by Jan Moran
“Excuse me,” Imani said as a man asked to pay for a bouquet of lilies.
Jack stepped aside, rocking on his heels as he thought. On the other hand, perhaps Vanessa had more faith in him than was warranted. What if he weren’t up to the task? Undoubtedly, more suitable people existed to take care of a little boy.
Yet, if he knew he was the father, Jack worried that he might get caught up in the notion of fatherhood—which he knew little about—and neglect doing what was truly best for the boy.
Investigating stories often took him to far-flung locals on a moment’s notice—he’d never been a house-and-picket-fence kind of guy. If he didn’t return to his nomadic existence, what else could he do? Writing a book had been a dream for a six-month sabbatical, not the rest of his life. If he had offspring to support, he couldn’t take some Travels with Charley kind of journey in his VW van with Scout. Not without some semblance of income.
He’d been wrestling with this dilemma for days. When he’d mentioned he was going to Summer Beach, Vanessa had said that there was a hospice facility there. She longed to be close to the ocean in a more tranquil place than Los Angeles. What if she came here?
A wave of guilt washed over him. Hiding out by the beach and writing a book now seemed so trivial compared to what Vanessa was facing.
When Imani turned back to him, Jack realized he was taking up a lot of her time. “Looks like you have more customers,” he said, blinking back emotion welling inside him.
“I’ll be right with you,” Imani called out to a couple dressed in beach attire. She turned back to Jack. “A little boy’s life may hinge on you and your decision. I’d like to talk with you more about this.”
“I’d like that,” he said, relieved to have a confidante. He’d have to get back to Vanessa soon.
“I’ll call you later,” Imani said before turning to help her customers.
Jack strolled through the village toward the garden nursery, checking out the local shops. He passed Antique Times, Rosa’s fish taco stand, several boutiques, and First Summer Beach Bank, where Ginger had taken him.
A few minutes later, Jack saw a wooden sign that read, The Hidden Garden. Ducking his head to pass under a rose-covered archway, he stepped inside the shady oasis. Baskets of purple petunias, pots of mauve hydrangeas, and buckets of crimson bougainvillea looked extremely healthy. Everything was well-tended. The tranquility of the space washed over him, and he welcomed it.
“Hi, looking for something in particular?”
“Vegetables.” Jack turned to face a man about his age who looked sturdy and friendly. “What a great place. Mitch from Java Beach sent me. Are you Roy?”
“Guilty,” the man replied. “What can I help you with today?”
“This big fella demolished a fresh-planted garden,” Jack said, rubbing Scout’s neck. “And I have to replace it.”
“Do you know what type of plantings you need?”
“I saw the remains of tomatoes, sweet peppers, cucumbers. Probably a few other things, too. Maybe you know Ginger Delavie.” Since this was a small town and many people knew each other, he thought he’d start there.
“Sure, my wife usually helps her. Hang on.” Roy waved to a woman with dark, braided hair adorned with the snowy white pikake flowers that reminded him of his visit to Hawaii last year, covering the still active volcano.
“Leilani, do you recall what Ginger bought for her garden?”
She approached them with a sunny smile. “Sure, why?”
Jack rubbed Scout’s neck. “My sidekick here destroyed it. I need to replace the plants.”
Leilani put her hands on her hips and cast a stern look at Scout. “You’re not going to do that again, are you?”
“We’re working on that.” Jack frowned at Scout. “He’s still learning the rules.”
Leilani laughed. “Marigolds dissuade a lot of dogs, as well as other critters and harmful insects, too. The flowers are pretty, but their smell is a deterrent to them. We should include some of those in your order. You can also take other steps, such as planting thorny roses or installing fencing. While you look around, I’ll go inside and see if I can find Ginger’s order.”
Roy nodded toward his wife. “She’ll find it. Most organized person I know. Are you on vacation, or do you live here?”
“I’ve rented Ginger’s little cottage by the sea,” Jack replied. “It’s a sweet spot to get some writing done.” He still couldn’t place where he knew Ginger’s name from, but he had a lot of old notes to sort through.
