Steady (Indigo)

by Robinson, Ruthie

  “This was nothing personal against you or your abilities. It was a decision to give someone else a chance as well as move in another direction. We would very much like for you to seriously consider working with Will. Your talents and knowledge of the competition and the overall process would be so invaluable to him.”

  Katrina shook her head.

  “I’m asking you, Katrina, as a personal and dear friend of your mother’s, to please think about it,” Mrs. Washington said.

  “Thank you all for listening,” Katrina said abruptly, walking over to the table and collecting her designs. She stuffed them into her bag and slung the bag over her shoulder. “Good luck, Will. I’ll see myself out,” she said, turning and walking toward the front door with John trailing behind her.

  It was quiet in the room after her departure. “I wish that had gone better,” Mrs. Washington said.

  “There wasn’t ever going to be an easy way to do that; we all knew it,” John said.

  “You all baby her too much as it is,” Stan said, standing up to leave. “It should have been done last year, especially after we came so close to losing. I’ll see you all at the next meeting. No need to see me out, John. Goodbye everyone. Good luck, Will. I look forward to seeing your designs.”

  Turning to Will, John said, “Don’t let this put a damper on your selection. It really wasn’t anything personal against Katrina. Most of us have known her since she was adopted. Her parents were excellent gardeners, one of the founding families in our neighborhood. I believe Katrina somehow thinks it’s her responsibility to maintain their mantle, or to win the competition as proof of her place as their daughter. This isn’t the first time we’ve wanted to change leaders, but we have been reluctant to for this very reason.”

  They all sat silently for a minute or two. Sandy stood up to leave and Will joined her, saying their goodbyes and walking to the door. Once outside, Sandy turned to him and said, “Really, congratulations on your selection. It’s an honor, and Katrina will come around; she just needs some time.”

  ***

  Will walked home, passing by Katrina’s. He didn’t quite know what to think or to make of her now. She’d gone from major interest in him to major anger in the span of two weeks. He felt bad that she’d been hurt, and he knew hurt when he saw it. You couldn’t fake the expressions she’d worn earlier. This was a very different Katrina from the night of the party or the one he’d seen working in her yard.

  She’d lost her parents, adoptive ones at that. He wondered what happened to her birth parents. He was more than a little captivated by the fire he’d seen in her today as she argued with him, the same fire mixed with desire that had been on display New Year’s Eve. It was so at odds with Katrina, the shy farmhand.

  He didn’t need this fuss, and he hoped he hadn’t gotten in over his head accepting this job. Katrina was correct—his work was demanding. He was responsible globally for ensuring customer satisfaction with his company’s product. It was the reason behind his travel, usually for weeks at a time. So he really didn’t have time for any gardening competition. He could send others in his place, and sometimes did, but he liked the travel. As he had told her that night in the gardens, he placed a premium on his free time. He loved to be outdoors doing something other than work, something physical, something that pushed him beyond the daily grind, to quiet the restlessness he often felt.

  He learned gardening at an early age at the feet of his grandfather in San Francisco. Nature had calmed and soothed him almost from the beginning. He entered his house, found his keys, and walked to his garage, where he hopped into his jeep and backed out. He needed a little space so he started driving with no particular destination in mind, but he realized a little later that for the last fifteen minutes he’d been driving in the direction of his sister’s home. He had three sisters, and the oldest had moved here five years ago. The other two were married and lived in San Francisco with his mother and grandfather. He was the baby and the only male.

  He turned on to her street, her home three houses from the corner, a fairly large home in a beautiful gated neighborhood, as befitting a part-time ophthalmologist and her doctor husband. His sister had married well, if outside her race, and had produced three kids of mixed heritage. They were beautiful children: one boy, thirteen, and two girls, ages ten and five.

  He pulled up into the drive. The garage door was open, and two cars were inside; his sister and brother-in-law were both home. He had to park close to the edge of the drive to avoid the portable soccer goals and hockey sticks that lay on the ground.

