by Cassia Leo
I just hoped the one-two punch of the separation followed by the new developments in the murder case didn’t spell the beginning of the end for us.
10
Laurel
I woke from my first night alone with a bit of an emotional hangover. I recognized the symptoms well, since this had been a common occurrence over the past two years: headache, puffy eyelids, sore neck and shoulder muscles, an empty feeling in the pit of my belly, as if my insides had been scraped out.
I had to keep myself busy in the garden today.
I’d used the grocery shopping and unpacking and brunch with Drea as excuses to put off the yard work yesterday, as I had been doing for the past two years. Jack had offered to hire someone to take care of my mother’s garden almost immediately after her death, but I couldn’t bear the idea of a stranger ruining her decades of hard work. If anyone was going to kill what remained of my mother’s legacy, it would be me.
My first order of the day would be to meet my neighbors. I had thought ahead yesterday and picked up the ingredients for my mom’s famous chocolate chip cookie recipe, which was really just the New York Times recipe with less sugar, melted instead of softened butter, and a teaspoon of espresso powder added.
With my plate of cookies in hand, I crossed the street and knocked on the door of the elderly woman I’d seen yesterday, who I was pretty sure had moved in after I left for college. She answered the door much quicker than I anticipated, and with a great beaming smile.
“Good morning! My name is Laurel. I don’t know if you remember me. My mom—” I coughed to tried to clear the lump in my throat. “My mom passed away a couple of years ago and I’ve moved in to her house across the street. I just wanted to come by and introduce myself and bring you some goodies. Do you like chocolate chip cookies?”
Though her shoulders were rounded, probably from the weight of her bosom, she still looked quite sturdy for someone who appeared to be at least seventy years old.
She stared at the plate of cookies in my hands. “Oh, I love chocolate chip cookies, but I’m not allowed to eat them anymore. Dang diabetes.” She looked up at me with a curious expression. “I’m Edna. I do remember seeing you visit Beth a few times. Tragic what happened to her and your boy.”
I blinked as I tried to quell a surge of emotion. “Thank you. I’m sorry you can’t have any of the cookies. I’ll try and make something healthier next time.”
She smiled and glanced at the plate again. “Well, I suppose one cookie can’t hurt. My husband Pat isn’t around to chastise me anymore.”
Though I didn’t think it was a good idea, I lifted the plastic wrap on the plate and let her take one.
“Please feel free to stop by if you need anything at all,” I said, taking a step back.
Her smile faded slightly. “You should know, sweetie, that there’s been a lot of property theft in the area. Mostly cars and bikes, and pretty much anything left outside. You might want to start parking that nice car of yours in the garage. Just a thought.”
I tried to hide my inner panic, but the crinkle in her brow told me I was doing a bad job. “Thank you for the information. That’s… very helpful.”
She nodded as she watched me carefully. “Of course. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. Your husband will probably know all about that stuff.”
“Actually, my husband and I are sort of engaged in a trial separation. It’s… been a rough couple of years. We’re just taking some time to hit pause and reboot.”
Her smile returned. “Sounds like a smart thing to do. I’m sure your mother would be very proud.”
“Thank you.”
I took a few deep breaths as I crossed the street, attempting to collect myself before I arrived at my surly neighbor’s house. Lifting the metal latch on the iron garden gate, I thought of Trudy as I cleared my throat and rehearsed my introduction in my head. I closed the gate behind me, but when I turned back toward the house I screamed at the sight of a large German shepherd leaping toward me.
The dog’s enormous paws landed on my shoulders and I dropped my plate of cookies and fell backward against the gate. My heart hammered against my chest as I braced myself for a vicious attack. But as I raised my hands to attempt to fend the dog off, it licked my face a few times, then pushed off me and began eating the cookies I’d dropped.
“Boomer! Come!” a voice boomed.
I clutched my chest as I looked up to find my surly neighbor approaching as the dog ran toward him. “Oh, my God,” I said, breathless from the encounter.
