“I gotcha. Lots of work, no reward. I feel it too, but...”
“Oh no, no buts.”
Joan handed Roz a toasted English muffin spread with melted butter and apple jelly. “What I mean is, let's wait a day or two before we do anything.”
“We shouldn't leave our customers hanging.”
“You're right, but let's give ourselves time to think of a backup plan, something to lessen the blow.”
“How about we tell them today over French Pastry?” Roz bit into her muffin.
“Sweet, but no.”
“How about we offer them a year supply of garden calendars, free?”
“Great idea, but how about we wait till morning? Just give me one day. Besides, Zack thinks we should offer them plots here, on the grounds.”
“More work?” Roz shook her head. “You're kidding?” She paused and swallowed the last bit of muffin. “I suppose keeping the project here might be better. Fine, but just a few days.”
The sound of the wind chimes from the porch interrupted their conversation. She heard the shop door creak and looked at Roz. “Maybe we will have customers today.” She headed for the show room and grinned when she saw Buzz.
“Hello, just in time for muffins.”
“Just in time to hear about last night's good news,” he said.
“It's a long story Buzz and I have to be at Holden's by three. Can you stay for awhile?”
“Not sounding good, but for you, I can stay.”
Joan helped him slip off his jacket. Even though she didn't have the heart to repeat last night's story, she knew Roz would break the news to him in vivid detail. Buzz was a good listener and an even better problem solver. And today, they needed his help.
Later in the afternoon as scheduled, Joan headed to Holden's Books to put the finishing touches on the entryway. The drizzle had subsided. Roz had calmed down enough, after complaining to Buzz, to run the shop for the rest of the afternoon. Buzz had been a careful listener, but made few comments. She couldn't remember a time when Buzz, a radio broadcaster, was at a loss for words. She wasn't sure if he was sad or perplexed. But whatever he felt, she was glad he came. Knowing he was as disappointed as she was made her feel understood. And after the nights events, she welcomed the feeling.
At Holden's, variegated red coleus shot out of the lime green potato vines growing in the ancient urns that flanked the doors, like soldiers standing guard. Underneath the display window, two black bistro sets welcomed guests. In the center of the tables, African violets grew from pewter vases. As she admired the warmth and character that her worked added to the store, she saw Cal walking toward her.
“Hello,” he waved. “The store looks great. I would offer to help you, but I see you do well on your own.”
“Thanks, but speaking of help, did Zack talk to you this morning?”
“Talk?” Cal shook his head
“He didn't talk to you? Okay, let me tell you. Zack's uncomfortable with baseball. He wants to leave, but I insisted he speak to you.”
“Has he said why?”
“He's uncomfortable being an assistant and taking the lead.”
“I see.” Cal's soft grey eyes flickered with recognition. “I'll try to get a feel for what's happening with him at practice.”
“I don't want him to know I talked to you.”
“That I can do.”
“Any other advice?” Joan pinched a wilted leaf from the potato vine. She hoped Cal would talk about his plans to leave school at the end of the year. She wanted to tell Zack herself, so he wouldn't feel so upset about wanting to leave baseball.
Cal ran his fingers along his chin line. “Take him to the beach on Sunday.”
“The beach? We're not beach goers.”
“I'm introducing the Junior Marine Biologist to kayaking on Sunday. I teach safety lessons to interested groups. It should be busy and take his mind off baseball.”
“Zack loves animals. I had no idea you were active with the group.”
“I started just this year. A new venture I'm taking on.”
“In addition to baseball?”
“Yes, and it's been busy. So you're on for Sunday?”
“We'll be there.”
Cal glanced at his watch. “Speaking of busy, I need to get to practice.” He grinned and headed toward Hanly Park.
She primped at the potato vines. The thought of Zack meeting a group of animal lovers made her smile. He'd be excited to try something new since baseball had lost its appeal. She could also use a diversion that would take her mind off the failed box garden project. He would have fun while she relaxed on the beach. It would be good for them.
The sound of Blaine's cheerful hello made her stand.
“Darling, you're as beautiful as my magnificent new store front. Do come in for coffee. It's on me.”
Blaine's broad smile captivated her. “Thank you. I'd love some. I have so much to tell you.”
“This is good.”
Blaine held the door open with one hand, and waved with the other in front of his stout body.
Chapter 8
Joan made it home before the rain and headed straight to the nursery. It had felt good to pour her heart out to Blaine. The nagging 'what-did-I-do-wrong' hum in the back of her mind had vanished after they talked. He had reminded her that time spent for a good purpose is never wasted. His words stayed with her as if glued on her heart. Indeed, the time spent designing the box gardens had been enjoyable and eventually something good would come from the venture. She wasn't sure when that 'something-good' would happen, but now she had the patience to wait.
She heard the back door open and glanced at the clock above the door. Five-thirty. It would be Zack, just in time for supper. She spritzed a row of cucumbers that had started to bud and a moment later Zack came through the door, his cheeks flushed as if he'd jogged home from practice.
“You made it home. Does it still look like rain?” she asked as he stepped on to the nursery's cement floor.
“It's gonna storm.”