“That it is,” Roy said, hooking a thumb into his jeans. “Where do you call home?”
“Most recently, New York.”
“Great baseball there, huh?”
Jack chuckled. “Depends on which team you’re rooting for.”
They talked a little about the latest sports news, and then Leilani returned waving a receipt like a trophy. “Got it right here. Several varieties of tomatoes, cucumbers, sweet peppers, chives, and onions, among other things. Do you want them all?”
“Sure, and something special, too,” Jack said, shifting on his feet. “As an apology.”
“Ginger was looking at more of our potted red anthuriums, which are great indoors.” Leilani gestured toward a lush green plant with waxy red blooms. “That might be a good mea culpa gift.”
“I’ll take them,” Jack said, relieved that Leilani knew what to replace. “And whatever else you think would thrive here. Lettuce and strawberries would probably do well in this climate, right?”
“Sure, Leilani will help you,” Roy said. “I’m making deliveries this afternoon, so I can drop everything off for you.”
“Great. I want to plant these as soon as possible.”
“Jack’s from New York City,” Roy said, raising his brow.
Leilani exchanged a look with her husband. “Jack, have you ever planted a garden before?”
“Yeah, though it’s been a while,” Jack replied. “I think I’ll need a few of those tomato cages, too.”
“We’d better send instructions,” she said, striding toward a row of plants.
“Don’t worry,” Roy said. “Ginger can give you some good tips, too.”
Chuckling, Jack thought about how hard he’d worked to eliminate his Texas accent when he worked in Chicago and New York. He found it funny how people used to view him as a country bumpkin, and now they only saw him as a guy from the big city.
Jack returned to his cottage, where he sat down and penned a letter to Vanessa. He could have emailed or texted, but putting his words down by hand on paper gave him a chance to pause and think to better articulate his thoughts. He was almost finished when he saw Roy arrive at the front of the property. He turned the paper over and placed his pen on top of it.
After making sure Scout had ample food and water, Jack locked the door to keep the scoundrel inside and went to meet Roy. While he was helping Roy carry plants to the garden, Marina emerged from the house. She had a pair of oven mitts tucked under one arm and a splotch of flour on her blue chambray sundress. A savory smell wafted through the open kitchen window.
“No crutches today?” he said, trying to be friendly.
She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “The ankle is a lot better.”
“That’s good,” he said.
“Going to plant all those?” Marina asked.
“You bet,” Jack replied. It would keep his hands busy, which was one of the most difficult challenges of quitting smoking. He seemed to be forever reaching for a pack of cigarettes, which he knew better than to keep around.
Roy gave Jack several sheets of planting instructions that Leilani had printed for him. Jack thanked him, folded the papers, and slid them into the back pocket of his jeans. He picked up a pair of large anthurium plants. “These are for Ginger,” he said to Marina. “They should go indoors.”
“That was nice of you. I’ll take them.” Marina gave him a funny look, cradled the plants in her arms, and went inside.
; “Good luck,” Roy said. “Call us if you need anything else.”
“Will do,” Jack said, sauntering toward the garden. After squatting down, he smoothed the dirt with his hands, enjoying the feel of fresh-tilled earth between his fingers. He dug a pocket knife from his jeans and flipped it open. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. He began poking holes about a hands-breadth apart.
Jack was working on the second row when a shadow fell across him. He looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun.
Marina stood over him with her hands on her hips. “You can’t be serious,” she said.
Chapter 7
“The tomato plants will be far too close together,” Marina said, pointing toward the offending plants.
Clearly, Jack had never planted a garden before. Although Marina hadn’t gardened in years—she lived in a vintage apartment in San Francisco with a view of the bay—she’d often helped Ginger plant vegetables when she was young. Jack didn’t even have gardening tools. He was using a pocket knife, for heaven’s sake.
“That’s for the cilantro,” Jack said, pointing at the first row.