  He parked and walked into the garage, knocking on the door. He heard his name and turned to look over his shoulder. It was his nephew.

  “Hey, Uncle Will,” Dennis Jr. said. He was tall for his age; that definitely came from his father’s gene pool. Will was the only height exception in their family.

  “Hey, Dennis,” he answered. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing, dude. This is my buddy, Trevor,” he said, pointing to a tow-headed kid, also tall, following behind him. They both walked up to him, skateboards in their hands. Will stepped back, allowing his nephew to pass. Dennis Jr. opened the door and entered, Trevor trailing, Will bringing up the rear.

  “Mom, Uncle Will is here,” Dennis screamed at the top of his lungs as he went into the kitchen and grabbed two sports drinks out of the fridge. He handed one to Trevor and said, “Come up when you get done talking to Mom. I’ll beat Trevor first in Halo, and by the time you’re done, I’ll be ready to whoop your aspirin, too,” he said, grinning wickedly at Will.

  “Watch your mouth,” Will said, smiling back at him as he started up the stairs, Trevor following.

  “Hi, Will. This is a surprise,” his sister said, entering the kitchen. “What brings you by?”

  “Just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.”

  “Okay. Want something to drink? Dennis is out back working in the yard,” she said, walking to the refrigerator, grabbing a soda, and handing it over to him.

  “Thanks.”

  “You okay?” Jennifer asked. When work at the store had demanded a lot of her mother and grandfather’s time, she’d managed her younger siblings. Since she’d helped with the rearing of her sisters and brother, she could tell when they were bothered by something.

  “Nothing much. I was asked to be the lead of the garden competition for our neighborhood.”

  “You?” Jennifer asked, surprised.

  “Yes, me, and don’t act so surprised. You’ve seen my backyard. Some of my neighbors were impressed with it, too,” he said, watching her take a seat in one of the chairs next to the kitchen bar area. He stood with his back to her sink, drinking his soda. “They felt my design fit this year’s theme, ‘A World of Gardens’.” He smiled and added, “You should be proud of your little brother.”

  “That’s great! I am. So what’s the problem?”

  “It’s no problem, really. I was selected to lead over a woman who is having a hard time accepting the decision. She’s led for the past four years, three of which she’s won. They would like her to work with me, assist me, but I don’t think she’s going to agree. Apparently, she knows all there is to know about gardening and this competition and she can’t fathom why I was selected,” he said, pausing for a second. “I knew gardening was a big deal, I just didn’t know it was such a big deal.”

  “Where have you been? Oh, I know, off traipsing across the globe on one trip after another. But, yes, gardening in this city is a huge deal,” she said.

  “I get that now,” he said, finishing off the last of his soda. “I was going to tell the committee no initially, but I didn’t, and, well, after I agreed to accept the lead, I sat down and started to design my entry and I actually started to get excited about it. To accept an opportunity and challenge to create a new space and a chance to showcase another style of gardening to the city held a huge appeal. You know how it can be. Other cultures are displayed and appreciated, ours not so much, or
not as much as I’d like. It seemed that if you weren’t black or Hispanic, mostly black in this country, you were the invisible minority.”

  He had grown up fighting against being invisible or something more than the smart Asian. He’d had friends who were Asian, but he’d also opted to hang out with people of other races; the world seemed to be moving in that direction. But sometimes it was tough fitting into all worlds, and he wondered sometimes if it was worth the effort.

  “I don’t see the problem,” she said.

  “There’s not one, really, besides me feeling a little sorry for her. She likes me, underneath all her anger.” Will told his sister about Katrina at the party, consciously omitting the bedroom scene. “I think gardening is all she has, and I found out today she lost her adoptive parents. I’m not sure when, but I know that’s hard.”

  “Interesting,” Jennifer said, watching him.

