In the Garden Trilogy (80 page)

B
UT WHEN HE
got home, he wasn’t in the mood to go out. He made excuses to himself: It was too hot, he was too tired, he didn’t feel like the drive. What he really wanted was a cool shower and a cold beer. He was pretty sure there was a frozen pizza buried with the leftovers David was always giving him. There was a ballgame on TV.

What else did he need?

A long warm body with miles of leg and smooth skin. Luscious lips and big blue eyes.

Since that wasn’t on the menu, he decided to drop the temperature of the shower to cold.

His hair was still dripping and he wore nothing but ancient cutoffs when he wandered into the kitchen for that beer.

Like the rest of the house, it was small-scale. He didn’t need big, he’d grown up in big. And he liked the charm and convenience of his little rooms. He thought of the converted two-story carriage house as a kind of country cottage. The way it sat away from the main house, surrounded by the gardens with their curving paths, shaded by old trees, gave it the kind of solitude and privacy that suited him. And kept him close enough to the main house that he could be on hand if his mother needed him.

If he wanted company, all he had to do was stroll over. If he didn’t, he stayed put. More often than not, he admitted, he stayed put.

He remembered when he’d decided to move in, and his biggest decorating plan had been to paint all the walls white and be done with it. Both his mother and David had been all over him like white on rice for that one.

They’d been right, he had to admit it. He liked the silvery sage walls in his kitchen and the stone gray counters, the distressed wood of the cabinets. He supposed the color had inspired him to juice the place up a little with the pieces of old pottery or china sitting around, the herbs growing on the windowsill.

It was a nice space, even if he was just eating a sandwich over the sink. He liked standing here, looking out at his own little greenhouse, and the explosion of the summer gardens.

The hydrangeas were as big as soccerballs this year, he noted, and the infusion of iron he’d given them turned them a strong, unearthly blue. Maybe he’d cut a few, plunk them down somewhere in the house.

Butterflies were massing around the garden he and his mother had planted to lure them. A flurry of colorful wings flashed over the welcoming bloom of purple coneflower, the sunny coreopsis, fragrant verbena, and the reliable asters. Backing them was the elegant dance of daylilies.

Maybe he’d cut a few of those, too, and take them over to the house so Lily could have them in her room. She liked flowers, liked when he took her walking in the gardens so she could touch them.

And her eyes, blue like her mama’s, got so big and serious when he recited the names. Just like she was taking it all in, filing it away.

Christ, who’d have thought he’d be so gone on a kid?

But it was so cool the way she’d march along with her little hand in his, then stop and reach up, that pretty face turned to his, that pretty face full of light because she knew
he’d swing her up. Then the way she’d hook her arm around his neck, or pat his hair. It just killed him.

It was amazing to love, to be loved in that open, uncomplicated way.

He took a pull of the beer, then opened the freezer to look for the pizza. He heard the quick knock on the front door seconds before it opened.

“Hope I’m interrupting an orgy,” David called out. He strolled in, cocked his head at Harper. “What, no dancing girls?”

“They just left.”

“I see they ripped your clothes off first.”

“You know how it is with dancing girls. Wanna beer?”

“Tempting, but no. I’m saving myself for an exceptional Grey Goose martini. Night off, heading into Memphis to meet some people. Why don’t you cover up that manly chest and come along?”

“Too hot.”

“I’m driving, got AC. Go on, put on some dancing shoes. We’re going to check out some clubs.”

Harper pointed his beer toward his friend. “Every time I check out some clubs with you, somebody hits on me. And they’re not always female.”

“You heartbreaker. I’ll protect you, throw myself bodily on anyone who tries to pat your ass. What’re you going to do, Harp, stew around here with a beer and Kraft’s mac and cheese?”

“Kraft’s mac and cheese is the packaged dinner of champions. But I’m going with frozen pizza tonight. Besides, there’s a game on.”

“You
are
breaking my heart. Harper, we’re young, we’re hot. You’re straight, I’m gay, which means we cover all available ground and double our chances of getting
lucky. Between us we can cut a mighty swath down Beale Street. Don’t you remember, Harp?” He took Harper by the shoulders, gave him a dramatic shake. “Don’t you remember how once we ruled?”

He had to grin. “Those were the days.”

“These are still the days.”

“Don’t you remember how once we puked our guts up in the gutter?”

“Sweet, sweet memories.” David hitched himself up to sit on the counter, took Harper’s beer for one sip. “Should I be worried about you?”

“No. Why?”

“When’s the last time you had your pipes cleaned?”

“Jesus, David.” He took a gulp of beer.

