  Filling the back of his shirt was a large green tree, an intricate array of branches and leaves with the name Montgomery Landscape running across the bottom. The man was filthy and to look at him, one would think the stench would knock you down from ten feet away, but she had noticed none of it when he had stood nearby moments before. Not a waft.

  Lifting and heaving what had to be forty-pound bags, Jackson was handling them as if they were filled with Styrofoam, as though he had the strength of a bull. Granted his arms were well-defined, the hard line profile of his broad shoulders and lean torso revealing not an inch of fat, but those bags had to be heavy! The rate at which he was working through them was incredible.

  Impressive, really. And his hair, well, his hair never seemed to change. It looked as if the sun had raked its fingers through, massaged the mess, bleached the ends and pulled them straight out by the tips. She leaned against the wall.

  Amazing. It struck her how different Jackson was from Aurelio. Slim and refined, his limbs lithe, his fingernails manicured, Aurelio was an elegant man—not a pile of brawn. He moved with grace, not the swagger of a bundle of testosterone.

  Apparently finished, she continued to observe as Jackson tossed plastic bags into his wheelbarrow followed by his metal rake. Tugging the gloves from his hands, he pitched them in too. Then, wheeling the contents over to his truck, he opened the tailgate and put the bags in a heavy box, ostensibly his mobile trash bin, and followed with the rake and wheel-barrow, securing them with straps.

  Another swipe of his forehead and he jumped into his truck, igniting the engine to life. As he threw it into reverse, the customary pow blew smoke from the exhaust pipe and away he went.

  Moving from the window, she mulled over the enigma the man presented. Retirement. She couldn’t imagine what that life would look like for him. And islands? What did Michael mean?

  The telephone rang, pulling Jennifer from her thoughts. Strolling into the kitchen, she answered. “Hello?”

  “Hey Jen.”

  “Hey, Sam.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” she replied, her gaze drifting back out the windows. “Why?”

  “You sound like hell.”

  Jennifer blew a heavy sigh, slipping loose bangs behind an ear. “Well, if you must know, it’s your bartender friend from Michael’s party.”

  “What?”

  “He’s my landscaper.”

  “You lost me.”

  “He’s the landscaper Michael recommended. Seems bartending is not his only skill.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned!”

  “Me, too,” Jennifer replied, none to happy about the bouncing grin she heard in Sam’s voice.

  “He’s a talented thing, isn’t he?”

  Jennifer spoke pointedly into the mouthpiece and said, “The jury is still out on that one, counselor.”

  “Not this jury. I can’t wait to see him! What time should I be over?”

  “Nice try, but he’s already left for the day.”

  “Damn,” she said, her voice laced with disappointment.

  Jennifer brushed her hair behind an ear. “Was there something else?”

  “No. Just called to chat.”

  She sighed. “Do you mind if we do so another time? I’m exhausted and want nothing more than to soak in a hot bath.”

  “You want to fantasize, don’t you?”

  “Please?” She hardened her tone. “I don’t need this right now.”

  “No problem. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow.” Too tired to protest, she could only be thankful Sam let it go without a fight. But that was Sam. Easy on, easy off. Heading for the bathroom, Jennifer yearned for the same effortless state of mind. Yes, Sam had a legal career and dealt with hard and fast deadlines every day, but the stress was different. It wasn’t personal. Dealing with someone else’s problems was a heck of a lot easier than dealing with your own.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jennifer arose early on Saturday morning, more out of habit than necessity, but sleeping in had never been her style. Lying around in bed once she was awake was a waste of time. She had too many things to do and not enough time to do them and tonight was Aurelio’s grand opening.

  Pleasure coursed through her. Tonight marked the completion of years of hard work and she couldn’t be more pleased. Completely naked, she strolled across hardwood floors, opening the back porch door on her way to the kitchen, inviting the sunrise and bird chatter to filter indoors. April was her favorite time of year. Days grew longer, temperatures were cool and the humidity relatively low; perfect for filling the house with fresh morning air.

  Brushing tousled hair behind one ear, she turned on the coffeemaker, then poured herself a glass of orange juice. Roaming nude through her home was simply an indulgence, her privacy ensured by a wooded backyard, a thick overgrowth of bougainvillea reaching almost ten feet above the back wall. Especially important in her case. It wouldn’t do for people to know the conservative Dr. Hamilton was a closet nudist! Enclosing her hands around her glass she chuckled and shook her head. Wouldn’t do at all.

  But moving about her house undressed gave her a sense of abandon. Liberating really, from the confines of her role and position of authority within the community. She strongly doubted anyone would suspect she had a free-spirited side, a wilder side, but she did. And the secret gave her great satisfaction.

  Leaning comfortably against the counter, she gazed through the plate glass windows of her breakfast nook and noted the yard was clean, the dirt raked. Everything seemed to be coming together, but in time?