  “What?” he said, looking up and catching that look in her eye. “Don’t start. I just feel bad for her is all,” he said, putting his hands up to ward off her comments.

  “What does she look like? Oh, no, let me guess,” Jennifer said, smiling as if she had his number. “Let’s see, she’s tall, willowy, or athletic. She’s not merely pretty, she must be closer to gorgeous. Oh, yes, you like them with long hair, mustn’t forget that,” Jennifer said, tilting her head to the side, her finger softly bumping against her forehead, striking a thinking man’s pose. “Let’s see, moving past the outside attributes, they must also be commitment-phobic, ambitious, attached to you, but not too dependent on you; you don’t do cloying. Isn’t that your usual type?”

  He laughed, taken aback by her callous description of his dating preferences. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think? And, no, Katrina is not my usual, but as I’ve told you, I’m not interested in her in that way. Let’s see, she’s short and pretty in a sisterly kind of way,” he said, stopping to laugh at his sister’s frown at his comment. And sometimes not so sisterly, he thought, remembering her the night of the party.

  “But you’re right, she is not my type, no. She favors large clothing, and I can’t tell what she looks like under there. Hair stuck in a ponytail mostly, nerd glasses, contacts the night of the party. Let’s see, she’s African-American, and she has a temper,” he said, smiling a little at the image of Katrina squaring off with him earlier that morning.

  “Nope, that’s not your usual type, that’s for sure,” Jennifer said, looking at him speculatively. “So what happens next?”

  “Don’t know. I guess Katrina was supposed to help with that, but since she’s said no, I don’t know what happens. Can you imagine someone turning down working with me?” he asked playfully.

  “There’s the Will I know and love. You had me worried there for a second, acting the concerned one.”

  He laughed. “Where’s that husband of yours? You’re terrible for my ego,” he said, changing the subject.

  “He’s in the backyard. He could use some help, and I need to pick up a kid from softball practice,” she said, getting up from the table to give him a kiss on his cheek. She had to tiptoe to do it, but it worked. She’d done that to him and his two other sisters forever, taking care of them while their mother and grandfather worked. She had been a good mom then, too, Will thought.

  He threw his soda can in the recycle bin and headed out the back door in search of his brother-in-law, Dennis Sr. His favorite part of his sister’s home was their backyard. It was designed with children in mind. The deck ran the full length of the back of their home. On the deck were tables, the biggest one designed to seat about twelve. He’d attended many birthday parties and other holiday celebrations out here. There were two couches with end tables and ottoman, a comfy living space outside, shaded by a large canopy extending from the roof of the house. Two steps below the deck stood the pool, the old-fashioned rectangular kind, volleyball net across the middle of it. The rest of the yard consisted of flower beds, with a playscape area for the kids. Oh, to be a child of parents with money.

  Dennis was digging up one of the flower beds. Will started over toward him.

  “What are you working on now?” he asked.

  Dennis turned at the sound of his voice. “Your sister wants to plant something here. I just provide the brawn and she provides the brains,” he said, stopping and watching Will as he walked over to him. “Good to see you. Did you see your sister?”

  “Yes, she went to pick up Monica from softball practice,” Will said, looking around at the tools spread out before him on the ground. “Let me help,” he said, picking up a shovel.

  “I’m never, ever going to turn down help,” Dennis replied.

  Will and Dennis talked and worked, more like Dennis listening while Will talked about the contest and Katrina, about being maybe just a little, more than a little, interested in her. He liked her body for sure, and had been involved in a little internal struggle over wanting to sleep with her. His body was still complaining about the loss. He talked about the temper she’d shown earlier, making her even more interesting, and that he felt bad for her. He’d lost his dad when was very young, too.

  They cleaned out the two main beds per Jennifer’s request, and, since Will was here and in a working mood, Dennis used him. After the beds were done, he and Will added compost to the remaining ones. Dennis inwardly thanked this Katrina person who’d given Will this burst of energy; they’d completed his list of ‘honey-dos’. Jennifer would be pleased. Dennis preferred her pleased.