“I’m sorry about that,” the guy said, in a smooth, regional accent I couldn’t quite place. “He’s usually very well mannered, but he has a weakness for cookies and pretty girls.”
I attempted to catch my breath as I knelt to pick up the pieces of broken plate and crumbled cookies. “I’m sorry for the mess.”
He chuckled. “You’re apologizing to me?” he said, kneeling next to me.
I looked up, surprised to find his face just inches from mine. The irises of his eyes were an explosion of color, a swirling mix of hazel, green, and gold. From this close, I could see that what I had mistaken for surliness might have been a wicked glint of mischief.
“I was just trying to bring you some cookies. I’m…” I swallowed hard and quickly stood up again. “I’ll go get a broom to clean this up. Sorry.”
He stood up and looked me in the eye. “You’ll do no such thing. It’s Boomer’s fault. I’ll clean it up.”
I smiled. “Thanks. I was just coming to introduce myself and compliment you on your beautiful garden. I… I was hoping you could recommend a garden supply store around here. Hopefully with low prices and knowledgeable employees. I’m restoring my mom’s garden and I’m pretty much clueless and broke.”
His expression became serious as he squinted at me. “Are you Beth’s daughter?”
My heart began to race again. “You knew my mom?”
He nodded slowly as he seemed to be lost in thought for a brief moment. “Yeah, I knew your mom a little. She’s the reason my garden looks the way it does. She taught me a lot.”
“Really?” I said, my eyes stinging with the threat of tears.
“Yeah, she was pretty damn amazing,” he replied, his gaze moving down the length of my body and returning to my face.
I glanced at my hand, hoping he would follow the direction of my gaze and notice the wedding band on my finger, but it was gone. I’d left it on the dining table when I left Jack.
I looked up at him. “I’m… married. Well, separated, but still married… for now.” Tacking on the words “for now” at the end of that sentence made me physically ill.
He nodded again. “Well, I don’t know whether to say congratulations or I’m sorry to hear that. Either way, it’s good information to have. I thank you for passing it on. So you want some garden supply suggestions?”
I sighed with relief. “Yes, please.”
“There’s a place on Burnside called Sunny’s Garden Depot. It’s pretty old and looks kind of rundown, but the folks who work there know their stuff. They can set you up with everything you need at a reasonable price. And they won’t try to upsell you.”
He was all business now, not cold but there was a definite shift in his approach.
“Thanks. That’s very helpful.”
His smile returned. “My pleasure. Feel free to holler at me if you need anything else.”
I nodded. “Thanks. Same to you.” As I started to leave, I turned around. “I didn’t get your name. I’m Laurel, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Laurel. I’m Isaac.”
* * *
When I arrived at Sunny’s Garden Depot, I was surprised to find only one other vehicle in the customer parking lot. No wonder Isaac said the place was a bit rundown, with the gray paint peeling off the eaves and the windows that looked like they’d been scrubbed too many times with abrasive materials.
I was even more surprised to see a “Now Hiring” sign in
the window. The store was completely devoid of humans when I stepped inside. Not a soul to be seen behind the cashier’s counter or wandering the aisles of potted plants and flowers.
The cool air in the store smelled like my childhood: the sandy odor of wet concrete, the sharp, verdant smell of leaves mixed with the earthy aroma of decaying mulch. And all of those wrapped in the sweet scent of thousands of blossoming flowers. It felt like home.
I walked around a bit, wandering into the greenhouse area, passing rows of annual containers and potted fruit trees, finally reaching the back of the greenhouse, where a woman who appeared to be in her late-forties and a young man in his twenties were sweeping up what looked to be large shards of broken clay pots.
“Oh, hello. Was there something I could help you with?” the woman said, pushing a stray piece of auburn hair out of her face with the back of her wrist.
