In the Garden Trilogy (17 page)

“That’s a lot of bitching, whining, and venom to pack into a quarter of an hour. She sounds like a very talented woman.”

It took Stella a minute—a minute where she let her hands slide into her lap so she could stare into Roz’s face. Then she let her own head fall back with a peal of laughter.

“Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah, she’s loaded with talent. Thanks.”

“No problem. My mama spent most of her time—at least the time we were on earth together—sighing wistfully over her health. Not that she meant to complain, so she said. I very nearly put that on her tombstone. ‘Not That I Mean to Complain.’ ”

“I could put ‘I Don’t Ask for Much’ on my mother’s.”

“There you go. Mine made such an impression on me that I went hell-bent in the opposite direction. I could probably cut off a limb, and you wouldn’t hear a whimper out of me.”

“God, I guess I’ve done the same with mine. I’ll have to think about that later. Okay, on to business. We’re sold out of the mixed-bulb planters we forced. I don’t know if you want to do others this late in the season.”

“Maybe a few. Some people like to pick them up, already done, for Easter presents and so on.”

“All right. How about if I show Hayley how it’s done? I know you usually do them yourself, but—”

“No, it’s a good job for her. I’ve been watching her.” At Stella’s expression, she inclined her head. “I don’t like to look like I’m watching, but generally I am. I know what’s going on in my place, Stella, even if I do occasionally miss crossing a T.”

“And I’m there to cross them, so that’s all right.”

“Exactly. Still, I’ve left her primarily to you. She working out for you?”

“More than. You don’t have to tell her something twice, and when she claimed she learned fast she wasn’t kidding. She’s thirsty.”

“We’ve got plenty to drink around here.”

“She’s personable with customers—friendly, never rushed. And she’s not afraid to say she doesn’t know, but she’ll find out. She’s outside right now, poking around your beds and shrubs. She wants to know what she’s selling.”

She moved to the window as she spoke, to look out. It was nearly twilight, but there was Hayley walking the dog and studying the perennials. “At her age, I was planning my wedding. It seems like a million years ago.”

“At her age, I was raising two toddlers and was pregnant with Mason. Now
that
was a million years ago. And five minutes ago.”

“It’s off topic, again, of the update, but I wanted to ask if you’d thought about what you’ll do when we get to May.”

“That’s still high season for us, and people like to freshen up the summer garden. We sell—”

“No, I meant about Hayley. About the baby.”

“Oh. Well, she’ll have to decide that, but I expect if she decides to stay on at the nursery, we’ll find her sit-down work.”

“She’ll need to find child care, when she’s ready to go back to work. And speaking of nurseries ...”

“Hmm. That’s thinking ahead.”

“Time zips by,” Stella repeated.

“We’ll figure it out.”

Because she was curious, Roz rose to go to the window herself. Standing beside Stella she looked out.

It was a lovely thing, she decided, watching a young woman, blooming with child, wandering a winter garden.

She’d once been that young woman, dreaming in the twilight and waiting for spring to bring life.

Time didn’t just zip by, she thought. It damn near evaporated on you.

“She seems happy now, and sure of what she’s going to do. But could be after she has the baby, she’ll change her mind about having the father involved.” Roz watched Hayley lay a hand on her belly and look west, to where the sun was sinking behind the trees and into the river beyond them. “Having a live baby in your arms and the prospect of caring for it single-handed’s one hell of a reality check. We’ll see when the time comes.”

“You’re right. And I don’t suppose either of us knows her well enough to know what’s best. Speaking of babies, it’s nearly time to get mine in the tub. I’m going to leave the weekly report with you.”

“All right. I’ll get to it. I should tell you, Stella, I like what you’ve done. What shows, like in the customer areas, and what doesn’t, in the office management. I see spring coming, and for the first time in years, I’m not frazzled and overworked. I can’t say I minded being overworked, but I can’t say I mind not being, either.”

“Even when I bug you with details?”

“Even when. I haven’t heard any complaints about Logan in the past few days. Or from him. Am I living in a fool’s paradise, or have you two found your rhythm?”

“There are still a few hitches in it, and I suspect there’ll be others, but nothing for you to worry about. In fact, he made a very friendly gesture and offered to take me to Graceland.”

“He did?” Roz’s eyebrows drew together. “Logan?”

“Would that be out of the ordinary for him?”

“I couldn’t say, except I don’t know that he’s dated anyone from work before.”

“It’s not a date, it’s an outing.”

Intrigued, Roz sat again. You never knew what you’d learn from a younger woman, she decided. “What’s the difference?”

“Well, a date’s dinner and a movie with potential, even probable, romantic overtones. Taking your kids to the zoo is an outing.”

Roz leaned back, stretched out her legs. “Things do change, don’t they? Still, in my book, when a man and a woman go on an outing, it’s a date.”

“See, that’s my quandary.” Since conversation seemed welcomed, Stella walked over again, sat on the arm of the chair facing Roz. “Because that’s my first thought. But it seemed like just a friendly gesture, and the ‘outing’ term was his. Like a kind of olive branch. And if I take it, maybe we’d find that common ground, or that rhythm, whatever it is we need to smooth out the rough spots in our working relationship.”

“So, if I’m following this, you’d go to Graceland with Logan for the good of In the Garden.”

“Sort of.”

“And not because he’s a very attractive, dynamic, and downright sexy single man.”

“No, those would be bonus points.” She waited until Roz stopped laughing. “And I’m not thinking of wading in that pool. Dating’s a minefield.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve got more years in that war zone than you.”

“I like men.” She reached back to tug the band ponytailing her hair a little higher. “I like the company of men. But dating’s so complicated and stressful.”