“Those aren’t cilantro.” The tomato plants were sitting by the holes he’d made. She was sure he didn’t have a clue about what he was doing. Jack covered up a hole he’d made in between two others. “There we go. How’s that?”
“Just don’t do anything else, please.” This guy was going to waste a second batch of plants if she didn’t step in and do something. “Give me a minute, and I’ll help you. I have to take some bread from the oven.”
“Okay, I’ll get the plants ready,” Jack said, pulling a plant from its container.
“Go easy on that poor plant,” Marina said, exasperated. She saw a slight grin curve his mouth. That little movement reminded her of Kai, who often called Marina out for bossiness. She threw up her hands. “Come inside and wait for me. I made fresh lemonade. You can have some if you want.”
“Sounds good.” Jack snapped the pocket knife closed and stood up, brushing his hands on his jeans.
Marina hurried inside, anxious toeager to check on her bread. Jack followed and sat down at the kitchen table. She could feel his eyes on her, but with two loaves in danger of burning, she didn’t welcome the distraction. “I’ll thank you to stop staring at me,” she said as she pulled a loaf pan from the oven.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I had my eyes on the bread. What kind did you make?”
There she went again. Assuming a fact not in evidence, as Ginger would say. “That one is rosemary, and this one is a chocolate cinnamon-swirl,” Marina said, reaching for a second loaf in the oven. She could feel her cheeks burning. Surely not from anything but the hot oven.
“Sounds like babka. Do you bake often?”
“Not as much as I’d like,” she said. “But now, I’ve got time. Helps me think.”
“About what a jerk your new neighbor is?” Jack spread his hands. “I’m really not, you know. I can bring letters of reference from several very accomplished women.”
Marina sighed. “As you might have seen, I’m not in a good place right now.” She usually didn’t take out her feelings on others, but she had a lot on her mind. Maybe she hadn’t given Jack a fair assessment.
“Aw, those stupid videos and memes die out eventually.”
So he had seen them. Marina’s cheeks grew hotter.
Jack glanced around the kitchen. “Looks like a pretty good place to work out whatever you need to. What a great stove that is.”
“It’s vintage,” she said. “You know, my sisters and I are lucky to have Ginger.” Marina removed her oven mitts and opened the refrigerator. After taking out the pitcher of lemonade she had made with the fruit from Ginger’s tree, she poured two tall glasses and handed one to Jack. “Our parents are gone, so she’s all we have. Just in case you have ideas about dating a rich older woman.”
Jack’s eyes widened with surprise. “Excuse me? Your grandmother is very nice, but I assure you that thought never crossed my mind.” He shook his head, drawing his dark eyebrows together. “But I’m sorry about your parents. That sounds like a tough break.”
Embarrassed about her assumption, Marina focused on fishing a lemon seed from her glass. “I still miss my parents every day. And what about your folks? Where did you grow up?”
“Texas, although I haven’t lived there since I left school. My parents are no longer living, though I have a more responsible sister in Dallas.”
“And how did you decide to take time off to write a book?” Being that free to take time off was intriguing.
“I know a couple of editors at publishing houses, and they’ve both expressed interest in looking at what I produce.”
Marina leaned against the counter, recalling their brief conversation by the pool. “Can you share what you’re writing, or is that still off-limits?”
“At the moment, I’m sorting through ideas,” Jack said. “I find ordinary people engaged in extraordinary pursuits fascinating. Sometimes those people are our neighbors or family members. Like the teacher who lived beneath her means, traded in stocks, and left a fortune earmarked for scholarships to her alma mater after her death. No one knew anything about her investing activities.”
As he went on, sparks of excitement filled Jack’s eyes. “I’ve been researching civil rights leaders, Mother Theresa, Doctors Without Borders…there’s no shortage of inspiring stories about regular people who take on extraordinary tasks—and end up changing lives through their dedication to a cause. Amid darkness, I turn a spotlight on hope, of the triumph of the human spirit for good and man’s search for meaning.”