“Yes, I was hoping to chat with someone about my garden. Well, my mother’s garden. I’m trying to restore it and I think I’m going to need a lot of supplies. My neighbor recommended you guys,” I replied.
After a brief silence, the young man with the perfectly styled dark-blond hair and hipster glasses replied. “I can take this one, Mom.”
The woman smiled at me and nodded at the guy as she went back to sweeping up the mess.
“I’m Dylan,” the guy said as we made our way back toward the front of the store.
“Laurel,” I replied. “Nice to meet you.”
“So you said your neighbor recommended us. What’s her name?”
“His name is Isaac. I’m sorry I didn’t get his last name.”
Dylan smiled. “That’s okay. I know Isaac’s not much of a talker. He did three tours in the Middle East.”
“Dylan, don’t go telling other people’s business,” his mother called out to him from at least twenty feet away.
Dylan shook his head as we rounded the corner into the main shop area.
“Actually, Isaac didn’t seem like the quiet type at all. Maybe we’re talking about different people.”
Dylan shrugged. “Does the Isaac you’re talking about have tattoos and a man-bun?”
I scrunched my eyebrows. “Yeah, that’s him. That’s weird. He didn’t seem quiet when I talked to him.”
Dylan led me into an aisle lined on one side with books about gardening. “Guess he must have liked you,” he said, turning toward the shelves. “Now, what kind of garden are you looking to plant? Flower garden? Succulents? Permaculture?”
I stared at him as my brain began to work overtime. I wanted to ask him what permaculture was, then I glanced over my shoulder at the “Now Hiring” sign. Maybe I could pretend I knew what Dylan was saying and I might have a chance at taking care of the whole job thing right now.
“Are you guys still hiring?” I asked, nodding toward the sign in the window.
He glanced down at my body. “Oh, yeah, but I don’t think you’d want to work here. It’s really labor intensive.”
I laughed. “Is that your way of saying I’m too scrawny?”
He shook his head adamantly. “No, I swear that’s not what I meant.”
I waved off his apology. “It’s fine. I understand I’m not going to be winning any bikini contests any time soon.”
He winced at my reply. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean it that way.” He stared at me for a while, an awkward silence wedged between us. “Hey, I think you’ll do just fine. I mean, I’ll have to talk to my mom about it, but I’m sure she’ll agree.”
“What do you mean?”
He looked confused. “You said you wanted a job, right?”
My eyebrows shot up. “You mean, you’re offering me the job? Just like that?”
“Well, not yet. You’ll have to fill out the application and I’ll talk to my mom about it, but I’m sure she’ll go along with it. We’re just looking for someone to cover my morning shifts.”
After filling out an application and sitting down for a very brief interview with Dylan’s mother Vera in the back office, which also doubled as the breakroom, I was offered a cashier position making a whopping sixteen dollars an hour.
Dylan delivered the good news to me in the breakroom with a huge smile that showed off his brilliant pearly-white teeth. “You can start next Monday. My mom said you’ll work the morning shift, eight a.m. to noon, Monday through Thursday. Nine a.m. every other Saturday.”
I blinked in confusion. “Really?”
He chuckled. “Really. My mom called Isaac and he gave you an excellent reference.”
I tried not to look utterly shocked, as if this was totally expected. “Great. So I guess I’ll see you at eight a.m. on Monday?”
He laughed. “Well, you still need to get some supplies, don’t you?”
I laughed nervously. “Right. Can’t believe I forgot that.”
“So why did you move here from Hood River? Nothing to do out there?” he asked as he grabbed a shopping cart and began leading me toward the section with the gardening gloves.
I picked out a purple pair of gloves and tossed them in the cart. “My husband and I are separated right now, so I moved into my mom’s house.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that. So that’s why you need a job?”
“Yeah, and I don’t think my husband is going to be too happy when he finds out.”
He laughed. “Why would he be mad that you got a job? Are you rich?”
“Well… He created the Halo messaging app.”
