Susannah's Garden (12 page)

V
ivian was delighted when her granddaughter showed up the next morning. She’d just finished her breakfast—the eggs were cold and the bacon greasy so she hadn’t taken more than a single bite of each.

She was getting ready to work outside in her garden when Susannah and Chrissie tapped at her door. Not her garden, she reminded herself. She didn’t live in her home anymore. For a moment, she was overwhelmed by a sense of loss.

“Hi, Grandma.”

With the way her memory had been acting up lately, she felt obliged to ask, “Did I know you were coming?”

“No, Grandma, this is a surprise.”

Vivian hugged the girl and was astonished at how tall Chrissie had become since her last visit. When was that? Three or four years ago? “Such a beautiful young woman,” she murmured, pressing her hands against Chrissie’s
cheeks, studying this girl she loved. But her granddaughter
wasn’t
a girl anymore, she was a woman. The realization stunned her. “You look wonderful.”

“You look great, too.” Chrissie’s arms were gentle around Vivian, as if her granddaughter was afraid to crush her. Vivian didn’t remember being that fragile. She was, though. She’d changed, become feeble. Frail. What terrible words.

“I can’t find my gardening gloves.” Vivian was irritated. Her biggest worry about moving into this place was thievery. Hired help was not to be trusted; even Martha, who’d worked for her for years, had turned into a thief. Obviously, someone had walked off with her gardening gloves. They were her favorites and well used. Why anyone would take them was beyond her.

“Mother, what do you need gardening gloves for?” Susannah asked.

As much as she loved her daughter, Vivian swore Susannah could annoy her faster than anyone on earth. Ever since she’d arrived this morning, Susannah had tested Vivian’s patience. “So I can trim my roses,” she said slowly and deliberately.

Susannah’s response was just as slow and deliberate. “Mother, the roses are at the house.”

“I
know
that.” And she did. She remembered exactly where her roses were.

Susannah cast a look at Chrissie. “But you’re
here.
”

“My roses need trimming and I’m determined to do it.” Vivian wasn’t letting anyone near her roses, especially Rachel Henderson. Her neighbor was no more trustworthy than anyone else.

Another glance passed between Susannah and Chrissie, but it was too hard for Vivian to read the look they’d exchanged.

“I could take Grandma back to the house,” Chrissie suggested, “so she can work in her garden.”

“Would you like that, Mother?”

This was the most ridiculous question Susannah had asked her yet. “Yes, of course I would.”

“Okay, Grandma, then let’s get you a sweater.”

“What about my gloves?” Apparently both Susannah and Chrissie were willing to ignore the fact that someone in this abominable place had stolen her favorite gardening gloves.

“They’re at the house, Mom, on the back porch. The pruning shears are in the garage.”

“I know where those shears are.” She hated to sound so impatient, but at times Susannah treated her as if she didn’t have a brain in her head. Yes, she had a few problems with her memory now and then, but that didn’t mean she was incapacitated.

“I’ll get my jewels.”

Susannah and Chrissie exchanged glances again.

“You don’t expect me to leave this room when anyone could walk in and take my jewelry, do you?”

“Mom…” Susannah seemed about to argue with her but then she didn’t.

That was good, because Vivian had no intention of leaving her pearls behind, not when someone could easily steal them. She retrieved her brown purse, where she kept her favorite necklace, and looped the straps tightly over her arm. She put on a sweater—she was often cold these days—and reached for her red “everyday” purse.

“When I’m finished with the roses, I’ll take you both to lunch. My treat.” If she stayed here much longer she’d starve to death. In all her life, Vivian had never tasted blander food. These people obviously didn’t know the purpose of a salt shaker or a spice rack.

She locked her room, tested the knob three times, and then they headed for the front door. Susannah stopped to talk to Rose, who ran the desk. Fortunately the staff wore name tags. She wished everyone did. It would help her remember the residents’ names. Several had introduced themselves, but for the life of her she couldn’t recall the name of a single one. Yes, everyone here ought to wear a name tag.

The instant they stepped into the house, Vivian felt distressed. Furniture had been moved and there were dishes stacked on the kitchen counter. Then when she walked outside, she was in for another shock. “Someone’s been in my garden,” she blurted. The roses were trimmed and there wasn’t a single weed in sight. Everything was tied up and clipped back. There was almost nothing left for her to do. Someone had been in her garden, and it could only have been Rachel, her neighbor.

