The Truth about Us (4 page)

“I saw them on the cart. When I was in the warehouse with Stella, she said they were going to the greenhouse. I recognized them. I used to like plants, okay?” I tell him.

“You mean the kind of plants you kids smoke these days,” he grumbles.

“You growing something you don't want me to see?” I ask.

He glares at me. “Isn't it weird? A kid your age, interested in plants?”

“Probably not as weird as a guy your age.”

He stares at me for a long moment and then he laughs.

It relaxes the knot in my stomach. I was kind of holding my breath, pretending to be cocky. This whole place makes me jumpy. And here I am, stuck in the middle of it, smack-talking an old man.

“I had a garden at home,” I tell him, trying to be more polite. “My mom and I did. Well. We used to. We used to have vegetables and herbs. Flowers too.”

“You lose your mom?” he asks gruffly but not unkindly. “That why you're here?”

I stare at him and then down at my feet. “Not really.”

“You shoot somebody?” he asks.

I look up then but shake my head.

“Rob a bank?”

I try not to grin. “Nothing that exciting, trust me. Maybe I just wanted to volunteer.”

“And maybe I'm Santa Claus.”

For the first time all day, I laugh out loud.

He crosses his arms and studies me with narrowed eyes. “Fine. You can come to the greenhouse,” he says as if I asked. “But don't knock anything over. And there's someone in there right now, working on my shelves. One collapsed and almost killed some azaleas. They were Rhea's. So be careful.”

“Rhea was your wife?” I ask.

“Rhea was my everything.” He turns and starts walking, and I follow. He's a slow plodder, but I stay behind him. We don't talk, but I wonder why this grumpy old guy has a greenhouse at a shelter. I'm not about to ask, but I wonder.

The greenhouse is sort of shaped like an old barn. It's opaque with plastic and steel siding. The door is open, and I follow Wilf inside and pause and then breathe it in. The smell nourishes me. Moist air fills my lungs. I've forgotten how much the scents of greenery soothe me. It reminds me of different times. Simpler times.

“Nice,” I tell him, looking around at rows of plants on tabletops and plants stacked on the floor. I realize I've missed the satisfaction of nurturing plants.

There's a man on a ladder in the middle of the greenhouse, fixing a shelf, with his back to us. A little boy stands at the bottom of the ladder, watching. Wilf walks over and pats his head and kneels down to his level. “How are ya, big guy?”

The little boy stands taller and giggles and holds out his hand. He's got it wrapped tightly around a plastic blue train.

The man on the ladder turns and looks down at me. My heart stops.

It's not a man at all. It's him.

Flynn.

My face burns.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

Wilf frowns and then looks at me. “What's up with you kids these days? In my time, we treated nice-looking young ladies with respect,” he says to Flynn gruffly. “Flynn, this is Jess. She volunteers here.”

I say a silent thank-you to him for calling me nice-looking and glance back at Flynn.

“Since when?” he asks.

“Since now. How about, ‘hello, nice to meet you'?” Wilf says to prompt both of us. “Is that so hard?”

“We've already met,” Flynn says.

My cheeks stay on fire as he climbs down the ladder.

“The shelf is fixed,” he says to Wilf. “Slumming?” he adds to me as he jumps to the floor. He folds up the ladder and then leans it against a counter lined with plants.

The little boy stares back and forth.

I try to think of something light and witty to save the moment, but my mind is blank. Instead, I panic. “What'd
you
do to get stuck working at this place?” I say, channeling my inner Nance.

“What'd I do?” He stares at me and then his lips turn up. “I didn't have the right daddy, I guess. I'm here to have lunch. With my little brother. I'm not a volunteer.”

My stomach drops. Fail. Epic fail. But he's working?

“You're having lunch here?” I ask as he ruffles the hair on his brother's head.

“Yup. We do a few times a week.”

“Excuse me, when did you two meet?” Wilf interrupts.

Flynn turns his back on me. “My friend gave her a ride home the other night. She lives in Tuxedo. We're a little far from her homeland.”

I bite my lip and frown, hoping he doesn't tell Wilf the whole story.

“We don't judge around here,” Wilf says to him as he sticks his finger in the dirt of a nearby pot. “And we don't make assumptions because of where people live.” He narrows his eyes at Flynn. “You should know that.”

“Yeah, well, Tuxedo's not really my hood.” He looks back at me and then reaches his hand out, and the little boy takes it and looks up at him and then at me.

“My name's Kyle. I'm Flynn's brother,” the little boy announces, clearly not big on being left out of this conversation. He's watching me with wide eyes. “This is Thomas.” He holds his blue train up. “My train.”

“Hi, Kyle,” I say softly. “Nice train.”

Flynn pulls him closer with a hand protectively on his shoulder as if I'm going to corrupt the little kid or something. I notice a silver bracelet on Flynn's wrist. It looks like one of those medic alerts, but I can't make out what it says.

“Thomas is my favorite engine,” Kyle announces to me.

