“What are you doing there?” I hissed. I was afraid to move and inspire an attack. Even in the darkness, I could see that she’d managed to track dirt onto the blanket. One night and I already needed to do laundry.
The cat dropped her head and closed her eyes. She felt like an anvil resting on my abdomen.
My head flopped against the pillow and I tried to get comfortable despite the immense pressure I felt on my stomach. Somehow, I managed to fall asleep and thankfully the remainder of my dreams was devoid of cats raining from the sky.
I woke up feeling groggy but reasonably rested. The cat was gone; the only evidence of her presence was the dirt she’d left behind. Better than a mouse head.
“Coffee,” I said out loud. It occurred to me that I’d need to place an online order with a grocery store and quickly. Stella had been kind enough to stock the basics, knowing that the house had been unoccupied for months, but that only covered the basics. I was still in mourning; therefore, I was going to need chocolate and booze—and lots of them.
I wandered downstairs in a bit of a fog and rooted through the refrigerator and pantry to see what I could scrounge for breakfast. Scrambled eggs and a cup of tea would have to do.
Ophelia’s bowls were empty, so I refilled one with water and the other with food, although I had no idea how many times a day a cat needed to eat. I’d have to consult the internet.
I went upstairs to wash my face, brush my teeth, and change into clothes that could withstand gardening. I didn’t own a pair of sweatpants, so yoga pants would have to suffice.
I left the house in search of gardening tools. I decided to start with the small barn, fairly certain I’d seen a shovel in there yesterday. Maybe there’d be other items I could use as well. As I entered the barn to investigate my options, I saw an unexpected object in the corner—my transportation salvation.
“Score!”
I hurried over to examine the canary yellow motor scooter with a metal basket attached to the front.
“Is it a Vespa?” I wondered aloud. It was covered in cobwebs, so I didn’t want to touch it with my bare hands. I noticed a pair of gardening gloves on a nearby box of crates and slipped those on before wiping away the silky threads.
Okay, it wasn’t a Vespa, but it would do. A two-wheeled mode of transport made sense in a town like Newberry with its narrow roads and crowded main street. This must’ve been what Hazel used to get around before her eyesight began to fail.
“Mia?”
I spun around, startled. Scarlet stood in the open doorway of the barn, clutching a small potted plant.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay. I was just checking out my new set of wheels.” I gestured to the yellow scooter. “I’ll look like I’m riding on a ray of sunshine.”
Scarlet smiled. “It’s been years since I’ve seen it. Hazel used to ride it into town every day. You should have Buddy look at it and make sure it’s roadworthy.”
“Buddy?”
“He owns the auto body. Look up Buddy’s Body Shop. Tell him you’re Hazel’s relative and he won’t swindle you.” The suggestion, of course, being that he would swindle me otherwise.
“Thanks for the tip.”
“This is for you.” Scarlet handed over the potted plant with a flourish. The green stems were short and stubby.
“Thanks, but you may have noticed I have an entire garden full of dead plants outside.”
“And we’ll tend to those soon enough.” She motioned to the offering. “This is an aloe plant. It will be very hard for you to kill this one.”
“Challenge accepted,” I said. “Isn’t aloe for sunburn?” I had memories of rubbing aloe vera all over my skin after ignoring my mother’s warnings about the ability of the sun’s rays to penetrate cloud cover. As usual, I’d tuned her out to my detriment.
“It also calms restless spirits,” Scarlet said.
“It’d be more useful if it calmed restless leg syndrome.” I wasn’t the least bit worried about the ghost of Aunt Hazel coming to haunt me, mainly because I didn’t believe in ghosts.
Scarlet ignored me. “You should talk to it. Give it a name.”
“Give the plant a name?” I scoffed.
“A name,” she repeated firmly. “It doesn’t matter what. Prickly Pete will do.”
“Wilson,” I announced.
She shot me a quizzical look. “Ex-boyfriend?”
“No. Tom Hanks’ friend in that movie where he’s alone on the island.”