“How was practice?”
“Okay.” Zack fidgeted with his backpack then hopped up on a stool that was slightly too tall for him. “I talked to coach. He wants me to stay on the team, but he says I can do something else besides be his assistant.”
“Really and what is something else?”
“He said I could kayak on Sunday with the marine biologists. If I like that better, I don't have to be assistant anymore.” Zack dumped his backpack on a stool. “Can we go?”
Joan took a silent relief breath. Cal had done his part. “Well, if you're sure you want to, why not?”
Zack smiled. “I really want to Mom. It'll be cool. But I still want to quit baseball. I hate being an assistant. I get blamed for everything.”
“I know you hate it. And of course you can quit. But how about asking coach to make Benny his assistant?”
“Mom! That’s giving up.”
“So is quitting.”
“Why give that jerk my spot?”
“Here's why. Maybe you're a great player. We certainly know Benny isn't.”
Zack rolled his eyes. “He can't even hit the ball.”
“Do you think Benny could help coach any better than you?”
“No way, he's whiny.”
“Maybe he's whiny because he's jealous of you. You're the better player, so he wants a chance to do something different, like assisting coach.”
“But he sucks at helping anybody.”
“Well, let's give him the chance to do better and you can concentrate on batting practice until we find you something else, like marine biology.”
Zack grinned and then chatted on about the marine biologists while she misted the hanging baskets of flowers. He hoped to see stingrays and turtles and if he got lucky, maybe he'd spot a dolphin. Of course with mullets jumping, he'd stay at the back of the group. Just one of those floppy, slimy fish was enough to flip the kayak. As he talked about the animals he hoped to see, the
color in his cheeks returned to normal. He continued to prattle until Willie strolled up to his legs and purred.
“How did he get in?” Joan threw a squinted look at Willie. He ignored her.
“He must have accidentally come in when I got home.” Zack too, ignored her peeved look and said, “it's getting late, I better feed him.”
Without a word, she watched as they headed toward the kitchen. Willie twitched his tail as if he'd won a battle while Zack cooed and stroked his back. Willie had become more of a house cat than she wanted. On the other hand, she hadn't seen a mouse since he moved indoors which was a major accomplishment for one cat. After they disappeared into the kitchen, she sighed, turned back to the rows of flowers, and continued to mist the trays. They needed Willie whether she liked it or not.
Later that evening, Joan rested her feet on white pillows and rubbed them with almond oil. She remembered her mother telling her, keep your feet strong, and your garden will grow long. It was a simple rhyme, silly really, but one she gratefully remembered and used. A small cut or step on the wrong animal could be disaster for any gardener. Ever since her mother told her the rhyme, she'd been careful to wear good shoes and watch her step. The advice had worked for the last thirty-five years. When she finished, she laid her head back and fell asleep before the rain began to pour.
* * *
In the morning, Joan arranged the framed pictures of Holden's new entry. Three square ten-by-tens hung on the wall behind the register so customers could clearly see her work. It was a subtle, but effective marketing tool she hoped would encourage new landscape and maintenance contracts. To view the pictures from a different angle, she stepped into the foyer. From there, the pictures looked even more intriguing. The black frames captured the eye and made the pictures vivid and rich with life.
She heard someone clomp up the porch. It was Roz. She opened the door and held it until Roz swept across the foyer. As hoped, Roz stopped and gazed at the pictures then whistled. “They're gorgeous. You must have worked all morning to hang these. They'll bring in some business.”
“Let's hope so. Blaine loved the design so much he said he wanted 'my architect' to redesign the interior of his store.”
“Your architect? That would be me I suppose. Let's tell him we could jazz it up a bit, but let's not change the feel of the place. Some people consider the place almost sacred like a historical landmark.”
Joan shut the door against a hummingbird zipping around a feeder while Roz dropped her gear behind the register.
“Those urns are so old. I think they came from a French pirate ship.”
“Exactly, some things just aren't replaceable, nor should they be.”
“I think he just wants us to visit him more often so he can hear good stories, of course. And I told him a good tale yesterday. You know, he's not concerned about our project getting started. He said that in due time something good will come out of all our work.”
Roz grimaced. “I hope so, but this morning I drove by the library. You should have seen it. It's a nasty weed garden after last night's rain. That is nature's revenge, you know.” Roz chuckled. “It could have looked fabulous if they'd let us in there. Oh well, guess I should be grateful those thorny rosebushes are in bloom. They smell grand.”
Joan smiled while she straightened the rack of Lindsey's garden calendars. “I say we let the idea rest for a while. Anyway, aren't you scheduled to redo the French Bakery?”
“I start next week. Been there several times and have the plans in place.”
“Will you use a soft coastal or heavy ornate design?”
“I'm going to leave it soft. Their cakes and pastries are ornate enough for the entire place.”
At the sound of chimes, Joan dipped into her apron pocket, pulled out her cell phone and answered the call. She listened quietly for several minutes, said thank you, and hung up.
“That was George Peterman,” she said in a steady voice.
“Well goody for him, he can use a phone,” Roz smirked.