I smile at him, thankful for the diversion. Little kids have always cracked me up. There are lots of them in our neighborhood. I like talking to them.

“Who's your favorite engine?” Kyle asks me.

“There you go, getting to the point of what's important,” Flynn says to his brother. “But girls like her don't know about Thomas the Tank Engine,” he tells him.

Girls like me?

“Just so happens I like Mavis the best,” I tell the little boy and narrow my eyes at his big brother. “I loved Thomas the Tank Engine when I was a kid too. And the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I wasn't a doll kind of girl.”

“See,” Wilf says as picks up a bottle and sprays a plant with water. “No judging.” He wipes down the leaf with a cloth.

“Exactly,” I say and reach out to the nearest plant and stroke the leaf.

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Girl engines aren't nearly as good as boys.”

“Not so sure about that,” I tell him.

“Boys rule. Girls drool.”

I laugh. “That's what you think now. But wait.” I take a big breath and look at his brother, still having a hard time believing he's here to eat. As a guest. I don't know what to say.

Flynn drags his hand through his hair, moving his long bangs from his eyes. “So, what'd you do to get ‘sentenced' to this place?” He throws the question back at me.

Kyle stares up at me with his big eyes. “Were you bad?” he asks.

“Well. Sort of,” I tell Kyle. All three of them stare at me, waiting to hear more, but I won't say anything else about it. I'm humiliated already. I don't need to overshare.

“Well. Tough break for you,” Flynn says after a pause. “Being punished by working here.” He rubs the back of his neck without looking at me and turns away. “You see Stella around?” he says to Wilf. “She wants me to fix something in her office.”

I watch him dismiss me. It bothers me, what he thinks about me. Even if it might be kind of true. I can't explain it, but I want him to like me. “But you do volunteer here too?” I ask, trying to sound polite, glancing at the ladder he folded up.

His eyes flash when he turns back. Anger sparks from them. “No. I help out. Big difference.”

Wilf clears his throat and coughs. “Okay, Flynn. Stella's probably in her office. You want to leave Kyle here so you can get your work done?”

Flynn shakes his head. “Kyle can come with me, right, buddy?”

“I'll stay,” he says. He steps closer to me and reaches for my hand. His is small and trusting inside mine. “Sometimes I'm bad too,” he whispers. I'm like a stick of butter in the heat the way my heart melts for the little guy. I want to hug Kyle and take him home. I think I've just fallen in love.

“You sure?” Flynn says to him. “You can help me. Maybe even use the hammer?”

“No.” Kyle uses his whole body to shake his head. “Want to stay here.”

“He'll be fine,” Wilf tells him.

Flynn runs his hand through his hair and stares at me. I can't look away, but he doesn't have the same problem. He turns to leave. “I'll come and get you when it's lunchtime, dude. Behave, okay?” he says to his brother.

Kyle ignores him and tugs on my hand. “You're pretty,” he says to me, and my cheeks warm. Flynn mumbles under his breath as he frowns and marches out of the greenhouse.

“Well, that was painful to watch,” Wilf grumbles as he puts the water bottle and towel down. “Awkward as hell. I'd never go back to my teen years.”

I want to stomp on his foot. “Oh my God,” I say to him. “Please don't speak.”

“You shouldn't say the Lord's name in vain,” Kyle tells me. He's frowning. “It's a commandment.” He points at Wilf. “And you swore.” He looks back to me. “He swears a lot. My mom says he should have soap in his mouth.”

“You're right,” I say to Kyle. “He should. You're pretty smart for a little guy.”

“Not little. I'm five,” he tells me.

“Big,” I say. “Like totally huge.”

He grins at me, and he's so adorable, my heart swells some more. I look back to Wilf. He's staring at us.

“You're good with kids?” he asks.

I frown at him. “Shouldn't I be?”

“Maybe it changes my opinion of you a little, that's all.” He reaches his hand out to poke his finger in another pot.

“Which was what?” I ask.

He chuckles but ignores me.

“He thinks you're pretty,” Kyle offers.

“Ha! You're paying attention,” Wilf tells Kyle and walks closer. “A girl who likes plants and children can't be as bad as she seems,” he tells him.

That's definitely a backhanded compliment if I've ever heard one, but I lift my chin a little.

“And so you know, Flynn hates feeling like a charity case,” he tells me. “It's kind of a sore spot. That's why he helps out. He's a hard worker. He'll do better things one day.”

“Ugh” is all I can say, thinking of Flynn and the way he looked at me.

“My dad took all our money and left us. My mom works a lot,” Kyle tells me solemnly.

I look down at him. “Yeah? My dad has stinky farts,” I tell him. “And my mom sleeps a lot.”

Kyle stares at me and then starts to laugh and laugh.

Wilf raises an eyebrow. “Kyle,” he says to the little boy and points at a table across the room. “You run over there and get me a water pitcher. The yellow one. It's heavy, so be careful,” he grumbles.

Kyle scoots off.

“You have a thing for him?” Wilf asks. “And I mean the older one.”

