by Joyce Lavene
“You worry too much.”
“I doubt it. Don’t forget, I’ve seen you do some really crazy things that make this look like a visit to the petting zoo.”
THE AFTERNOON WAS BUSY at the Potting Shed. Deliveries of new plants, potting soil, and other garden necessities came and went. The after-work crowd was bigger than usual. Everyone was getting out in their gardens or thinking about having a garden. Once the warm spring breezes started calling, few could resist.
Of course, later, many would neglect what they diligently planted in the spring. Peggy always tried to tell those gardeners from the more committed. If she sold the sometimes gardener the right plants, they would practically take care of themselves. That way, sometimes the gardener wouldn’t be disappointed.
They sold three Charleston benches and a large light kit for a walkway in an hour. “You wouldn’t be interested in designing and creating walkways, would you?” Peggy asked Sam when he came in to get supplies for the next day.
She secretly wished he’d change his mind about becoming a surgeon and be her partner in the business when he finished school. She didn’t know what she was going to do without him when he was gone.
Sam laughed, perfect white teeth flashing. His sky-colored eyes met hers. “Have you finally figured out how to clone me?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Seriously, Peggy, you’re going to have to hire at least one other person to help with the landscaping end of this. Keeley and I are swamped this year. It keeps growing, which is good. But we need help.”
“I know. And I think I’ve figured out a plan.”
“Okay.” He hefted another bag of fertilizer into the back of the truck.
“I’ll start another crew and hire someone to work with me.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Why?”
He paused and took both her hands in his larger gloved ones. “I don’t see a callus on either of these. You wouldn’t last a day.”
“I always wear gloves. And I think I could manage.”
“All right. It’s your business.” He shrugged and started loading the truck again. “What are you going to do about another truck?”
She gulped. “Get a loan?”
“Wow! We must be doing great for you to say those words. I know how much you hate getting loans.”
“Sometimes when you want to move forward, you have to be willing to take a chance.”
“Nicely said.” He flicked his hair out of his eyes. “By the way, what happened up in Asheville? Did you find your friend?”
She told him about Rosie and the reason she left school so suddenly.
“Did Darmus know?”
“She said he didn’t. I don’t know. I guess we never will.”
Sam closed the tailgate. “My family doesn’t know I’m gay. My dad would flip out if he knew. You know that. Sometimes, you can’t share some parts of your lives with people you love.”
“Don’t they ask you questions about girlfriends and getting married?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes my mom asks me about those things. But mostly, they’re both hoping I won’t think too much about girls or getting married until I finish school. That’s a big deal with them. Once I’m a doctor, it might be another story. I don’t know.”
She touched his arm. “They love you, Sam. They won’t care when they know the truth.”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know how they’d take it.”
“You’ll see. Sometimes a parent might not like what their son or daughter does, but that doesn’t mean they don’t love them anyway and accept it.”
“Like you and Paul with him being a cop? I agree. But you’re a different person. Anyway, I don’t plan on ever telling my parents. They might figure it out someday, but they won’t ask. It will be a stalemate.”
As she watched him drive away to the next job, Peggy felt bad about Sam not being able to talk to his parents. Anthony waved from his Caribbean café next door, wondering when she was coming by again for lunch. Cars moved sluggishly up College Street as the afternoon waned.
Peggy went to talk to a customer who was looking for some old-fashioned perfume roses for her garden.
“The kind my grandmother used to plant,” the diminutive woman explained.
“I have a few left, but I could order more.” Peggy showed her the three red roses she had. “How many are you looking for?”
“I’d really like white.” The woman perused the roses. “I’m doing an all-white garden on the left side of my house. My mother died last year, bless her soul, and I’d like to make a small plaque and a white garden. Mother said you always wear white roses after your mother is dead.”
“She was right.” Peggy smiled at her. “I can have some white roses in a few days. This new kind is very sweet, very strong, and the blooms are beautiful, as you can see from the red.”
“All right. I’ll take two dozen. Could I get those planted, too? I was thinking about buying a few other white flowers to go with them. Maybe some gardenias and a few white peonies. Maybe a small magnolia, too. Mother loved magnolias.”
As Peggy took the order she decided it would be a good place to start her part of the landscaping business. Sam was right. He and Keeley Prinz, her other landscape assistant, were way too busy to take on anything else. She might not be able to hire anyone in time to work on Mrs. Turnbrell’s white garden, but she could handle it alone. “I’m sure your mother will love it.”
“Thank you. I love your shop, Peggy. You always know what I need.”