“He said the planning committee is holding a special meeting next week.”
“Big deal.”
“And even though Sara can't make it, he assures me the planners can make decisions in her absence.”
“So what's that got to do with us?”
“He asked if we would be willing to meet again and give them our full presentation.”
Roz dragged her fingers through her hair, but a few strands remained out of place.“God, not again.”
“He sincerely apologized.”
“Well, we did leave the stuff in the trunk of my car.”
“And he said a few members are aware of our plans and want to push this forward. I think we should consider it even though I would almost rather start the box gardens here like Zack suggested. I guess I don't care what they do. We can move ahead no matter what.”
“I'm thinking the same too. It just doesn't matter. This will work. Funny, now that it's not so important to us, we'll probably get them approved”
“I believe so and I'm glad we waited before calling people. So we're game?”
“Deal.” Roz lifted her mug, clinked it against Joan's then gazed at the sky.“Just look at that blue sky with only a few white clouds.”
Chapter 9
Sunday rose to skies clear and blue. The Mississippi Sound was as smooth as a reflection mirror. Joan had promised Zack a trip to the Air Force base where his father had been stationed. Fortunately, the morning was quiet with little traffic. Along the way they saw a fisherman casting nets, a lone grey crane standing in a clump of tall grass and a group of pelicans gathered on a pier. The morning was calm and a perfect day for some reminiscing.
Near the base, they stopped and lingered at the beach. It stretched for miles and curved gently, like the edge of a fine crystal vase. Ripples lapped against the shore. Zack waded at the water's edge hunting for shells. Across the sound, the barrier islands were in clear view. The view was so broad and deep it was as if they could see the earth's curve. It was easy to imagine his father flying across the sound through unlimited space and sky. This was the place where his father had earned his wings.
On the way back, they stopped at Bridge Park where his father had proposed. Zack hopped out of the car and skipped the length of the pier. Midway down the pier, he squatted and looked through a crack to search for fish in the murky waters.
“Look Mom, crab.”
Joan bowed to look, but recoiled at a whiff of dead fish. “Whew, did you smell that?”
“Yeah,” he continued to stare through the crack, undisturbed.
“It didn't bother you?”
“Sure, but it goes away fast.”
Joan felt the slight breeze. The stench had passed quickly, like a speck of dust caught in the wind. Had she held her breath for a second, she wouldn't have noticed.
“I'd like to give you something.” She pulled a small clutch from her purse and handed it to him.
“It looks worn out.”
“It is. I've been hanging on to it for awhile. I meant to give it to you sooner.”
He opened the clutch and looked at the aviator wings.
“Wow, Dad's wings.”
“I think we should frame them instead of carrying 'em in my purse. We can hang them near your collection of model airplanes.”
“Awesome, thanks mom,” he said as he set the wings back in the clutch.
“You ready for some kayaking now?”
“Yeah!” Zack carried his excitement all the way to the launch site.
At the shore, red, yellow and blue kayaks lined the beach in neat rows, like soldiers preparing for drill. Along the beach, paddles and personal flotation devices (PFDs) laid across the sand. A few students adjusted their PFD straps making them fit snug. Others swung and dipped their paddles through the air to practice stroke technique. The smell of sunscreen, layered on thick and heavy, competed with the ocean air. Compared to the morning's serene outing, this group was as lively as a fou
rth of July picnic.
It'd been a long time since she had enjoyed the beach, the sand, the views. Instead, she had devoted all her time to launching the store. Since Chris had passed away, she worked on little else except restoring the gardens, house and trails. Then came the legal grind just to establish a business. Now, with the launch complete and the business working, she felt entitled to a relaxtion day. The break from goals, planning and mindless busy work was a subtle reminder that even though a part of her life was gone, she could move forward and still feel alive. Perhaps there could be life after death.
The thought of Cal suggesting this kayak trip made her smile. He had been so confident that Zack would like the group. And getting Zack interested in a new hobby before leaving baseball was smart, in her opinion. “Always leave on a good note,” she thought. With that in mind, she slipped on her wading shoes and headed to the launch site. She watched Zack run toward Stephanie, Principal Stone's daughter, as soon as he recognized her. She was the only person in the group that either one of them knew, except for Cal. Then she heard Cal. Her heart fluttered when she saw him standing with his arm draped over Sara's shoulder. Why is she here? Joan willed herself to stay calm. She would not let Sara's presence ruin a good day. It didn't matter, she told herself, whether Sara was Cal Reardon's girlfriend or partner. She, Joan Louen, didn't need a partner. She could manage on her own.
As she approached, Cal dropped his arm from Sara's shoulder. Sara squinted at Joan as if blinded by sun glare. Joan hid her irritation behind the dark sunglasses she was wearing. How could Sara not show up at council meeting after promising to do so? At the moment, confronting Sara was not an option in front of Zack and his friends. Instead, she would wait to demand an explanation and not risk a scene.
“You made it and I see you already know Stephanie,” Cal said.
“She's been teaching me how to paddle,” Zack replied.
“This is good news. Stephanie's a great teacher.”
Community Gardens (Community Garden Series Book 1) Page 5