“Oh, well then.” Astonished, Marina stared at Jack. He had more depth to him than she had imagined. Was this the same man who’d given her a cheesy grin at the inn when they met? It dawned on her that she might have misjudged him. Grady’s insensitivity had so blinded her that she, in turn, had also been insensitive. What was that saying about anger begetting anger?
Jack drained the last of his lemonade. “Shall we finish what I started in the garden?”
“Maybe we could have it done by the time Ginger returns,” Marina said, picking up a gardening basket that she’d once given Ginger from a shelf by the back porch. “She took Kai with her to speak to a group of high school students. My grandmother connects students to mentors in the community. Many kids are college-bound, but others are floundering. Ginger believes the community needs to be there for these kids.”
“That’s noble,” Jack said. He stared at the basket of gardening tools. “Is that what you’re going to use?”
“Of course. Why?” Inside was a floral-printed spade and gardening gloves that still looked like new. Marina pulled on the gloves.
“No reason. It’s…cute.” He put his glass in the sink and went outside.
Marina turned off the oven and then followed Jack toward the garden. One of her favorite things to do in San Francisco had been to go to the farmers market in the plaza by the Ferry Building. She loved that area of San Francisco on the ocean with the bay view. Surrounded by the freshest produce with the most tantalizing aromas and flavors was a little slice of heaven.
Marina recalled that Summer Beach had once had a farmers market. She wondered if it was still in operation and made a mental note to ask Ginger.
Ahead of her, Jack was already arranging the plants.
“Ginger planted the tomatoes over there last year,” Marina said, pointing to a spot she recalled from the past summer. “We should put them there again.”
“It’s better to rotate crops,” Jack said, shaking his head. “How’s that?” He pointed to another place. “I also had some tomato cages delivered. I didn’t know if Ginger had any, but these babies are going to grow up fast. This early variety is about five to six weeks to harvest.”
Marina stared at Jack. “I didn’t think you’d ever planted anything before.”
Jack leaned back on his haunches and rested his hands on his thighs. “Well, it’s been a whil
e. But my folks had a farm, and I helped out.”
She laughed at herself. “I assumed you were a neophyte.”
Jack could have gloated, but he merely shrugged off her comment. “Everyone has to eat. I can help Ginger tend the garden this summer.” He paused and looked at Marina. “That is, if it’s okay. I think a lot when I’m working in a garden.”
“I’m sure Ginger will welcome that. My gardening skills are a little rusty.”
“They’ll come back.” Jack continued working. “Scout made a mess of this. I can manage if you need to do something else.”
“That’s okay. I’ve missed digging in the dirt.” She gathered the full skirt of her blue chambray dress and knelt on the grass across from him. Marina no longer found Jack as irritating as when she’d first arrived.
She watched him work with a deftness that seemed second nature to him. Sharing the gardening tools, they spoke little while they worked. Together, they finished the job quickly.
Marina rose, her back aching from the exertion of reaching and bending. “Thank you for putting Ginger’s garden back together. And the marigolds are pretty. You’ve been very considerate.”
“The owners of The Hidden Garden told me dogs aren’t keen on the scent of marigolds,” Jack said. “I’m also working with Scout on impulse control to keep him out of the garden. If that doesn’t work, I can rig up a fence that can be removed later.”
“Ginger will appreciate that.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
Marina gazed at the way the sunlight shone on his wavy brown hair and lit his blue eyes. Though he seemed easy-going, his eyes had an intensity and intelligence that probably missed little. Surprisingly, she’d enjoyed his companionship today. “Think you could handle a couple of slices of warm bread?”
“I’ll do my best.”
While Jack checked on Scout, Marina sliced the rosemary and chocolate cinnamon swirl breads. The flavor profiles were different, but she wanted to try both. She arranged the bread on a tray with a pitcher of iced water.
The front door slammed, and Marina looked up to see that Ginger and Kai had returned. “Something smells delicious,” Ginger called out.