Scarlet strangled a laugh. “The volleyball from Castaway?”
I pretended to pet the plant. “That’s the one. I’d draw a face on it, but I don’t think there’s enough space.”
She gave me an appraising look. “Interesting choice.”
“Why?”
“Because the aloe plant is also used for protection and relief from loneliness.” She cocked her head. “Are you sure you don’t know anything about plants?”
“Not a thing.”
“Hmm,” Scarlet said, still regarding me closely. “You should take a moment to express your gratitude.”
“I said thank you. What more do you want? A vial of blood?”
She laughed. “Not to me. To the plant.”
My eyes widened at the aloe plant. “You want me to express gratitude to a plant?”
“Yes. Treat your plant the way you want to be treated,” Scarlet said.
“I don’t need people to thank me.”
“Okay, so learn Wilson’s needs and tend to them. That’s the gist of it.”
“Listen. I appreciate the gesture, but if you expect this plant to live, you need to keep it simple. Water once a day…That sort of thing. Once you add too many requirements, my brain switches off.”
“I can see I have my work cut out for me when it comes to helping you with the garden,” Scarlet said.
“I actually came in here to look for gardening tools.”
Scarlet surveyed the barn. “You have everything you need in here, but I know there are more things in the shed.”
“Good to know. Care to offer any hints? They all look the same to me.”
Scarlet picked up a set of giant scissors. “These are hedge clippers.”
“I knew a girl in high school who could’ve used a pair of those to cut her hair. Her head was big enough to qualify as a float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.” I set the plant in the basket of the scooter and took the clippers. “Care to show me how to use them?”
Scarlet’s phone buzzed and she pulled it from her back pocket. “Hey, Todd. What’s up?” She listened intently. “No problem. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Uh oh. Garden emergency?”
“A problem with the underground sprinkler at a client’s house. I’m sorry but I need to go.”
I stared at the clippers with mixed emotions. “That’s okay. Maybe I’ll wait on these. I don’t need a catastrophic injury on day one.”
“Did you sleep okay or was it hard to be in a strange place?”
“Oh, I’ve slept in my share of strange places,” I said. “A beer-soaked floor, a bus station bench, the hammock of a hotel…”
Scarlet laughed. “Not me. I need a bed or I can’t sleep a wink.”
“Patrick did mention you like to have the feeling of control. You definitely don’t get that trying to get your back comfortable on a bus station bench.”
“Sounds like a good story,” she said.
We vacated the barn and Scarlet guided me to the nearest section of the garden.
“My advice is to start here. It’s full of weeds. If you focus on pulling those up, it’ll be hard for you to accidentally destroy anything good.”
I wagged a finger at her. “O ye of little faith.”
She shaded her eyes from the stark sunlight. “I’d steer clear of the witch’s garden until you know what you’re doing. There are some delicate plants in there as well as poisonous ones. You don’t want to end up in t
he hospital.”
I offered a curious smile. “The witch’s garden?”
“The area closest to the kitchen with the herbs,” Scarlet said.
I glanced in that direction. “That’s a cute name for it. Makes me feel like I live in a fairy tale cottage.” I didn’t realize there was actual terminology for different types of gardens. I learned something new every day.
“I need to get moving. Good luck and don’t expect a miracle. This place is going to take time.”
“No worries. I haven’t expected a miracle since the time I stole Lindsey Hershberger’s tooth from the lunch table and hid it under my pillow for the Tooth Fairy.”
Scarlet’s jaw unhinged. “You stole another child’s tooth in order to get the money?”
I shrugged. “I was saving for a new doll. My mom said I had to pay for it myself or to wait for Christmas and I wasn’t big on patience.”
Scarlet resisted a smile. “They say it’s a virtue.”
“I’ve yet to be convinced.”
She started toward the driveway. “Try not to hurt yourself. I’ll see you later.”