4
Borage
Botanical: Borago officinalis
Family: N.O. Boraginaceae
Good in salads, this herb has a cucumber like smell and taste that is cool and refreshing. Pliny called it Euphrosinum, saying it made a man merry and joyful. Many generations have brewed the tea to bring back good humor and happiness. It was also said to bring bravery. People still preserve the pretty blue flowers and candy them for cakes.
“THEY’LL LOVE YOU,” Peggy reassured Steve as they made lunch for her parents the next day. “You don’t have a thing to worry about.”
Steve smiled. His question was about the soup he was stirring. And she’d already reassured him six times since he got there. “Nervous?”
“About my parents coming for two weeks? No! Don’t be ridiculous. They’re my parents. Why would I be nervous? I’m too old to get flustered over a visit from my parents.”
“Sure you are.”
She sighed as she tried to fold a red linen napkin into a rose shape and it ended up as a ball in her hand. “Yes. I’m a wreck. I can’t eat or sleep. Shakespeare keeps staring at me. I think I’m making him crazy, too.” She smoothed the Great Dane’s head that rested on her feet.
“We can take it,” Steve told her. “We’re big tough guys, right, Shakespeare?”
The dog looked up and wagged his tail, but when he didn’t see any sign of a human moving toward the door to take him outside, he put his head back down and closed his eyes.
The warm but not yet humid air called to the dog and his mistress. Peggy wished she was spending her time outside working in her garden or moving sunflowers. Instead, she was in the house, cleaning and polishing.
Not that her house didn’t need a good clean. She was appalled by the number and size of dust bunnies and cobwebs she had found. They could’ve overpowered her and taken over the place. It was good she had been forced inside by her parents’ visit.
It was good. But it was hard. The air outside was perfumed by new roses and honeysuckle. The sweet green was the new growth after the winter brown. It would fade quickly once the hot summer weather came in. The strawberry plants she was given by a grateful friend she had helped with bug control were hanging heavy and red with fruit, ready to be eaten. There were a thousand million new plant worlds to be explored outside. Inside were beds to make and bathrooms to scrub.
As a botanist, Peggy was trained to make thorough, slow
movements toward her conclusions. As a gardener with spring fever, she had to force herself to stay inside and do what had to be done. Her impatience prodded her. Just a little lemon oil here, a little wax there. Four weeks of preparation, two weeks of visiting, and then it would be over.
She could hardly wait! Already, to the amazement of people walking by, her newly created pink parrot tulips bloomed by the front sidewalk. It was a unique color she called Carolina Flamingo. The ragged edges of the flowers made them resemble the birds, standing on a single leg, nodding in the sun.
Not that she didn’t want to see her parents. Guilt tugged at her unruly thoughts. It had been a little over two years since they’d come for John’s funeral. Between getting the Potting Shed running and returning to her teaching job at Queens, she was always too pressed for time to go to Charleston. Or at least that’s what she told herself.
The truth was, she didn’t want to face them. During their last visit they’d tried to persuade her to move to Charleston with them. She didn’t want to get into it again. Charlotte was her home now, whether John was alive or not. She loved her parents, but she didn’t want to live in Charleston.
“Do you want to taste this?” Steve held out a spoonful of soup. “I’ve never made it without meat before.”
Peggy cleared her thoughts and focused on what was happening right now. Her mind had a tendency to wander away when she thought about her plants. She needed to put those thoughts away for a little longer. Then she could indulge in a nice, long walk in the garden.
She tasted the spicy soup from the spoon he held out for her. “Mmm . . . good.” She licked her lips but was immediately sorry because the taste ruined her lipstick. Her mother never let things like that happen before guests arrived. “I have to go touch up my lipstick.”
“Before you do,” Steve moved in closer, spoon still in hand, “how about a kiss for the cook?”
“I suppose it can’t hurt now.”
He pulled back. “Excuse me? Is that the enthusiasm I get? I slave all morning over this pot of gumbo, create roux for you. And I’m not even Creole! Where’s the passion? Where’s the gratitude? Where’s the mmm-fff. . .” His words trailed off when Peggy’s lips pressed hard against his mouth.
“You’re right,” she admitted when the kiss was over. “I’ve taken you for granted. I’m sorry.” She scrubbed what was left of her lipstick from his mouth with her hand. “Better?”
“Much.” He smiled down at her. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for making the gumbo. It’s wonderful. And for everything else you did to help me get ready.”
“You’re welcome. Just part of the service.”
“I promise not to take you for granted again.”
“Are you just worried about them meeting me?” His brown eyes were serious for a moment. “Or are you always this way with them?”
“Always this way.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Her parents’ rare visits always made her crazy. But she was extra nervous about them meeting Steve. They were bound to notice he was younger than her—seven years younger. Her mother would be upset. It didn’t help that she hadn’t observed the South’s traditional five years’ mourning period after her husband’s death. It was almost scandalous!