“Used to be a time when the nubiles were lined up three deep on the path to your door. Now the closest you come to a bang is nuking Kraft’s in the mike.”

It was too close to the truth for comfort. “I’m on sabbatical. I guess I got tired of it,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, things have been pretty busy and intense around here for a while. The business with the Bride, especially finding out she was like my great-great-grandmother. Somebody screwed with her, messed her up. Careless, you know, callous, the way it’s playing out. I don’t want to be careless anymore.”

“You never were.” Soberly now, David boosted himself down. “How long have we been friends? Almost for fucking ever. I’ve never known you to be careless with anyone. If you’re talking sex, you’re the only person I know who stays friendly with a lover once the heat blows off. You’re not careless with people, Harper. And just because Reginald was a bastard—most likely—doesn’t mean you’re doomed to be.”

“No, I know. I’m not obsessing about it or anything. Just
sort of taking stock. Just chilling awhile until I figure out what I want for the next phase.”

“You want company, I can take you up on that beer and whip up something considerably less revolting than frozen pizza.”

“I like frozen pizza.” He’d do it, Harper thought. He’d blow off his plans, just to hang, to be a pal. “Go, there’s a martini with your name on it.” He slapped a hand on David’s shoulder to lead him to the front door. “Eat, drink, make Barry.”

“Got my cell phone if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.” He opened the door, leaned on the jamb. “But while you’re steaming along Beale, I’m going to be sitting in the cool, watching the Braves trounce the Mariners.”

“Pitiful, son, just pitiful.”

“And drinking beer in my underwear, which cannot be overstated.” He broke off, felt the punch straight to the belly when Hayley and Lily came around a turn of the garden.

“Now that’s a pretty sight.”

“Yeah. They look good.” The baby wore some sort of romper thing, pink and white stripes, with a little pink bow in her hair—dark hair, like her mother’s. She looked sweet as a candy stick.

And Mama—tiny blue shorts, a yard of leg, bare feet. Some skinny little white top and wraparound shades. A different kind of candy altogether. Maybe it was sweet, but it was sure as hell hot.

He tipped up the beer to cool his throat, and Lily spotted them. She let out something between a yell and a squeal—all delight—and pulling away from Hayley made a beeline toward the carriage house as fast as her little legs could manage.

“Slow down, sweet potato.” David moved forward to
scoop her up, give her a toss. She patted his face with both of her hands, gabbled at him, then reached for Harper.

“As always, I’m day-old paté when you’re around.”

“Hand her over,” Harper hitched her onto his hip where she kicked her legs with joy and beamed at him. “Hey, pretty girl.”

In response, she tilted her head to lay it on his shoulder.

“What a flirt,” Hayley commented as she walked up. “Here we are having a nice walk, having a little girl-talk, she spots a couple of handsome men, and blows me off.”

“Why don’t you leave her with Harper, put on a party dress and drive on into Memphis with me?”

“Oh, I—”

“Sure.” Harper kept his voice carefully neutral as he jiggled Lily. “She can hang with me. You can bring that Portacrib thing over and I’ll put her down when she’s tired.”

“That’s nice, I appreciate it. But it’s been a long day. I don’t think I’m up for a trip to Memphis.”

“Fuds and duds, Lily.” David leaned over to kiss her. “I’m surrounded by fuds and duds. I’m flying solo then, and I better get started. See y’all.”

“I don’t mind watching her if you want to get out awhile.”

“No. I’m going to put her down pretty soon, then curl on up myself. Why aren’t you going?”

“Too hot,” he said, decided it was the easiest catchall excuse.

“Isn’t it? And you’re letting all the cool out. Come on, Lily.”

But when she tried to take the baby, Lily squirmed away and clung to Harper like ivy to a tree. The sound she made was distinctly
da-da.

The flush glowed on Hayley’s cheeks even as she gave a weak laugh. “She doesn’t mean anything. Those D sounds
are the easiest to make, is all. Lots of things are da-da these days. Come on, Lily.”

This time her arms circled Harper’s neck like a noose, and she started to wail.

“You want to come in for a while?”

“No, no.” She spoke quickly now, a tumble of words. “We were just taking a little walk, nearly done with it, and she has to have a bath before bedtime.”

“I’ll walk back with you.” He turned his head, kissed Lily’s cheek then whispered in her ear so she laughed and snuggled against him.

“She can’t have everything she wants.”

“She’ll have to learn that soon enough.” He reached behind him, and shut the door.

S
HE MANAGED BATH
and bedtime, kept herself distracted with Lily’s needs until the baby was asleep.

She tried to read, she tried TV. Too restless for either, she plugged in a yoga tape she’d bought at the mall and gave it a spin. She went down for cookies. She put on music, then turned it off.