“Better complicated and stressful than downright boring, which too many of my experiences in the field have been.”

“Complicated, stressful, or downright boring, I like the sound of ‘outing’ much better. Listen, I know Logan’s a friend of yours. But I’d just like to ask if you think, if I went with him, I’d be making a mistake, or giving the wrong impression. The wrong signal. Or maybe crossing that line between coworkers. Or—”

“That’s an awful lot of complication and stress you’re working up over an outing.”

“It is. I irritate myself.” Shaking her head, she pushed off the chair. “I’d better get bath time started. Oh, and I’ll get Hayley going on those bulbs tomorrow.”

“That’s fine. Stella—are you going on this outing?”

She paused at the doorway. “Maybe. I’ll sleep on it.”

SHE WAS DREAMING OF FLOWERS. AN ENCHANTING garden, full of young, vital blooms, flowed around her. It was perfect, tidied and ordered, its edges ruler-straight to form a keen verge against the well-trimmed grass.

Color swept into color, whites and pinks, yellows and silvery greens, all soft and delicate pastels that shimmered in subtle elegance in the golden beams of the sun.

Their fragrance was calming and drew a pretty bevy of busy butterflies, the curiosity of a single shimmery hummingbird. No weed intruded on its flawlessness, and every blossom was full and ripe, with dozens upon dozens of buds waiting their turn to open.

She’d done this. As she circled the bed it was with a sense of pride and satisfaction. She’d turned the earth and fed it, she’d planned and selected and set each plant in exactly the right place. The garden so precisely matched her vision, it was like a photograph.

It had taken her years to plan and toil and create. But now everything she’d wanted to accomplish was here, blooming at her feet.

Yet even as she watched, a stem grew up, sharp and green, crowding the others, spoiling the symmetry. Out of place, she thought, more annoyed than surprised to see it breaking out of the ground, growing up, unfurling its leaves.

A dahlia? She’d planted no dahlias there. They belonged in the back. She’d specifically planted a trio of tall pink dahlias at the back of the bed, exactly one foot apart.

Puzzled, she tilted her head, studied it as the stems grew and thickened, as buds formed fat and healthy. Fascinating, so fascinating and unexpected.

Even as she started to smile, she heard—felt?—a whisper over the skin, a murmur through her brain.

It’s wrong there. Wrong. It has to be
removed.
It will take and take until there’s nothing left.

She shivered. The air around her was suddenly cool, with a hint of raw dampness, with bleak clouds creeping in toward that lovely golden sun.

In the pit of her belly was a kind of dread.

That was right. Of course, that was right. It had no business growing there, muscling the others aside, changing the order.

She’d have to dig it out, find another place for it. Reorganize everything, just when she’d thought she was finished. And look at that, she thought, as the buds formed, as they broke open to spread their deep blue petals. It was entirely the wrong color. Too bold, too dark, too bright.

It was beautiful; she couldn’t deny it. In fact, she’d never seen a more beautiful specimen. It looked so strong, so vivid. It was already nearly as tall as she, with flowers as wide as dinner plates.

That whisper, somehow female, somehow raging, slithered into her sleeping brain. She whimpered a little, tossed restlessly in her chilly bed.

No, she couldn’t kill something so beautiful, so alive, so vivid. But that didn’t mean she could just leave it there, out of its place, upsetting the rest of the bed.

All that work, the preparation, the
planning
, and now this. She’d just have to plan another bed and work it in. With a sigh, she reached out, feathered her fingers over those bold blue petals. It would be a lot of work, she thought, a lot of trouble, but—

“Mom.”

“Isn’t it pretty?” she murmured. “It’s so
blue.
”

“Mom, wake up.”

“What?” She tumbled out of the dream, shaking off sleep as she saw Luke kneeling in the bed beside her.

God, the room was freezing.

“Luke?” Instinctively she dragged the spread over him. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t feel good in my tummy.”

“Aw.” She sat up, automatically laying a hand on his brow to check for fever. A little warm, she thought. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head. She could see the gleam of his eyes, the sheen of tears. “It feels sick. Can I sleep in your bed?”

“Okay.” She drew the sheets back. “Lie down and bundle up, baby. I don’t know why it’s so cold in here. I’m going to take your temperature, just to see.” She pressed her lips to his forehead as he snuggled onto her pillow. Definitely a little warm.

Switching on the bedside lamp, she rolled out to get the thermometer from the bathroom.

“Let’s find out if I can see through your brain.” She stroked his hair as she set the gauge to his ear. “Did you feel sick when you went to bed?”

“Nuh-uh, it was ...” His body tightened, and he made a little groan.

She knew he was going to retch before he did. With a mother’s speed, she scooped him up, dashed into the bathroom. They made it, barely, and she murmured and stroked and fretted while he was sick.

Then he turned his pale little face up to hers. “I frew up.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. We’re going to make it all better soon.”

She gave him a little water, cooled his face with a cloth, then carried him back to her bed. Strange, she thought, the room felt fine now.

“It doesn’t feel as sick in my tummy anymore.”

“That’s good.” Still, she took his temperature—99.1, not too bad—and brought the wastebasket over beside the bed. “Does it hurt anywhere?”

“Nuh-uh, but I don’t like to frow up. It makes it taste bad in my throat. And my other tooth is loose, and maybe if I frow up again, it’ll come out and I won’t have it to put under my pillow.”

“Don’t you worry about that. You’ll absolutely have your tooth for under your pillow, just like the other one. Now, I’ll go down and get you some ginger ale. You stay right here, and I’ll be back in just a minute. Okay?”