Dylan froze in the middle of the aisle right in front of the shovels. “Are you, like, serious?”
I nodded as I pretended to be interested in the rakes. “Yes.”
“The app that stops you from sending cringe-y text messages?” he replied, his voice getting higher with each word he spoke. “Your husband created that?”
“Yep,” I replied, silently hoping that this was not going to make things awkward between Dylan and me.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “Your husband saved my social life. Possibly even my life.”
I laughed. “How so?”
“When I was at PSU a couple of years ago, Halo saved me from sending tons of gross messages, including a super cringe-y text to this girl I thought I was in love with. Found out the next week she had a boyfriend who looked like The Rock on steroids. That was a close one."
I smiled, as I had heard these kinds of stories many times before whenever someone found out what Jack did for a living. “If only Halo could keep someone from saying cringe-y things in real life, maybe I'd still have a functional marriage.”
Dylan continued pushing the cart down the aisle. “I don’t know. I think if you’re still on speaking terms, you’re still functioning.”
“What did you mean by you thought you were in love with that girl?”
It was sort of a personal question, especially considering I fully expected Dylan to be gay. His perfect hair and designer glasses indicated a degree of thought most straight men didn’t put into accessories.
If the answer to my question was that Dylan was gay, he would be completely within his right to tell me to mind my own damn business. But I had divulged Jack’s tech-celeb identity, and the sorry state of our marriage. I figured I was owed a little juicy backstory in return.
Dylan looked up toward the ceiling, squinting his brown eyes as if he was trying to remember something, then he looked me straight in the eye. “I think you only get one true love in this life. And if it’s not the fight-me-tooth-and-nail, leave-me-bloody-and-gasping-for-air kind of love, I don’t want it.”
I laughed even though his words gave me goose bumps. “I saw that on Instagram, too,” I said, shaking my head. “But let me tell you from experience, that kind of love is not all it’s cracked up to be.”
After my supplies were packed into the trunk of my Tesla, Dylan sent me home with a book on backyard garden restoration, which was much more lyrical than I had anticipated. He told me it should only take a few days to read, then I’d know everything I n
eeded to know to get started on my mother’s garden and my new job.
I left the store with the book clutched against my breast and a new spring in my step. I had met my neighbors and gotten a job, and it wasn’t even noon. I was making progress.
Now, I just had to figure out a way to thank Isaac for, presumably, talking me up to Vera and helping me get a job. Other than baking and yoga, I didn’t have any skills that didn’t involve computer programming. The whole baking thing didn’t work out with either of my neighbors, and I really didn’t think it was appropriate to offer Isaac a yoga class. Maybe I could offer to fix his computer for free.
I shook my head as I pulled out of the garden store parking lot onto Burnside. I didn’t want to give the guy the wrong impression.
Then it hit me.
I would do what neighbors did for each other. I would offer to dog-sit for him.
* * *
After a few hours of reading and a light dinner of four Oreos and a glass of cashew milk, I took a long shower then slipped beneath the cold bedsheets in the guest room. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I draped the covers over my damp hair as I opened my Halo messaging app — the app Jack created, which had turned him into a millionaire before he graduated college.
The Halo app graded your text message on a scale of zero to one hundred, with one hundred being the most cringeworthy message in existence. Jack and I had had a lot of fun trying to earn 100%.
Halo was supposed to prevent social ineptitude. When Jack created it, he used data compiled from various websites and forums where text message horror stories and screenshots of cringe-y message conversations were graded or voted on. Based on the words used in the message — parsed text or text recognition from screenshots — and the number of votes or hits it received from the internet masses, Jack created an algorithm that scored the text. The algorithm was constantly learning, receiving information from bots that crawled the web for new slang and cringe standards.
The first message I typed didn’t pass the test. Halo gave me a grade of 72% cringeworthy. The app would not allow the message to be sent until I scored less than 50% — my chosen threshold.