By midnight, she was still edgy and unsettled, so gave up and went out on the terrace to take in the warm night.

The lights were on in the carriage house. His bedroom light, she assumed. She’d never been up to the second floor, or what he called the loft. Where he slept. Where he was probably in bed right now, reading a book. Naked.

She should never have walked that way with Lily. All those directions to take, and she’d headed straight toward the carriage house. As besotted as her daughter.

God, she’d nearly melted at the knees when she’d come around that turn in the path and seen him.

Leaning against the doorjamb, wearing nothing but those ragged old cutoffs. Hard chest, golden tan, his hair all curly and damp. That lazy smile on his face as he’d taken a sip from a bottle of beer.

He’d looked so sexy—a freaking billboard for sexy, framed in that cottage doorway, surrounded by flowers, sultry in the heat. She’d been amazed she’d been able to get reasonable words out of her throat when she’d been tingling the whole time, inside and out, while they’d stood there.

And she had no business tingling around Harper. It really had to stop. Why couldn’t it go back to the way it used to be? When she’d been pregnant, she’d felt comfortable around him. Even the first months after Lily’s birth she’d been easy in his company. When had it started to change on her?

She didn’t know, she couldn’t pinpoint it. It just was.

And couldn’t be. Lily wasn’t the only one who couldn’t have everything she wanted.

S
HE FELT ODD
and out of sorts at work. As if her skin was too small, her head too heavy. Too much yoga for the novice, she decided. Too much work, not enough sleep. Maybe she should take a little vacation. She could get the time off, and she could afford a few days. She could drive back to Little Rock, visit some of her old friends and co-workers. Show Lily off.

But it would eke into the vacation fund she’d started to take Lily to Disney World for her third birthday. Still, how much would it cost, really? A few hundred dollars, and the change of scene might do her good.

She swiped the back of her hand over her forehead. The air in the greenhouse felt too close, too thick. Her fingers as she tried to arrange dish gardens were too fat and clumsy. She didn’t see why she got stuck with this job. Stella could’ve done it, or Ruby. Then she could work the
counter—a monkey could work the counter this time of year, she thought irritably.

She should have had the day off. It wasn’t as if they needed her. She should have been home, in the cool, relaxing for a damn change. But here she was, sweating and dirty, stuffing plants into bowls because Stella said so. Orders, orders, orders. When was she going to be able to do what she wanted, when she wanted?

They looked down on her because she didn’t have the bloodline, she didn’t have the education, she didn’t have the fancy background that made them all so
important
. But she was just as good as they were. Better. She was better because she’d made her own way. She’d clawed her way up from nothing because—

“Hey, hey! You’re breaking the roots on that ludisia.”

“What?” She stared down at the plant, and her fingers went limp as Stella snatched it from them. “I’m sorry. Did I kill it? I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s okay. You looked upset. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.” She shook herself, and flushed with the shame of her own thoughts. “The heat’s making me irritable, headachy, I guess. I’m sorry I haven’t got these done. I can’t seem to concentrate.”

“It’s okay. I came back to give you a hand anyway.”

“I can do it. You don’t have to take the time.”

“Hayley, you know how I like to play in the dirt when I can. Here.” She reached into the cooler under the workbench, took out two bottles of water. “Take five.”

What had she been thinking before? she wondered as she took a long pull from the bottle. Nasty, petty thoughts. She didn’t understand why her mind would have come up with such mean things. She didn’t feel that way. But for a minute or two she had, and it made her feel ugly now.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Stella.”

Frowning, Stella laid her hand on Hayley’s brow in the classic mother’s gesture. “Maybe you’re coming down with a summer cold.”

“No, I think it’s more the blahs. Not even the blues, just the blahs. They keep sneaking up on me, and I don’t know why. I’ve got the most beautiful baby in the world. I love my job. I’ve got good friends.”

“You can have all that, and still get the blahs.” Stella took an apron off a hook, studying Hayley as she tied it on. “You haven’t dated in more than a year.”

“Closer to two.” And that called for another long drink of water. “I’ve thought about it. I’ve been asked out a few times. You know Mrs. Bentley’s son, Wyatt? He was in a few weeks ago, buying her a hanging basket for her birthday, and he was flirting pretty hard. Asked me if I’d like to have dinner sometime.”

“He’s pretty cute.”

“Yeah, he’s got that sexy jock thing going for him, and I thought about it, then I just didn’t want to go to all the bother, and I edged back.”

“I seem to remember you pushing me out the door when I talked about not wanting to go to all the bother when Logan first asked me out.”