“Mother,” Susannah said, placing an arm around her shoulders. “The garden is lovely.”

“Yes, it is,” Vivian muttered. She’d come to recognize her daughter’s tone and she didn’t like it one bit. Just the way she said
mother
told Vivian Susannah thought something was wrong with her.

After ten minutes or so, Susannah disappeared inside the house, probably to make more calls on that little phone of hers. Vivian shook her head hopelessly—Susannah seemed to be making a big mess of things. Frankly, she’d taught her daughter to be a better housekeeper than this. But wanting to maintain the peace, Vivian said nothing.

She wasn’t sure how long she and Chrissie worked outside, puttering about, moving a few annuals—when had she put those begonias in? She really couldn’t remember. Vivian noticed Rachel Henderson peering through the win
dow a couple of times, but she tried to ignore her. The minute that busybody stuck her nose out the door, Vivian intended to tell Rachel to keep out of her garden, otherwise she was contacting the police.

“I’m hungry,” Vivian announced after a while. It was the first real hunger she’d experienced since her daughter had moved her to that godforsaken facility. It was a good feeling. She’d lost interest in food, although heaven knew the best television these days was on the Food Channel.

“I’m ready for lunch, too,” Chrissie told her, straightening.

All they had to do now was collect Susannah. Vivian knew where she wanted to go for lunch. Le Gourmand was new to Colville, and Vivian had heard that they served an incredibly good chicken salad. Her mouth watered just thinking about it. She missed going out for lunch; many an afternoon she’d lunched with her two best friends, Barbara and June, but they were both gone now, God rest their souls. George, too.

“They have outside seating,” Vivian said as Susannah held open the car door.

“Who does, Mother?”

“Le Gourmand.”

“Is that where you’d like to go for lunch?”

Silly girl. She’d already said so. Sometimes she swore Susannah simply didn’t listen. “Yes. It’s such a nice afternoon, let’s eat outside.”

“That sounds perfect,” Susannah said, helping Vivian into the front seat.

Vivian struggled with the seat belt. The car manufacturers made them so hard to reach these days. If not for Chrissie’s handing it to her, Vivian would’ve needed to be a contortionist.

“It’s new, but apparently their chicken salad is excellent. They add chopped walnuts.”

“Le Gourmand has been around for ten years,” Susannah said.

“Yes, I know.” They did a nice lunch business, but were closed for dinner.

Thankfully there were plenty of empty tables on the patio. Vivian watched as Susannah went inside to place their order. Vivian remembered that she wanted to buy their lunch, but all of a sudden she couldn’t seem to find her purse. She twisted around in her seat, and her heart started to pound hard. George would be so upset if she lost her pearls.

“What’s wrong, Grandma?” Chrissie asked.

“I don’t know what I did with my purse.”

Chrissie leaned close and whispered, “It’s on your lap, Grandma.”

Her relief was immediate. The red purse lay there, as peaceful as a sleeping kitten.

“Your brown purse with the jewelry is in the trunk of the car, remember?”

Actually, that little piece of information had slipped her mind. She was grateful for the reminder, although she wished Chrissie hadn’t shared it with the entire world.

“Here comes Mom now.”

Susannah took a seat at the small round table. Vivian appreciated the umbrella that had been tilted to shade her face from the sunlight.

“Our order should be ready in a few minutes.”

“Did you get my tea?” Vivian asked, but her question was drowned out by the roar of a truck engine as it pulled to a stop at the intersection. A long-haired young man turned to look at them. His window was rolled down and
his dark hair fell into his face. He needed a shave, too. His tanned elbow rested on the window ledge, and he hadn’t bothered to put on a decent shirt that morning. Instead, he wore a sleeveless T-shirt. While Vivian assessed him, he was making eyes at Chrissie. Such flirting was inappropriate and she was about to warn Chrissie when she noticed that her granddaughter seemed to be enjoying it.

He nodded in Chrissie’s direction and to Vivian’s horror, Chrissie nodded back. Vivian pursed her lips. He started to say something, but his gaze slid to her and he changed his mind, as well he should.

She needed a few minutes to recognize the young man, but her brain provided the answer the second he looked at her. It was Troy Nance, a known troublemaker.

The light turned green and Troy drove off with a burst of noise and exhaust.

“Who was that, Grandma?” Chrissie asked.

She hesitated, wondering if she should tell Chrissie, and then decided she would. Susannah’s daughter was a sensible young woman and would see that Troy was completely unsuitable.