To make matters worse, she only lived a few doors down from Steve, which meant he was often at her house at odd hours. No one was living with her to keep up appearances, either. It would be a bad situation in her parents’ conservative opinions. Peggy shook her head to stop her anxious thoughts. This was stupid. She was a fifty-two-year-old woman dating a forty-five-year-old man. For heaven’s sake! Surely they were both old enough to do as they pleased. She knew she should be able to tell her parents that.
But she knew she wouldn’t. Inside, she was still the same little girl who grew up on their farm outside Charleston with the proper notions of respect and tradition. If her parents criticized her relationship with Steve, she would hang her head like the time they chastised her for sneaking out to catch fireflies one moonlit night when she was twelve. Some things didn’t change.
Steve hugged her, guessing some of the truth without her saying it. “It’ll be fine. Peggy. Relax. Breathe. Don’t worry. I’ll be on my best behavior. I’ve seen you face down TV reporters, killers, and unruly Great Danes with less tension, not to mention hordes of college students. It makes me shudder just thinking about being in the room with that many people under the age of twenty-one. You know, their frontal lobes aren’t even fully developed yet. They’re capable of anything.”
She laughed. “I guess I forgot. It’s been awhile since school let out.”
“Have you made up your mind about leaving the university?”
“I don’t know.” She took a deep breath. They’d talked about this many times as she tried to make up her mind. “I talked to the dean on the phone last night. He wants me to think about it a little longer. Even if I quit, they want me to come back for some lectures next year. But school’s out for now anyway. I’m technically only a garden shop owner. I’ll have so much free time, I won’t know what to do with myself.”
“Maybe I can help you out with that problem.” He leaned toward her, but the phone rang, startling them apart.
Peggy reached for it with a grin. It was her son, Paul. “I just saw Grama and Grampa’s old Buick go by the coffee shop on Providence. They’re only a few minutes from you. I hope you’re ready.”
“Thanks for calling. Are you coming over?”
“After shift change. Can you handle it until then?”
“I’ve handled your grandparents since before you were born. I think I can handle them this time.”
“That’s true,” Paul agreed with a laugh. “But can you handle Aunt Mayfield and Cousin Melvin? Let’s not forget you have to introduce all of them to Steve.”
“Go back to work, Officer Lee. I’ll see you after shift change.”
“Is Paul giving you a hard time, too?” Steve asked when she put down the phone.
“No more than usual. That boy has an attitude and a smart mouth.”
He smiled as he stirred the soup. “I wonder where he got that from.”
“Don’t you start! I’m going to walk through the house and check on everything one more time. Can you handle the kitchen until I get back?”
He saluted her. “I’ll stand steady at my post, sir.”
“Good.” She reached down to switch off the small TV that sat on the kitchen cabinet. The volume was low, but a photo she recognized flashed on the screen with a news update. She paused and turned up the volume.
“. . . was found unconscious in the Community Garden Project on Seventh Street just a few minutes ago. Paramedics are rushing him to Presbyterian Hospital as we speak. You’ll recall, Stacey, that the Community Garden was created by Dr. Darmus Appleby after he coaxed this piece of property from city leaders last year. He died in a tragic house fire a few days ago. His brother, Reverend Luther Appleby, took over his spot as the head of Feed America, Dr. Appleby’s well-known project to end world hunger. The Community Garden was part of that endeavor.”
“What do the police think happened to him, Jamie? Do they think it was an accident? Was he a victim of gang violence? I believe they’ve had some trouble with local gangs hanging out in the garden.”
“I’m not sure, Stacey. A group of Girl Scouts who were out to work in the garden found him. They were taken away by police, and no one has released any further information. I’ll let you know as soon as we have any other news about what happened here today. It’s certainly another hardship for the Appleby family.”
The camera shifted back to the studio and the blond news anchor faced her audience. “That was Jamie MacIntire bringing us news of a tragedy at the Community Garden as Reverend Luther Appleby was found unconscious on the grounds. We’ll let you know what happens as more information comes to us. Now, let’s move on to sports.”
“Was that your friend?” Steve broke the sudden silence.
“Yes.
” Peggy picked up the phone but couldn’t get through to the hospital. “I haven’t seen him since the fire. But he’s called every day since I got home. He seemed fine last night. I thought he was going to be all right.”
“It could be anything. Maybe you should go to the hospital.”
Shakespeare heard the sound of a strange car in the drive before they did. He ran to the front door, his deep barks echoing through the house.
“That must be my parents.” Peggy looked around the kitchen. “I don’t know—”
“Grab your purse. I’ll handle everything here. I can put lunch on the table as well as you can. Call me when you find out what happened.”