There was, of course, the matter of Nate finishing the work on Amy’s front yard, which, like so much else, was not even broached during their awkward breakfast. Nate had decided to take the day off altogether, hoping that meeting with Amy might give him the clarity and direction he needed to get back on track—whatever that track was supposed to be. But despite what he may have learned that morning on the diner patio, the jury was still out for Nate on the veracity of Amy’s tale, not to mention his acceptance of it.
If true, he had the right to be just as angry at his father as he was at Amy—angrier, maybe, if he was really being fair. After all, Jim had been the adult in the room back then. He was the one who’d abused his power and cheated on his wife. Plus, he’d had thirty years to tell Nate the truth, yet chose not to. He simply couldn’t imagine Jim deceiving him all those years. Not his dad. And yet.
Nate drove home after breakfast, sat out in the back garden with Cody, and tinkered with his design for the Russos’ yard. He never did contact the couple to see if he could begin their job a week early. In truth, the Russos told Nate a while ago they’d be ready whenever he was—but Nate was clearly not ready. He hated unfinished business and that seemed to comprise most of Nate’s life these days. As for Danny, he answered a jovial “Sweet!” when Nate reconfirmed his paid vacation day, no further questions asked—for now.
The Escarpa house paint job was hanging over Nate’s head, so he figured he’d put in some time on it while he had a free afternoon. But twenty minutes into painting the front trim, Nate was feeling antsy, guilty, like he should be somewhere else. He checked the time: 1:25 p.m. He could get to Toluca Woods by two and, even working alone, get a decent amount of planting done at Amy’s before she returned from her office. No one was asking him to do this; Amy had, in fact, asked him not to. But something was pulling him back there and he preferred, for once, not to think too deeply about what he was doing.
Nate stashed the painting gear, hustled Cody—who was giving him the “don’t even think about leaving me” look—into the Silverado and hopped back on the freeway.
He hoped to finish up before Amy arrived home but lost track of time after he decided to jettison the planting and start digging a trench for a dry creek bed. This “river” of rocks was something he was planning for the Russos and thought it might work here as well. He knew there was a chance Amy wouldn’t want it—it wasn’t in the original design—but once he got creatively inspired in the garden, he could be like a man possessed. Still, he knew even as he was doing it that he wasn’t thinking clearly: it was a big job that would need Danny’s help.
He barely heard Amy’s car door slam. Cody did and ran to her.
“Nate? What is all this?” Amy asked, a bag of groceries in each hand. Her attaché was slung over her shoulder.
“I’m building a dry creek bed,” he said, rising to face her.
“Is that so?” She put down her groceries and assessed Nate—and the S-shaped trench he’d started digging. Cody stuck his snout in the market bags, sniffing loudly.
“Cody, leave it!” Nate called and, amazingly, the dog trotted away and plopped down on the lawn. Meanwhile, Amy’s eyes never left Nate. He knew an explanation was in order. “Look, I know we didn’t talk this morning about me finishing up here. But I can’t afford to give you back your money, so you’re stuck with me.”
They both knew that was a lie, that even if he couldn’t return the balance he’d find a way. But Amy had her pride, too, and, apparently, her own breaking point.
“You can keep the damn money,” she answered impatiently, then grabbed the groceries and made for the front door.
Nate watched as Amy fumbled for her keys. He was such a jumble of emotions, felt such contradictions, it was like two of him were there at once.
Cody leaped up and started doing laps around the yard, kicking up dirt and grass as he went. It jarred Nate back into action and he grabbed the dog, stopping him in his tracks. “Hey! Relax!” Nate yelled, with enough force that Cody cowered, something the eager, happy dog rarely did. It made Nate feel like a jerk. Before he could feel any worse, something came over him and he marched toward the front door just as Amy was about to enter.
“Are you really my mother?” Nate half-shouted. It was a plain and painful question.
Amy stopped cold. She looked older than she did at breakfast, wearier, worry lines etching her forehead. Her entire body practically sighed. “Nate, tell me: What possible reason would I have to lie?”
Her question was as direct as his and he couldn’t formulate a rational rebuttal. It made Amy’s lips curl into the faintest smile: not one of satisfaction but vindication, of release. Standing in that doorway, Nate and Amy could feel an invisible curtain lift—and a floodgate open.
“So you really never spoke to my father again?” Nate asked, with a sincerity that made Amy’s eyes mist up.
“Not even that last semester at Fresno High. When we’d pass in the halls, I couldn’t even look at him, it hurt so much. And then he was gone. No forwarding address, no nothing.”
Cody loped up and butted Nate’s leg for a pet. He leaned down and stroked the dog’s thick coat as Amy stood over them both. Nate looked up at her, flashed on his dad’s rakishly handsome face, and said, “It’s strange how you can know someone so well, yet not know them at all.”
Amy watched him nuzzling his beloved dog. “No matter what,” she said, petting Cody’s haunches, “I guarantee your father loved you very much. Isn’t that what’s most important?”
Nate thought about that as he gazed out at the unfinished front garden. “I don’t know, is it?”
“I’d like to think so,” Amy answered. Nate wondered if she was talking entirely about Jim.
He pointed to the trench he’d dug. “I got a little ahead of myself. I can stop if you want.”
“That depends,” she said, narrowing her gaze at the curvy ditch bisecting a patch of her lawn. “What’s a … what did you call it? A dry creek bed?”
Nate laughed and explained how he envisioned it would tie in with the rest of his design, and even offered to throw it in for free. His mood had lightened so dramatically he was giving shit away.
“Okay,” Amy answered, “but on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You let me cook you dinner tonight. I bought all this good stuff at the market and I have no one to share it with.” But as soon as the suggestion was out of her mouth it was clear it was too much, too soon.
“Maybe another time,” Nate responded, eyes on Cody, who was nosing around the creek bed ditch. Nate turned to Amy and they shared a long, knowing look: no further words were needed.