“He’s the son of that girl you went to school with,” Vivian told Susannah.

“I went to school with a lot of girls, Mom.”

“I can’t remember her name.”

“What’s
his
name?” Chrissie pressed.

“Troy Nance.”

“Sharon Nance’s son?”

“Yes.” Of course. Sharon hadn’t been married, so she and her son had the same last name. Although hers might be something different now…. Vivian shook her head; she couldn’t even imagine who the boy’s father had been. Whoever he was, he certainly hadn’t stayed in the picture long.

“I haven’t seen Sharon in years.”

Not that Susannah was likely to cross paths with the other woman. The last Vivian had heard, Sharon was working at the Roadside Inn on the outskirts of town. She was the kind of woman George often saw in his courtroom—the kind of woman he described as trouble looking for a place to happen.

“He’s cute,” Chrissie murmured.

Susannah’s eyes flew to Vivian’s and this time the two of them traded a look. Vivian knew what that look meant, too.

It said Chrissie wasn’t as levelheaded as Vivian had assumed and Susannah was well aware of it.

W
hen Susannah took her mother back to Altamira, she could see that Vivian was exhausted. Still wearing her sweater, Vivian sat in front of the television and automatically put her feet up. Within minutes, she was sound asleep and snoring softly.

Susannah and Chrissie quietly left the room after securing her mother’s purse with the jewelry in the bottom dresser drawer. As soon as they were out in the parking lot, Chrissie turned to her and said, “Grandma hardly looks the same anymore.”

“I know. She’s gone downhill so fast it’s frightening.” The difference was noticeable even to Chrissie, who tended to be self-absorbed, as were most girls her age.

“What do you want to do now?” Chrissie asked as Susannah unlocked the car door. Chrissie couldn’t bear not to have something planned—usually something social. But she seemed genuinely willing to help. With Chrissie
there, Susannah hoped to finish packing up her parents’ house more quickly than she’d expected, but the girl would probably wear her out, too.

“I need you to help me finish loading everything up and into the storage unit,” Susannah explained. Cleaning out each room was a tedious and heartbreaking process.

“I suppose that would be all right.” Chrissie didn’t sound enthusiastic and Susannah didn’t blame her.

They went to Safeway, where the manager had set aside half a dozen cardboard cartons. Collecting boxes had become part of Susannah’s daily routine. Her favorites were the reinforced ones used for fruit. Twice a day, Susannah would take whatever had been boxed up to the storage unit. The boxes were labeled and would wait there, neatly stacked, until she decided what to do with them. When that would be, she didn’t know. She’d merely deferred many of these decisions. She still had to figure out what she should keep, what should go to the kids, what could be donated to charity. Susannah was afraid she might discard something she would later regret.

When they pulled up in front of the house, she noticed a smartly dressed woman sitting in a car across the street. When they climbed out of the Crown Victoria and opened the trunk to remove boxes, the same woman emerged from her car.

“Hello,” the tall brunette said with a warm smile as she crossed the street. “I’m Melody Highland.” She peeled a business card out of a small gold case and thrust it at Susannah. “I work with the Colville Real Estate Company. I understand you’re going to be putting your mother’s house on the market soon.”

Listing it now would be premature; Susannah realized she wasn’t quite ready to take that final step. She accepted
the card and was about to tell the real estate agent that, but before she could say a word, Melody continued.

“Colville Real Estate has an impeccable reputation in the community. I’ve been with the firm eight years and I’m their top salesperson.”

“Congratulations.” Susannah couldn’t think of any other response.

“I have several clients who’d be interested in a home such as this in a well-established neighborhood.”

Susannah stared at the card. Curious, she looked up and asked, “How did you get my name?”

Melody smiled. “Colville is a small town. Word gets around.”

“Was it Mrs. Henderson?”

Melody hesitated and her cheery facade disappeared. “Actually,” she said with reluctance, “I heard about you through the storage unit place. They sometimes give me tips on possible listings.”

That explained it, and Susannah was more than a little offended by this cozy sharing of private information. “Well, I’m afraid I’m not ready to list the house.”

“Perhaps I could be of service in some way?”

“Thank you, but no.” Susannah wasn’t going to let this woman push her into acting before the time was right.

“Do keep my card. I know we can get top dollar for your parents’ home.”

Susannah nodded, slipping the business card into her pocket. “Thank you for stopping by, but we really need to get back to work now.”