  She took a sip from her juice and pushed the negative memories aside. Dawn was breaking overhead, the sun sprinkling its soft light through gracefully arched branches of an ancient live oak. Down below, a squirrel darted about in the dapple of light, collecting its treasure for the day. She smiled.

  Morning was her favorite time of day. She enjoyed watching nature at work. It reminded her of the business of living, of getting things done. Despite her neglect, hers was a beautiful piece of property, though at the moment she had a hard time imagining Jackson’s drawings as reality. Not in one month’s time.

  Sudden doubt pulled at her. Was she deluding herself? Was it insane to believe it could be done? This idea of landscaping a yard in a matter of weeks and expecting satisfactory results? It was nothing short of wishful thinking, wasn’t it?

  Something she was not prone to do.

  The realization hit hard. But that’s exactly what she was doing, wasn’t she? Creating a scenario almost certain to fail?

  Thoughts drifted to her mother. So frail, so hopeful...

  Jennifer withdrew her focus from the yard, releasing it to a soft blur on the breakfast table. Her mother was so ill, yet so full of spirit. It shone in her eyes every time she spoke of the impending ceremony. She inhaled deep and slow, tempering the fleeting beat of her heart, the
n blew it out with a sigh. Wishful thinking or not, she had committed. She had chosen her course and must now see it through. It was the last gift she could bestow upon her mother and come hell or hurricane, she was going to get it done.

  The coffee machine beeped three times. She only hoped the effort didn’t blow up in her face.

  Reaching into an upper cabinet she withdrew a coffee filter and filled it with dark, aromatic grounds; a specialty brand Aurelio secured for her from Colombia. Latching the cup into place she flipped the switch into the on position.

  She caught movement out of the corner of her eye. “What the—" Jennifer froze. Her pulse skyrocketed. Jackson walked by her window. She dropped to the floor. Did he see her?

  Conscious of the perspiration spray to her underarms, she burrowed her squatted body into the corner of her cabinets. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t be seen like this!

  Voices called back and forth. What were they doing here on a Saturday? Spotting the top of their heads walking around the back, she panicked. The back doors were wide open.

  Now what? Make a dash for it?

  She glanced at the back doors. Not a chance. There was no way she’d make it by without them seeing her. Her pulse skittered.

  Seeing her naked. She groaned. Oh, wouldn’t that be perfect. Dr. Jennifer Hamilton... She closed her eyes. Notorious streaker. Her career would be ruined.

  She popped open her eyes. What if they checked her open door? What if they poked their heads in and called her name.

  She shuddered. That could not happen. Inching upward, she peered over the kitchen table. The man following Jackson had black hair and dark skin. He wore a loaded tool belt and carried a large white bucket. She briefly wondered what he needed a bucket for until they headed for the cracked wall. He must be the fellow Jackson hired to work on the back fountain.

  Rising a tad higher, she scanned the perimeter for others. Seeing no one, she decided this was her best chance. She’d make a run for it while they were far enough away to miss her.

  Crawling across the kitchen on all fours, she headed toward the living room; deeper into her house and further from view. Then, like a trapped animal, she made a dash for it. She yanked the blanket from the armrest when a man shouted.

  Oh my God! Her heart thumped hard against her ribs. He sounded like he was standing right outside her door! Nearly tripping as she wrapped the material around her body, she flattened her body against a wall. Mostly hidden by an enormous armoire, she edged around the piece and checked for onlookers.

  No one. Dropping her head back against the wall, she struggled for calm. Breathe. Breathe, darn it, breathe. Satisfied no one was in plain view she slid around the corner and ran to her bedroom. As she passed the back windows, she could see Jackson and the dark-haired man by the wall, but where was the other one?

  Instantly alarmed that he must be outside the kitchen—watching her streak!—she slammed the door closed. Mortified as a guilty teenager, she struggled to catch her breath.

  This was ridiculous! This was her home! Noting shades were still drawn, she thanked God for small favors.

  Jennifer took more breaths to calm the rapid rhythm of her heart. Once back in control, she turned the lock on her door to assure her privacy, then reminded herself that the prospect of strangers in her backyard was something she was going to have to get used to—at least for the next couple of weeks anyway. Otherwise, the entire city will learn some interesting new tidbits about Dr. Jennifer Hamilton!

  Shower. She seized upon the idea at once. Shower first, coffee second. She moaned, instantly craving her Java Mocha. A creature of habit, this wasn’t going to be easy.

  Forty-five minutes later Jennifer emerged from her bedroom a new woman. Dressed in khaki Capris and a sleeveless blue button-down, her hair blown-dry and complexion lightly made-up, she was ready for a taste of the heavy scent of coffee drifting through her home.

  Peering out through the open patio doors as she ambled across the living room, she could see Jackson and his assistant smearing stucco over the wall. He seemed to be working as hard as his hired hand, causing her to wonder, did he put this much face-time in all his projects? Or was this one special, because Michael had insisted.

  Pulling a ceramic mug from the cabinet she poured the coffee, replaced the carafe, and brought the hot liquid to her lips. She winced.