I heard the crunch of pebbles as she left and turned back to face my nemesis. I wasn’t sure why I felt compelled to clean up this mess. It wasn’t as though I was a neat freak or cared about nature other than the occasional selfie in Central Park when the lighting took ten years off my face. I wouldn’t reap the benefit of any work for a full year. Still, I felt strangely obligated to restore this garden to its former glory.
I opened the YouTube app on my phone. If there was a video that explained how to load a dishwasher, then surely there was a video that explained how to reclaim your garden after an apocalypse or a similar event. I didn’t need anything fancy, just the basics would be sufficient. After a solid ten minutes of searching without the desired results, I decided to start simple and eradicate the weeds as Scarlet suggested. With my luck, even if I managed to resurrect the garden, I’d end up creating some kind of mutant zombie plants that attacked people and took over the town.
The phone jingled with an incoming video call from my mother. Couldn’t she text like a normal human? Reluctantly, I accepted the call and Madeline Albrecht’s unlined face filled the screen. The woman looked straight out of a wax museum.
“Are you using a filter?” I asked.
“No, I had Botox a couple weeks ago so you’re seeing my skin at its peak. Plus, I’m wearing a new foundation. Do you like it?” She stuck her nose closer to the camera. “It’s called Bronze Goddess.”
“I don’t need to count your nose hairs, thanks.”
“Where are you?” she asked, trying to peer around me like I was in 3D.
“In Aunt Hazel’s garden, trying to spruce it up.”
My mother tossed her head back and laughed uproariously.
“It’s not that funny,” I said.
“Do you even know the difference between a weed and a flower?”
“Of course. Weeds are ugly and flowers are pretty.”
My mother’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Sure, honey. Go with that.”
“I have a professional consultant, but I wanted to see what I could do on my own.”
My mother leaned forward to scrutinize me. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I have time to kill—and weeds, apparently. If I have to stay here for a year, I might as well whip the place into shape so I can get top dollar for it.”
“You never know, sweetheart. You might change your mind and decide to stay.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “This place isn’t for me. It’s pretty but full of nature.” I missed the guy that loitered outside on Saturday night wearing mismatched clothes and singing charmingly off-key while strumming the lid of a pizza box like a ukulele.
“Have you met any nice young men yet?” my mother asked.
Naturally, my mind conjured up an image of a Hunka Hunka Burning Law, but I refused to share news of his existence with my mother.
“You have, haven’t you?” The note of triumph in her voice was unmistakable.
“I haven’t met anyone. I’m recovering from a painful breakup, remember? I proposed and was rewarded with public humiliation. The last thing I need is a new relationship.”
“It’s the only thing you need to forget that unremarkable man,” she insisted. “Just be sure the new one is gainfully employed.”
“Unlike me.”
My mother smiled. “Well, that’s only temporary, sweetie. Someone always gives you a chance, don’t they? You have one of those faces.”
I frowned and immediately regretted it. A woman shouldn’t have more wrinkles than her mother. It was unnatural—like my mother’s forehead.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Oh, honey. You know what I’m talking about. People are always willing to take a chance on an average-looking woman because they know you’re willing to work harder to prove yourself. When someone’s too attractive, they don’t feel the need to make an effort because they assume their looks will carry them through. It’s the same reason you never want to sleep with someone too good-looking, not that you have to worry about that.”
I pressed my lips together to hold back the torrent of curse words congregating on my tongue.
“Listen, someone’s at the door. Probably the deliveryman with my Sephora order. Gotta run!” She disappeared from the screen before I could say another word.
I lowered the phone, which was just as well because my arm was starting to tingle from overexertion. I should probably feel lucky she didn’t call me ugly, at least not to my face. I had no misgivings about the way she likely talked about me to her husbands. Based on the look of surprise on Jurgen’s face when I first met him, he’d expected a squat troll with an extra nipple and a hair growth issue.
A text from Tracy appeared, asking for an update on the house and the town. It was nice to have someone checking on me in an undemanding and non-critical way. I told her about the need to stay for a year and she sent a bug-eyed emoji in response. Her kids would probably love Red Clover. Maybe I’d invite them to visit once I was settled.
