For some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, Nate found himself thinking a lot about Amy over the two weeks he spent finishing up his other jobs—including his own home landscaping, which came out superbly if he had to say so himself. Danny, who had fallen right back into jabbing Nate about his love life—or lack thereof—was convinced, without even meeting Amy, that she was the woman who drove past them in the white car that day.
“Yelp, my hot brown ass,” Danny said with a toothy grin as he helped Nate pick up a truckful of trees and shrubs and flowers at the vast Starlight Nursery on the way to Amy’s house.
“Well, whoever she is, she’s nice and seems easy to work for and I think you’ll like her,” said Nate, deciding between two equally lush Meyer lemon trees.
“But do you like her? That’s the question.” Danny pointed to one of the two lemon trees and Nate listened because the guy was kind of a plant whisperer; he had a sixth sense about these things.
“She’s our client, dude. Long as her checks cash, I’ll like her. A lot. The rest: Really, can we not go there? Because honestly, it’s a little weird,” Nate said, moving on to a row of fragrant rosemary pots and grabbing a pair.
Danny’s lively face turned serious. “Just looking out for you, pal, that’s it.” He paused. “Know why?” His infectious smile returned. “’Cause I love you, man.” He clapped his big hand onto Nate’s head and pulled him in, as if for a kiss, but stopped short and let him go with a cackle and a wink. “Maybe next life, huh?”
“Right now, I’m having enough trouble with this one, but, sure—why not?” They shared a fraternal grin.
When Nate and Danny arrived at Amy’s, along with their crew of two (Butch and Luis were Danny’s newest finds: prompt, hard-working, and funny as hell), she was waiting for them out back with donuts, juice, and coffee, all laid out on a small patio table. “Help yourselves, guys,” Amy said with a welcoming smile. She raised her coffee cup in a toast: “Here’s to a great first day!”
Danny gave Nate an impressed look and Amy warmly shook hands with the guys and repeated their names to make sure she had them right. She was dressed more casually than Nate would have expected given it was a work day: jeans, sleeveless top, flats. Amy seemed to notice him noticing.
“Oh, I thought I’d go in late today, stick around here this morning in case you had any questions or needed anything. Is that okay?”
“Your garden, your choice,” said Nate. Some clients liked to hang out and watch the process, dull as it could often be. Others didn’t care how the sausage was made, just wanted to know when the job was finished.
“I won’t be in the way, promise,” Amy said, flashing a Scout’s Honor sign.
“No worries, it’s all good,” he assured her. “I’m going to have the guys start the removals, so any last thoughts? Requests? Warnings?”
Amy considered that for a second. “Nope, have at it!”
Danny, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet, swept his hands around the yard and said, “Okay, but take a good look ’cause nothing’s ever gonna be the same again!” He tipped his ball cap to Amy and moved off with the crew.
“He’s a little prone to hyperbole,” said Nate, a bit unnerved by Danny’s comment.
Amy glanced around her yard, perhaps imagining its imminent transformation. “Oh, I don’t know. Something tells me he knows what he’s talking about.” She returned her gaze to Nate as if she was about to say something more. When she didn’t, he started for his truck.
“See you in a bit,” Nate said, then joined the others who had begun to unload the tools and plants they’d need to get this garden party started.
At the Silverado, Danny shot him a grin and a wicked eyebrow raise. “What?” Nate wanted to know, as if he didn’t already know.
“Okay, Miss Amy, with the snug jeans and coffee and juice and shit? Definitely the one checking you out that day on Escarpa, jefe.” Danny reached over the open tailgate and hauled out one of two ten-gallon ficus trees. Nate grabbed the other one.
“What makes you so sure? And you know it bugs me when you call me jefe.”
“White boy guilt got the better of you?” He set the ficus on the ground and climbed up into the truck cab.
Nate cringed. “What? No, you’re my friend, mi hermano, not my employee. I’m not your jefe. Not really.”
“Who pays who at the end of every week?” Danny asked as he started tossing bags of mulch off the truck.
Nate couldn’t argue with that. Danny was the king of verbal checkmate.
Later that morning, Amy, who’d been observing the first stages of the makeover, asked Nate if he wanted to join her inside for a quick iced tea. He rarely took a break unless Danny and the day’s crew did. But when Danny overheard Amy’s offer he eye-nudged Nate and firmly whispered, “Do what the nice lady says, jefe.” He was relentless and annoying and, for some reason, Nate listened to him.
As he took off with Amy, Nate pointed out two brimming pots of white gardenias they’d soon be planting. “You’re gonna love those. You’ll think you’re living in Hawaii.”
“Compared to where I used to live, this is Hawaii,” she said, a crinkle in her gray-green eyes as she led him through the back door and into the kitchen.
“Oh, so you’re new to L.A.?” Nate asked as they sat at a round butcher block dining table.
Amy poured two glasses of iced tea from a tall pitcher, handed one to Nate. She raised her tumbler in a toast. “To … beginnings,” she announced.
Nate, a bit self-conscious, touched his glass to hers. They each took a swig of the iced tea like it was the Long Island kind, discreetly watching each other as they drank.
“So, where did you say you moved from?” Nate asked, glancing around the neat kitchen, slightly more updated than his but still in need of refreshing.
“I didn’t, but … up north.” She squeezed a slice of lemon into her tea, took another sip. Finally: “Do you know Fresno?”
Nate nearly coughed up his drink, even if a tiny part of him was not entirely shocked by the coincidence. It reminded him of the times he’d asked someone their birthday and somehow knew they were going to say September 2: the same as his. Nate cleared his throat, swallowed.
Amy put her glass down. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Tea must’ve gone down the wrong pipe. Anyway—Fresno, seriously? “My father was from Fresno. I was born there!”
She looked surprised. “Wow, that makes two of us.”
He felt a bit lightheaded. “Maybe you knew my dad—Jim Cronin? Taught English at Fresno High? Late ’80s, early ’90s?” Nate asked as if there was one high school in the entire city—or one teacher.
Amy drained her iced tea glass and considered her landscaper a moment. “No, I don’t think I knew him.” She looked away. “Anyhow, I went to Roosevelt.”
“Well, if you had my father, you would have remembered.” Nate felt such a sharp pang of loss for his dad just then that it caught him short.
“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” Amy leaned in as if she were going to take his hand, which she didn’t—just waited respectfully for him to respond.
Maybe because she seemed easy to talk to or because he felt the need to open up—not his usual go-to reaction—Nate ended up telling Amy about Jim: his death, his work at Occidental, his great love of literature, and the kind of emotional legacy he left behind for his son. It uplifted him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. Amy listened intently; at one point, Nate thought he could see a tear form in her eye, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He spoke for all of a few minutes but it felt far longer.
They were silent a moment after Nate finished until Amy asked, “If you don’t mind my asking, was he disappointed you didn’t follow in his footsteps?”
“Actually, I started working toward a teaching degree but realized I’d rather spend my days outdoors, less tied-down. My dad just wanted me to take my own path—like he did, I guess.” Nate took another slug of iced tea and stood, ready to move on. “Thanks for the tea, but I’d better get back out there. Those guys plant something in the wrong place and I’ll have one angry client on my hands.” He smiled for the first time since he’d sat down.
“Don’t worry, I can keep her in line,” said Amy, matching his smile.
When Nate returned to the backyard, he tried to avoid Danny’s wily grin, which was like trying to avoid the sun. “Fly’s open,” said Danny matter-of-factly as he passed, electric pole saw in hand. Nate reflexively looked down to check, then realized it was a joke. But not before Danny shouted, “Made you look!” without even turning around.