  More cream. Setting the cup down on the counter, she fetched the carton of creamer and doused her coffee with a wallop. Must be what happens when coffee is allowed to sit, she mused soberly. Tasting it again and satisfied it was drinkable, she sighed. Oh well. Some things can’t be helped.

  It’s not every day you find strange men lurking in your yard!

  Plucking a pink grapefruit from the refrigerator, she grabbed a knife and plate and began to cut the individual sections. Though she had toyed with the idea in the shower—what if Jackson had seen her? A thrill shot through her belly. What if she had been inappropriately exposed? Would he have said something? Would they pretend it never happened? Jennifer shook the thoughts away. Stop. The man is here to work, not spy.

  Her attention drifted from her task and back into the yard.

  Definitely an industrious one, she’d give him that. At least on this job. Judging by his knowledge of plants and his skill at drawing, he could probably be successful—if he wanted to be. He need only apply himself and he could have a real business going where he wouldn’t need to tend bar.

  The question loomed heavy in her mind. Why settle for digging through dirt and part-time bartending, if you could do better? Was this a family business? She glanced back at him. Did he feel obligated to continue in this line of work?

  Jennifer set her mug on the breakfast table and walked out the front door in search of her newspaper, only to crush it underfoot. Startled, she reached down and picked it up. How did the Herald manage to make it to her doorstep? But no sooner had the thought occurred, so did the answer—

  Jackson. Well, wasn’t that a thoughtful thing to do. She turned back into the house with a soft close of the door. Placing the paper on the table, she topped off her coffee mug and settled into a chair to eat—one that gave her a bird’s-eye view of the backyard activity.

  Jackson and his associate were laughing as they worked. Perhaps a funny tale shared over someone’s cavorting the night before? Jennifer imagined men discussed those things, much like women did. Probably divulged a lot more detail, though. She experienced a mild shiver at the thought. Never do anything with a man you’re dating that you don’t want shared with his buddies, right?

  Hmph. Perhaps one worried about that with other men, but not with Aurelio. He was a model of integrity; a man made from the cornerstone of honesty and respect. He would never talk in such a crude manner.

  A half-hour passed as Jennifer enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, perusing the day’s headlines. Jackson and his helper hadn’t budged from their task, other than to change position along the wall. She was impressed. At this rate, they were making great strides, almost three-quarters of the way finished. Her mood lifted. Things were beginning to look up around here now that everything was under control.

  Rising from her chair, she decided now was as good a time as any to check their progress. Refreshing her coffee, she slipped on a pair of leather slides she kept by the door and walked out onto the terrace. Across the quiet, she could hear the occasional metal clang against cement, the scraping as the men smoothed the wet cement mixture over the wall.

  On either side of her yard, mounds of black dirt dotted with bright-orange flags and lined with string provided her only clue as to what lay ahead. Other than his phenomenal drawings of course, but paper and ink was one thing. Real life perspective was quite another.

  She recalled that his plan called for a hedge between the driveway and grass and it was clearly marked as such, several holes already dug. The center aisle arbor that was to connect wall fountain and pool remained a vision in her imagination, as the space was currently free of any
such markings.

  Squatting to spackle the base Jackson turned, abandoning the wall for a moment to look in her direction. He smiled.

  The unexpected spotlight of his attention caused a minor stir of self-consciousness. Jennifer waved and smiled back, slightly uneasy at being caught staring at him. But since he was doing the same, now was as “innocuous” an opportunity as any to make the first move.

  Careful not to fill her sandals with dirt, she approached.

  He stood, and without entirely deserting his work space took a few steps in her direction. Wearing khaki shorts and boots, no sweat on his brow, his appearance was neat, save for that stubborn mess atop his head.

  “Good morning!” he called out.

  “Good morning,” she returned.

  A patter of birdsong rang out as morning stretched into noon. The sun trickled in through the overhead oaks and while humidity dampened the air, it wasn’t too heavy. The heat hadn’t become oppressive yet thank goodness, or her makeup would be on the verge of melting.

  A complication she didn’t need when trying to put her best face forward. She gazed about the immediate vicinity in feigned indifference and sought comfort in benign conversation. “Do you always work on weekends?”

  “Usually,” he grinned. “But Sundays I keep for myself.”

  Not last Sunday, he hadn’t. She came to a stop a good ten feet away. “So how’s it coming?”

  “Great. We’re really making some headway on the fountain.” Jackson turned to introduce the other man. “This is Carlos.” The shorter fellow nodded a cheeky smile in her direction. “He’s my masonry guy. He’ll be forming the basin for the fountain this week, and then attach the fountainhead.”

  “Will he also be responsible for the tile?”

  “No.” Jackson shook his head as though the thought was absurd. “I have a special outfit I’ll be using for the tile work. They specialize in international ceramics and I think you’ll be happier with their selection and application process. The guy’s going to call me tomorrow with his schedule. Then I’ll have a better idea when I can get the sample books of tile for you to choose from.”