  It was starting to get dark when Dennis and Will called it quits. Will helped gather up the tools and put them back in the garage.

  “Come over anytime; there is always something here that needs doing,” Jennifer said, walking out to meet them. Will smiled.

  “Dinner’s ready. You’re welcome to stay,” Jennifer said.

  “No, I’d better get home, but thanks for the offer,” he said. “Tell your son I’ll kill him in the video games the next time I stop by.”

  “Thanks for the help,” Dennis said again, walking over to stand next to his wife, putting his arm around her waist.

  “Sure, no problem.” Will walked toward his jeep, hopped in, and pulled out, waving a final time at his sister and brother-in-law, pushing Katrina and the earlier conflict to the back of his mind. Hopefully, it would work itself out.

  ***

  After Katrina left the meeting, she spent the day holed up in her home, licking her wounds, feeling sorry for herself. She replayed her argument with Will; well, she’d argued. He, to his credit, hadn’t taken her bait. She felt a twinge of guilt. It wasn’t his fault he was selected. He must think her a loony tune. One minute she was practically begging him for sex and the next she was angry over a gardening competition, of all things.

  Seems Sandy and Mrs. Washington had known he’d been selected. That’s what those glances between them were about the other day when she showed them her designs. Shouldn’t they have told her? She acknowledged to herself that it probably wouldn’t have made a bit of difference, anyway; she was hell-bent on being the lead. Always.

  Their rejection still hurt. There was no way she’d work with Will. He could figure it out for himself, just as she had. One part of her thought that, anyway; the other part was crying over not being able to spend time around him. All that potential time, poured down the drain. It was still pleading its case for her to work with him; maybe her wish to touch his body again would come true. Please, please, please let it come true.

  Let the precious committee help him if he needed it. She couldn’t believe he called her a gardening snob. Still, she felt a little twinge of guilt that perhaps not helping him wasn’t the right course of action, that she should just get over herself and help, that somehow her parents would have been disappointed in her today. Since when did this competition start being about her, anyway? She ignored that line of thought, choosing to feel sorry for herself instead.

  She’d worked hard for this neighborhood, and it was apparently not enoug
h. Was she ever enough? Could she ever have life work for her benefit, and longer than the eleven years she’d been lucky to have her parents before their death? She’d never met her birth parents; she had been an orphan for as far back as she could remember.

  The bright spot in her life had started with her adoption at age ten. She stood up from her couch, tired of her thoughts, kicked off her flip-flops, removed her hair from its pony tail, and pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her in a sports bra and sweat bottoms. She walked over to the counter and poured herself a glass of water, taking it with her to look out the windows over her garden, which was illuminated by solar-powered lighting.

  She loved working in her garden and the neighborhood gardens; well, any garden for that matter. It was one of her fondest memories of time spent with her adoptive parents. They’d plunged her knee-deep in dirt as soon as she came to live with them. She, who had given up hope of having a mother or father, took to dirt like a duck to water.

  Her parents were an older couple, in their early fifties, when they’d seen Katrina on a TV show—some station asking people to adopt foster kids. Because they’d hadn’t had any of their own, they’d picked her, ten-year-old, rag-tag Katrina of the big nerdy glasses, thick unruly hair, and chip the size of Texas on her shoulder, and they tried to make up for her years without parents.

  They taught her everything they knew about gardening, and, like a flower, her heart had opened and blossomed. At their death, an accident that she didn’t like to think about, she’d taken the proceeds left to her from their life insurance, retirement, and savings and used a large portion of it as a down payment on her home in their old neighborhood. She’d sold the original home, couldn’t bear living in it without them; it was too big, anyway. She had a smaller home built for her. The rest of the money she’d put away, learning to live on just her salary. She knew the value of money, having gone without it most of her life.