“No, I should be the one thanking you,” Melody Highland said smoothly. “I look forward to doing business with you in the near future.”

Susannah and Chrissie started toward the house.

“Can I check with you in a week or two?” Melody called just as Susannah reached the front steps.

“I’d prefer to contact you when I’m ready.”

“No problem,” Melody said and marched back across the street to her car.

Susannah waited until she’d driven off, then set down two of the boxes. “My goodness. She was eager, wasn’t she?”

“I guess,” Chrissie muttered, seemingly amused. “I’ll bet she’s already got clients lined up to look at the house. I can imagine how those potential buyers would react if they saw the place now.”

They walked into the house and Susannah had the feeling she’d made a lucky escape. She wondered how many other real estate agents she’d have to fend off before this ordeal was over.

“Where would you like me to begin?” Chrissie asked, standing just inside the living room. Hands on hips, she surveyed the area. Five days after moving her mother out, Susannah had made only a small dent in what needed to be done.

“What about the bookcase in the living room?” she suggested. When she had time, Susannah wanted to go carefully through all the titles. Her father had been an avid reader and there might be some first editions in his collection. Those books would be something to hand down to Brian one day.

“Okay.” Chrissie grabbed a box. “I’ll start there.”

Many of her mother’s personal things had been taken to her new apartment, but her father’s office remained untouched. Until now, Susannah had avoided it, but she couldn’t put it off forever.

Knowing her dad, he’d kept meticulous records. She’d
have to sort through every file and drawer. Maybe she should wait until she was better able to deal with it emotionally. No—this couldn’t wait. She pulled out a stack of files and had just started to go through one of them when Chrissie called her.

“Mom!” she shouted. “Come here quick.”

Susannah hurried out to the living room. “What is it?”

“Look!” Chrissie cried, brandishing a fifty-dollar bill. “It fell out of this book when I took it down from the shelf.” She held up a history of the Second World War.

“Good grief.” Susannah realized there might be more money stashed in other books.

Chrissie reached for a second volume. Holding the book upside down, she splayed it open and two more bills fell onto the carpet. “Twenty-dollar bills,” Chrissie said. “These books are
full
of money.”

Susannah groaned. She didn’t know who had placed the bills there. It could’ve been either her mother or her father—perhaps both of them. Recently her mother had grown so distrusting of everyone that she’d started hiding things all over the house.

“Be sure and check inside each book,” Susannah said. This was going to slow them down even more. “Maybe I should help.” Having to examine each volume individually would be time-consuming.

“This is like a treasure hunt,” Chrissie said excitedly, taking down a copy of
Gone With the Wind.

Before Susannah could respond, the doorbell rang. She wove her way through the cartons littering the room. If it was another real estate salesperson, she wouldn’t be nearly as polite as she’d been the first time.

She opened the door to a woman in her late sixties, possibly early seventies. “Hello, Susannah,” she said pleas
antly as if she expected Susannah to recognize her immediately.

Susanna didn’t know this woman from Eve.

“I’m Eve Sutter.”

Eve?
God does have a sense of humor, she thought with a glimmer of amusement. “I’m sorry, should I know you?”

“I’m sure your mother’s mentioned my name. We’re dear, dear friends.”

Susannah couldn’t remember her mother ever mentioning anyone named Eve. Not wanting to be rude, she held open the screen door so the other woman could come inside.

“I heard you’d moved Vivian over to Altamira,” Eve said as she stepped into the house. “It’s a lovely facility, isn’t it?”

Susannah nodded. She didn’t have time to waste with social chitchat. “How can I help you?”

“Oh, I came to help
you,
” Eve said, sounding surprised, again as if Susannah should intuitively know the reason for her visit. “I understand how difficult it is to pack up an entire life. I’m here to offer my assistance.”

“That’s very thoughtful, but…” Susannah was about to explain that she didn’t require this woman’s assistance; however, she wasn’t allowed to finish.

“I’m sure there’s far more here than your mother wants or needs.” Eve scanned the room, leaning to one side as she glanced down the long hallway that led to the bedrooms. “There are a number of things I’d be willing to take off your hands. We wear the same size, I believe.”

“Ah…”

“With so much to do, you must be looking for helping hands and here I am. Now, where should I start?” Eve pushed up her sleeves in anticipation.

“My daughter and I have everything under control, but thank you.” Susannah walked over to the door and pointedly held it open.