“No!” I stand straighter. “I barely know him.” There's a tingling in my stomach though, and when I look up, Wilf is staring at me.

“Rhea always said I had a sixth sense for stuff like that. It's what made me such a good lawyer.”

I glare at him, almost telling him my dad is a lawyer and a jerk too but say nothing instead.

“Flynn and his family are good people,” Wilf says. He bends down and picks at the leaves of a plant growing up from a pot on the ground. “Kyle's dad gambled. Spent everything and then some and took off and left her with his debt. Her house foreclosed, and they moved into a grubby old rental in town. She works at a bakery and struggles to keep up with bills and the rent. They come for meals so that the boys eat properly. Especially Kyle.”

I swallow and nod and stare down at my feet, which seem to be shuffling around on their own.

“The people here all have stories. Remember that. Flynn's not a charity case.”

I look up and nod again.

“Probably won't hurt a girl like you, seeing life on the other side.”

I shift my feet again, wanting to argue about what kind of girl I am, but it's kind of pointless.

“Good job, kiddo,” he says to Kyle, who has returned with a jug of water that's slopping over the sides. “I have some things to look after,” he says to me. “Would you be okay looking after Kyle?” he asks. I glance around as if he might be talking to someone else.

“Uh, sure,” I manage.

“You can take him to help in the kitchen,” Wilf says. “His mom works in a bakery, and Kyle can help cut pies as long as he uses a butter knife.”

“Yeah, sure,” I tell him, even though I don't want to leave the safety of the greenhouse.

Wilf glances down at Kyle. “You look after this one,” he says, gesturing his head at me. “She's new around here. She doesn't know the rules.”

Kyle's eyes open wider and he nods his head up and down.

“You want me to look after your train?” Wilf asks. “So you don't lose it while you're working?”

Kyle stares at him and then down at Thomas. “Promise you won't lose him?”

“Promise,” Wilf says. “I'll bring him back to you at lunchtime.”

Kyle hands the train over and then slips his little hand inside mine. “Come on,” he says. “I'll take you to the kitchen.” We walk hand in hand out into the sunshine and then up the steps to the main building.

“My favorite five-year-old came to help in the kitchen?” Sunny asks when we reach the kitchen. She's at a counter, cutting up cakes. She barely looks at me.

“Can I cut cakes?” He stares up at her with big, worshipful eyes.

Something like jealousy roams around in my belly. I'm selfish and kind of want this little guy's worshipping all to myself.

“Go wash up,” Sunny says. Kyle drops my hand and runs toward the dishwashing sink. My empty hand feels cold. “You'll wanna do something too, I suppose?” she says to me.

She doesn't like me much, that's for sure. I don't like her either, and I don't really want to help, but there isn't much choice. That's why I'm here. “I'll help Kyle?” I ask.

She sighs, long and heavy, and I fiddle with the bottom of my shirt.

“Go wash up.”

When I get back, Kyle is beside her, watching her finish cutting up a pie.

“Where'd you get all the baked stuff?” I ask.

“Day-olds. Grocery stores donate the stuff that doesn't sell before the best-before dates.” She laughs to herself when she sees the look on my face. “Don't turn your nose up, missy. There's nothing wrong with them. Nothing wrong with the people who come here either. They all have stories,” she says, echoing Wilf.

Kyle nods. “I have stories too. Like the one where Thomas the Tank Engine wanted to be a bigger engine.”

I can't help but smile. Sunny scowls at me but gently puts Kyle up on a stool, hands him a butter knife, and a pushes an old chocolate cake toward him with a stack of plates. He slowly digs his knife into the top and she shows him how thick to make each piece. Then she goes off and fetches me an apron and a hair net, and I swallow my pride and put it on my head. She fires out instructions to me, explaining the proper way to cut and which plates to put pies on and which plates to put cakes on.

“Can you two finish these up?” she asks. There's about a dozen or so cakes and pies left on a cart.

I nod.

“Good. I'll go and make myself useful somewhere else.” She ruffles Kyle's hair, frowns at me, and then leaves. While we work, Kyle chatters on, telling me all about Thomas the Tank Engine and his friends. It's easier than I thought to slice up the desserts, and I've done them all by the time Kyle finishes off his first one.

“Awesome job, dude,” I tell him. His hands are covered in chocolate. He licks his fingers, and then we clean up at the sink. We take off our aprons and throw them in the laundry basket, and I throw out my hairnet. I'm not sure what to do next, so I take Kyle's hand, and we find our way back to Stella's office. She's not in there, and neither is Flynn.

I have to use the washroom, so I tell Kyle to stay in the office and walk out, trying to retrace my steps and find it. A toddler runs past me as an older woman yells at her to stop. I dart after her and catch the little girl, leaning down and grabbing her gently under her arms. She screams and fusses, but I calmly hold her and wait for the older lady to reach us and hand her over.

“My grandchild,” she says.

I smile and go off to find the washroom. I take a wrong turn on the way back to the office and have to double back again to find Stella's office. When I open the office door, my eyebrows arch up.