“I did, didn’t I?” She smiled a little. “I’ve got such a big mouth.”

Before Stella selected plants, she tightened the band that held her mass of curling red hair into a tail. “Maybe you’re just a little nervous on the board? You know, taking that dive into the dating pool again.”

“I’ve never been nervous about dating. It’s one of my primary skills. I like going out. And I know if I wanted to, you or Roz, or David would take care of Lily.” The knowledge brought on another stab of guilt for the resentful thoughts that had wormed into her mind. “I know she’d be
fine, so that’s no excuse. I just can’t seem to get myself in gear.”

“Maybe you just haven’t met somebody who makes you want to oil the gears and get them moving again.”

“I guess . . . maybe.” She took another long drink, braced herself. “The thing is, Stella . . .”

When the silence dragged on, Stella glanced up from the pot she was building. “What’s the thing?”

“First you gotta promise,
swear
that you won’t tell anybody. Even Logan. You can’t say anything.”

“All right.”

“You absolutely swear?”

“I’m not going to spit in my palm, Hayley. You’ll have to take my word for it.”

“Okay. Okay.” She walked down the aisle between tables, then back again. “The thing is, I like Harper.”

Stella nodded encouragement. “Sure. So do I.”

“No!” Frustrated, mortified to hear herself say it out loud, Hayley set the water down and clamped her hands over her face. “God.”

It took her a minute for the light to shine. “Oh,” Stella said with her eyes going wide. “Oh. Oh,” she repeated drawing out the syllable. Then she pursed her lips. “Oh.”

“If that’s the best you can do, I’m going to have to hit you.”

“I’m trying to take it in. Absorb it.”

“It’s crazy. I know it’s crazy.” Hayley dropped her hands. “I know it’s not right, it’s not even on the table. But I . . . forget I said anything. Just highlight and hit delete.”

“I didn’t say it was crazy, it’s just unexpected. As far as not being right, I don’t follow you.”

“He’s Roz’s son. Roz, the woman who took me in off the street.”

“Oh, you mean when you were penniless, naked, and
suffering from some rare, debilitating disease? It was saintly of her to take you in, clothe you and spoon-feed you broth night after night.”

“I’m allowed to exaggerate when I’m being a fool,” Hayley snapped. “She did take me in, she gave me a job. She gave me and Lily a home, and here I am imagining how I can get naked and sweaty with her firstborn.”

“If you’re attracted to Harper—”

“I want to bite his ass. I want to pour honey all over his body then lick it off an inch at a time. I want to—”

“Okay, okay.” Stella held out one hand, laid the other on her heart. “Please don’t put any more of those images in my head. We’ll just agree you’ve got the hots for him.”

“Major hots. And I can’t do anything about it because we’re friends. Look how screwed up things got for Ross and Rachel. Of course Monica and Chandler’s a different story, but—”

“Hayley.”

“And I know this isn’t a television show,” she muttered over Stella’s roll of laughter. “But you know how life imitates art? Besides, he doesn’t think about me that way.”

“The honey-licking way?”

Hayley’s eyes went blurry. “Oh God, now I’ve got that image in my head.”

“Serves you right. Anyway, are you sure he doesn’t think of you that way?”

“He hasn’t made a move, has he? It’s not like there haven’t been opportunities. And what if I made a move on him, and he was just, like, horrified or something?”

“What if he wasn’t?”

“That could be even worse. We’d have ourselves some wild jungle sex, then after we’d both be . . .” She lifted her hands into the air, waved them wildly. “Oh God, what’ve I done, and all awkward with each other. And I’d have to
take Lily and move to Georgia or somewhere. And Roz would never want to speak to me again.”

“Hayley.” Stella patted her on the shoulder. “This is just my impression, just my opinion, but I’m fairly sure Roz knows Harper has sex.”

“You know what I mean. It’s different when he’s having sex with women she doesn’t know.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure she’s perfectly delighted that her son has sex with strangers. Strangers to her, anyway,” she added with a laugh. “And naturally she’d be appalled to learn that he might be intimate with a woman she knows and loves. Yes, that would be a real knife in the heart.”

“It’s a kind of betrayal.”

“It’s no kind of betrayal. He’s a grown man, Hayley, and his choices in relationships are his own business. Roz would be the first to say so, and the first—without a doubt—to tell you she doesn’t want to be one of the angles in this triangle you’ve formed.”

“Well, maybe, but—”

“Maybe, maybe, but, but.” Stella waved them all aside with such enthusiasm, Hayley had to duck and blink. “If you’re interested in Harper, you should let him know. See what happens. Besides, I think he’s had a crush on you from the get-go.”