Eve’s head reared back as though she’d been insulted. “Of course. Well, I’ll stop by later with a bucket of chicken and—”

“We already have dinner plans.” Susannah opened the screen door, feeling less and less civil. If this so-called friend of her mother’s was a friend indeed, Susannah distrusted her.

Eve nodded, smiled sweetly and walked out the door. Susannah closed it with a decisive bang.

“Can you
believe
that woman?” she yelped, her voice rising in outrage.

“Mom…”

“It’s like the vultures have started circling overhead. First, that real estate woman and now Eve, my mother’s
dear
friend,” she said sarcastically. “Whom I never heard Mom mention even once.”

Chrissie laughed, but to Susannah this was no laughing matter.

“Come on, Mom, lighten up. She didn’t mean any harm.”

Susannah disagreed. Eve whatever-her-name was nothing but a freeloader.

The phone rang and they looked at each other, startled. Then Chrissie rushed into the kitchen to answer. Susannah suspected it was Joe; they’d spoken that morning, and he was unhappy with Chrissie, but Susannah had smoothed the waters. Although she didn’t approve of her daughter’s deception, she was grateful for her presence.

Chrissie was gone for several minutes. In the meantime, Susannah had unearthed another fifty dollars and packed
up an entire row of books. Then—of all things—she found four teaspoons hidden behind the out-of-date encyclopedia. The very ones, no doubt, that Martha had supposedly stolen. Which reminded her—she needed to call Martha.

“You won’t believe who that was.”

Judging by the happiness in her daughter’s eyes, Susannah’s first guess was Jason, but she’d let Chrissie tell her. “Who?”

Chrissie nearly skipped over to the bookcase. “It was the guy in the pickup.”

“What guy?” Susannah asked before she remembered.

“Mother! The guy this afternoon. He figured I was related to Grandma, so he took a chance and called the house. He asked me out.”

Susannah was horrified. “You’re not going, are you?”

Chrissie laughed as if she assumed Susannah was joking. “Of course I’m going. This is the most exciting invitation I’ve had in months. I’m well over eighteen, so it’s not like I have to ask your permission.”

Yes, indeed, the vultures were out in full force.

Carolyn checked her watch and when she saw it was noon, she leaped out of her chair.

“Carolyn?” her assistant asked as she hurried past.

“I thought I’d go home for lunch today,” she said, not stopping to answer questions. Her heart pounded as she reached her truck and got inside. When she’d started the engine and backed out of her parking slot, she happened to catch her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her face was flushed and she was nibbling on her lower lip, which was a habit from childhood. She released her lip as if hearing her mother chastise her, switching between French and English. The words still rang in Carolyn’s ears these many years later.

It was all that talk last evening about the paths not taken, she reasoned. Carolyn hadn’t contributed much to the discussion. When she’d gone to bed, she’d lain awake most of the night, thinking. There’d been a number of different paths in her life—the ones she’d taken and others left unexplored. One stretched before her now.

Dave Langevin.

She hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. Her mother would be
furieuse
if she knew that her daughter was attracted to a lawn-maintenance man. Since her twenties, Carolyn had lived a solitary life. Thoughts of a relationship, any relationship, were best ignored. She was a woman in a world usually populated by men, and she didn’t have the time or inclination for romance. It’d been easy to ignore the fact that she was a woman until she met Dave. When she looked at him, for some unaccountable reason, she felt alive again. In the beginning she’d tried to ignore the attraction, ignore the way he made her feel. It was uncomfortable at best and downright embarrassing at worst. She’d told no one. Really, how could she?

As she turned into her driveway, she realized her timing was perfect. Just as she’d hoped, Dave Langevin was working in her yard doing her regular maintenance. He’d been there on an unscheduled visit the day before, adding beauty bark to her flower beds. Right now he was mowing the grass. With the sun beating down, he’d removed his shirt, and his sun-bronzed torso glistened with perspiration. So intent was she on watching him that she nearly drove off the road. When it came to running the lumber mill, Carolyn was capable, competent, in charge. When it came to male-female relationships outside of business, she felt inept, clumsy and completely tongue-tied.

She parked her vehicle inside the garage and with trem
bling hands went into the kitchen, where she prepared a ham sandwich and added some coleslaw and pickle slices, although she didn’t have the appetite for even a mouthful. After carrying it onto the patio, she sat down and made a show of eating.

Dave had his shirt on now and was pushing the mower to the side of the house, close to the patio.