It was one thing telling Jennifer about Amy, but it was another letting Danny in on this particular turn of events. Nate knew he’d tell his partner eventually—hopefully sooner than that—but Nate wasn’t ready. Nor did he think it was appropriate given the work-related overlap to the whole thing. (Not that he didn’t trust Danny with sensitive information about a client, and yet.)
Then again, maybe Nate only opened up to Jennifer as an excuse to see her, as a way back into her good graces—even if her issue with him was his lack of commitment rather than his verbal reticence. But weren’t those two things related? No, Nate decided as he drove back to Eagle Rock that night after seeing Jennifer: He’d wanted—needed—to talk, she was who he wanted to talk with, and he was finally able to get the words out. Simple as that. As if any of this was simple.
Nate did, however, call Danny to let him know they’d be back working at Amy’s the next day and to meet him there with Butch and Luis if they hadn’t already jumped into another gig. Danny, in the middle of giving his kid a bath, sounded only mildly surprised, asked for no details, and told Nate he’d see him at the job. Nate predicted Danny would pepper him with questions in the morning.
Danny didn’t disappoint. “You and the boss kiss and make up?” he asked the next day, as they unloaded plants, tools, and big sacks of decorative rocks from Nate’s truck. They’d arrived a bit late, and Amy had already left for work.
For a split second, Nate was about to erase Danny’s silly fantasy for good, then, once again, the urge passed. “It’s all good, okay? I even started digging a dry creek bed yesterday.” He indicated the heavy bags: “Hence, the rocks.”
Danny, hauling the last of the day’s materials off the truck, shot Nate a look that he’d rarely seen: one of hurt. “Wait, so you were here without me?” asked Danny, as if Nate had spent the day at Disneyland.
“Yeah, I stopped by and did a little work. I didn’t plan it, I just … ended up here.” Nate didn’t know why he felt guilty or defensive, but his partner looked weirdly betrayed. “Anyway, even if I did need your help, you had the day off. I didn’t want to get in the way of that.”
Nate locked the truck and crossed to Amy’s lawn, dragging a sack of rocks behind him. Danny, power tools in hand, followed. “Dude, something’s going on here,” he called, “and I’m gonna get to the bottom of that shit.”
Nate pretended to ignore that, though knew there was just so long he could hold back the truth from his friend. He, too, needed to “get to the bottom of that shit.” But how, exactly?
Stopping at the ditch he’d begun yesterday, Nate turned to Danny and said, “Help me dig out the rest of the creek bed, would you? I’d like to get it all done before Amy gets home.”
Danny studied Nate, more suspiciously this time, and with a mysterious half-smile said, “Okay, but I’m watching you, buddy.” He pointed at his eyes with a backward V-sign, then aimed those fingers at Nate.
Nate waved him off with a dismissive grin and they got to work. He couldn’t even begin to guess what Danny’s reaction would be if—when—he let him in on the strange tale of Amy Lucas Shields.
Amy returned early that day, around three, as Nate was putting the finishing touches on the dry creek bed. The winding trench, which spanned about twelve feet along the far right side of the yard, was filled with a cascade of small rocks of various shapes and colors. A variety of perennials—agapanthus, sea lavender, flax—lined the creek, with clumps of lemon thyme planted between the rocks themselves. As the minutes ticked by, Nate could feel himself getting carried away with his project, almost as if he were trying to prove something. What that was exactly—and whether it was to himself or his employer—he had no idea.
“How much extra is she paying for this masterpiece?” Danny threw out to Nate like a grenade. He didn’t even bother to lower his voice in front of Luis, who was hacking away at a massive—and massively overgrown—bird of paradise.
“What difference does it make?” asked Nate, gazing at the formation of mixed rocks snaking through the creek bed. “It won’t affect what you get paid.” The words were harsh but Nate’s tone was mild. He was too busy wondering if he should extend his “masterpiece” another few feet. When he finally looked up he was face to face with Danny, whose dark, deep-set eyes were boring holes into his.
“What?” Nate asked, returning to the planet.
“Number one: fuck you for saying that about my pay. And two: since when do you slap a thousand-dollar project onto a job for nothing? What are you getting out of it?” There wasn’t a trace of Danny’s sideways geniality in sight. He was pissed.