“He has not.”

Stella shrugged. “Just my opinion, just my impression.”

“Really?” The quick bump under her heart at the idea was painful and nice. “I don’t know. I think if he has a crush on anybody, it’s Lily. But I could think about maybe giving it a little push, see what happens.”

“Positive thinking. Now, let’s get these dish gardens done.”

“Stella.” Hayley poked a finger in the dirt. “You swear you won’t say anything about this to Roz.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Stella held out her palm and, mimicking the sacred rite she’d seen her sons perform, spat in it.

When offered the hand Stella held out, Hayley stared at it, and said: “Eeuuww.”

I
T MADE HER
feel better. Having somebody else know what she was thinking and feeling took a weight off. Especially when that somebody else was Stella. Who hadn’t been shocked, Hayley reminded herself. Surprised, sure, but not shocked, so that was good.

Just as it was good to take a couple of days and think about it. In fact, she was thinking about it, a little dreamily, when with Lily down for the night, she stretched out on the sitting room couch to unwind with some TV.

Idly, she channel surfed and decided how nice it was to have nothing to do for an hour. Still, reruns, repeats, and other summer dreck, she decided, wasn’t what she wanted for a lazy hour of entertainment.

She flipped to an old black-and-white movie, something she didn’t recognize. It seemed like some kind of romantic drama, where everyone wore gorgeous clothes and went dancing every night at elaborate clubs where they had orchestras and voluptuous girl singers.

Everybody drank highballs.

Why did they call them highballs? she wondered, yawning as she snuggled down. Because the glasses were tall, okay, but why were the glasses called balls? She should look it up sometime.

What would it be like to wear those incredible gowns and glide around a dance floor with everything all Art Deco and glittering? He’d be wearing a tuxedo, of course. She bet Harper looked awesome in a tux.

And what if they’d both come with someone else, but then they saw each other. Through all that silk and shine, their eyes met. And they just knew.

They’d dance, and everything else would wash away. That’s the way it was in black-and-white. It didn’t have to be complicated; whatever separated you could be vanquished or overcome. Then it all washed away except the two of you together as the end music swelled.

And when it did, you’d be in each other’s arms, your face tipped up to his as your lips came together in that movie-perfect kiss. The kind you felt all the way down to the soles of your feet, the kind that meant you’d love each other forever.

Soft, soft kiss, so tender as his hand brushed over your hair, then deepening, heating just a bit when your arms locked around his neck. Up on your toes so your body leaned to his.

Line, angle, curve, all beautifully fitted.

Then after it faded to black, his hands moved over you, touching where it tingled and ached. Stroking over silk and skin so that your mouths met now with little gasps and moans.

The taste of that kiss was so potent, so powerful, the flavor of it streamed through your whole system, woke everything up, made everything swell.

And everywhere you’d felt cold and tired warmed again because you wanted, and were wanted.

Candles were flickering. Smoke and shadows. Flowers scented the room. Lilies, it had to be lilies. The flowers he’d brought her, bold and red and passionate. His eyes, deep brown, depthless brown, told her everything she wanted. That she was beautiful to him, and precious.

When they undressed each other, her gown melted away into a pool of glittery white against the black of his jacket.

Skin to skin, at last. Smooth and soft. Gold dust and milk. His shoulders under her hands, the length of his back, so she could feel those muscles tense as she aroused him.

The way he touched her, with such need, filled her with excitement so that when he gathered her up in his arms—oh—she was quivering for him. He laid her on the bed, the big white bed with sheets as soft as water, then sank into it with her.

His lips skimmed her throat, captured her breast so appetites quickened, and the tug, that long, liquid pull in her belly made her moan out his name.

Candlelight. Firelight. Flowers. Not lilies, but roses. His hands were smooth—a gentleman’s hands. Rich hands. She stretched under them, arched, adding throaty purrs. Men liked their whores to make noise. She stroked her hand along the length of him. Ready, more than ready, she thought. But she’d tease him a bit longer. It was wives who lay passive, who let men do what they willed, to have done with it.

That’s why they came to her, why they needed her. Why they paid.

She brought her shoulders off the mound of pillows, so her curling mane of golden hair spilled back. And she rolled with him, lush breasts and hips to entice, rolled him over on the bed to slither her way down, to nip and lick her way down his body to do what his cold-blooded, prim-mouthed wife would never do.

His grunts and gasps were her satisfaction.

His hands were in her hair now, gripping, twisting while she pleasured him. His body was trim, and she could gain some enjoyment from it, but had he been fat as a pig she’d have convinced him he was a god to her. It was so easy.