I used my phone to play background music, slipped on a pair of gardening gloves, and kneeled on a folded towel in front of the first row of plants. My upper body strength wasn’t anything to brag about. Pulling up weeds was worse than trying to open a new jar of mayonnaise. Most of the time I failed to tear up the roots, which I knew meant the weeds would simply grow again in the same spot. At some point, Ophelia appeared next to the discarded debris. She meowed rather than hissed and I considered that progress.
“You could get yourself a pair of opposable thumbs and help me out,” I said. “Lazy cat.”
Ophelia settled on top of the pile of weeds like I’d prepared a bed of roses for her. She regarded me with her intense green eyes.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, so don’t watch me for any tips.” I continued struggling and swore when I developed a cramp in my hand. I removed a glove and massaged the injured base of my thumb. If this was the beginning of arthritis, I was moving straight back to the city. Newberry was aging me prematurely and I hadn’t even been here a week.
I met Ophelia’s inquisitive gaze. “What do you think I should do? You can’t be too thrilled to have a new roommate. I know I wouldn’t be.” I once ended up sharing a sublet with a young woman from Russia who barely spoke English. It was hard enough to navigate a roommate situation at the best of times, but Svetlana and I couldn’t understand each other. Even worse, she looked like a model, so the few times we went out together, I felt like an invisible woman. Men would push past me to reach her, as though I was an ottoman that blocked their way to the sleek leather sofa.
Ophelia said nothing in response. Instead, she dipped her head to lick her paw.
“Any suggestions for employment in this town? I get the sense that my prospects run the gamut from tattoo artist to thespian. I don’t think I’m qualified for any of it. Is there a lo
cal newspaper?” Maybe they’d have an ad sales position for me there.
Ophelia closed her eyes, as though bored by my attempt at conversation.
“Did you like Hazel?”
At the mention of Hazel, Ophelia opened her eyes again.
“Aha. That got your attention.” Although it freaked me out a little to know that the cat recognized names. What was next? The nuclear codes?
“I would like it if we could co-exist in peace. A detente, if you will. Like Gorbachev’s Russia and Reagan’s America.”
Ophelia stood. It was hard to tell what she was doing given the size of her belly, but I soon realized she was stretching. She seemed calm and tolerant of me, so I took off my glove and attempted to pet her.
Bad idea.
She hissed and swatted at me, then bit my hand. Two sharp fangs went straight through the skin and I howled in pain. She picked up the glove in her teeth and ran, disappearing deeper into the garden.
“Ophelia! Come back with that.” It took me longer than I cared to admit to rise to a standing position and I heard more than one popping sound.
I chased the cat through the garden, trampling the plants and weeds as I went. It didn’t matter. I’d be yanking them up soon enough anyway, unless Scarlet returned to instruct me which ones to save.
For a cat the size of Garfield, Ophelia was surprisingly nimble and spry. It didn’t help that I’d succumbed to the call of the carbs over the winter and packed on a few extra pounds. It seemed that the moment I passed forty, my body decided to retain water and fat as though I might have to make it through all my remaining winters without food. It was the hormonal equivalent of a life insurance underwriter calculating the number of years I likely had left and making the necessary adjustments in fleshy layers.
“Ophelia, where are you?” I tried to keep my voice light. Despite the throbbing pain in my hand, I refused to give the cat the satisfaction of knowing she’d hurt me. It reminded me of the time Lynette hired the spoiled daughter of a major client to work alongside me. I was meant to show her the ropes, but Cindy insisted on treating me like her assistant, despite my repeated attempts to steer her straight. I knew I had to grin and bear it or risk losing the client. Cindy knew that, too, and took full advantage. She wasn’t as dumb as her stiletto-heeled snow boots suggested. Anyway, it wasn’t easy, but I outlasted her. She quit by jetting off to Cannes for her annual month-long vacation and simply never reporting back to the office.
Petal to the Metal Page 6