Nate walked away, pretending to inspect Luis’s work shaping the bird of paradise. Danny followed Nate like a shadow. “I’ve never seen you try to impress someone this bad,” he told Nate, getting in his face. “You’re way cooler than that and that’s why I fucking love you, dude.”
That threw Nate for a loop. He didn’t consider himself particularly cool—at all. Detached or discreet, maybe, but someone to look up to or emulate? That was news to Nate. And maybe Danny was right—not about being a chill guy but about trying too hard, playing his hand, giving away his most valuable asset: his creative ability. And it made Nate realize something for the first time: that he wanted Amy to be his mother. And that he wanted to be worthy of her. How fucked up was that?
Nate thanked Danny for looking out for him, apologized if he’d sounded snide, and assured him he was in complete control of his landscaping senses. Danny looked dubious but went back to work, mollified for now.
“When you talked about a dry creek bed, I had no idea it would be so beautiful,” said Amy when she laid eyes on Nate’s striking work. “It just sounded … dry.” She was walking the length of the creek bed examining the colorful plantings and artfully arranged spread of rocks.
“Well, it is ‘dry.’ But it’s also a great way to add some hardscape to your landscape. Mix things up.” Nate found himself bursting with pride, like a kid showing his parent his straight-A report card. It was not how he wanted to feel at thirty years old, but there it was.
He tried to hide his satisfied expression from Danny, who, out of Amy’s eyeline, pumped his fist in a jerk-off motion, tongue hanging naughtily out of his mouth.
“I want to pay you for this,” Amy finally said, “and I won’t take no for an answer.” She pivoted to face Nate, causing Danny, he of the excellent reflexes, to stop his rude gesturing on a dime. He beamed at her with the face of an angel.
Meantime, it didn’t escape Danny that Amy had just spilled the beans about the landscaping freebie Nate had—unsuccessfully—been elusive about earlier. Danny’s expression read: “No giveaways on my watch, pal” as if it were his name on the truck and not Nate’s. No matter, Nate knew his friend had his back.
Exhibit A: “Know what would look amazing here?” asked Danny, eyes slyly aglow. “A footbridge. Maybe in cedar—or teak. Whaddya think, Nate?”
Before Nate could react, Amy, intrigued though she may have appeared, stepped on the brakes. “Can I think about it?” she asked. She stared at the dry creek bed, seemingly calculating how much it was going to set her back.
“Of course, it’s just an idea,” Nate answered and, with a deadpan glance at his partner added, “Danny’s just full of ’em.”
Danny took that as his cue, flashed his winning smile, and went to help Luis wrangle the unwieldy bird of paradise leaves. It left Nate and Amy standing there alone with a gap of awkward silence until Amy melted into a warm smile.
“I meant it, Nate, this really is gorgeous,” she said, gesturing at the impressive creek bed. “You’re an incredibly talented man.”
Nate didn’t quite know what to say except: “Thank you.” Self-conscious, he kneeled down to hand-sweep some wayward rocks back into the creek bed.
Amy’s face, lit by a bright slice of late-afternoon sun, turned wistful. “I wish I could take even an ounce of credit for it but, well …” She looked away from Nate as he rose to face her. He could hear her, feel her, swallowing her tears. It brought a lump to his throat, which he struggled to fight back.
No, you can’t take any credit for me whatsoever, Nate wanted to say. And yet he didn’t have the heart at that tenuous moment to go there. He felt sad for them both that they hadn’t had each other all these years. Amy may have been wrong—his father had definitely been wrong—but they’d all lost out. What it meant now, though, was still a question mark.
Amy turned to Nate, composed, bright again. She smiled and Nate saw his own smile in her face. Or did he?
“That dinner invitation still holds. Anytime you’d like,” Amy offered, her voice low. “You have no way of knowing this, but I’m a pretty good cook.” She watched Nate’s face for a reaction, maybe sensed a softening that wasn’t there when she’d last suggested it.
“Can I think about it?” he asked.
“Of course, it’s just an idea,” she echoed him. They traded grins.
And with that, Amy raised her hand in a little wave. As Nate watched her go, he wondered what she might make him for dinner, but dismissed the thought. He was suddenly afraid: not of her cooking, but of taking that first small step—which wasn’t so small at all.