Cassidy floated idly in the pool, her mind closed to the laughing conversation coming from the float next to her. The neighbor was mowing. It was Saturday. Couldn’t he mow during the week when she wasn’t there? From what she remembered of him—what was his name? Frankie?—he wouldn’t be considerate enough to mow on a weekday.
All she wanted was some peace and quiet. That’s why she built out here. Peace and quiet. Not to hear some damn riding lawn mower buzzing by along the fence. She looked toward the noise, but the privacy fence was too high for her to see over. Yeah, she’d put the privacy fence up in the first place because of him. Six feet tall was the standard, but she’d wanted ten. Her builder talked her down to eight. Frankie popped over all the time, attempting to flirt with her. He annoyed the hell out of her. So…up went the fence, well before the house was even finished. He was probably still pissed about that.
She sighed. They had a couple of acres over there, mostly lawn. She imagined it would take an hour or so to mow it. She tipped off her float and swam into shallow water, then took the steps out.
“Be right back,” she called to no one in particular.
Claudia was engrossed in a conversation with the two young women she’d invited. Claudia worked with Angie. The other—Yvonne—was Angie’s girlfriend of two weeks. And Cassidy had absolutely nothing in common with either of them. Truth was, she had nothing in common with Claudia either. Of course, after this weekend, she wouldn’t be seeing Claudia anymore. No, she was thinking of asking Larson out. She’d met her at a party a couple of weeks ago. A party Claudia had dragged her to.
She stopped to pull a T-shirt over her head, then slipped on her flip-flops. She contemplated going inside for shorts but didn’t want to take the time. She walked down to the edge of her driveway, punched in the code for the gate, waited impatiently for it to open, then walked along the road to the Morrison place. She stopped. Flowers? She hadn’t seen flowers here before. Seeing her obnoxious neighbor mowing in the back, she walked across the freshly mowed lawn, around the house, waving at him.
As he got closer to her, she realized the person under the ball cap wasn’t Frankie after all. It was a woman. She scowled as the woman cut the blades off but kept the mower running.
“Do you mind?” she yelled, pointing at the machine.
With an exaggerated sigh, the woman turned the mower completely off.
“Yeah…thanks.” She pointed across the fence. “I live next door.”
The woman nodded. “I live here.”
“Okay. Well, I was wondering if perhaps…you could stop mowing. It’s Saturday. I have guests out by the pool. It’s virtually impossible to have a conversation with this noise.”
The woman stared blankly at her. “And this affects me how?”
Cassidy narrowed her eyes. Really? “Yeah…so where’s Frankie?” she asked, thinking maybe she could negotiate with him instead of this woman.
“Frankie? He died.”
“Died? When?”
“Several weeks ago. Why?”
Cassidy put her hands on her hips. “Who are you?”
“Laura Fry.”
“So…you live here now? Frankie was your father?”
“Oh my God! No! He married my mother.”
“Oh. Stepfather then.”
Laura Fry actually clenched her teeth. “No, he was not my stepfather.” She shook her head. “What is it you want?”
“I want you to stop mowing. Isn’t this something you could do during the week when I’m not here?”
“So I should rearrange my schedule to suit you?” She gave a rather sweet smile. Condescending, but sweet. “I am very busy during the week. Very busy.”
“So there’s no compromise?”
“Compromise? Your yard people come very early on Fridays. Very early. Daybreak. It’s impossible to sleep in.”
Cassidy glanced at the house, guessing the bedrooms were upstairs. Their two houses weren’t that close together. But…
“So you’re suggesting I reschedule them?”
“After ten would be great.”
“Ten? You sleep until ten?”
“Oh, no. I’m usually up by dawn.”
“Then…?”
“Quiet time. Coffee on the porch. Birds. Quiet. No mowers.”
“I see. Okay. So if I agree to that, you’ll stop mowing on Saturdays so I can have my quiet time?”
Laura Fry nodded, smiling quickly in her victory. “Deal.”
Cassidy stuck her hand out. “Deal.” Their handshake was firm, but brief. “I’m Cassidy Anderson, by the way.”
“Okay,” Laura said as she started up the lawn mower again.
Cassidy stepped out of the way as the mower buzzed around her. At least the woman waited until she was past her before engaging the blades. So she was going to stop mowing, right? Their deal started today, not next Saturday. Right?
She blew out a frustrated breath, then turned and headed back to the road. The woman was wearing cutoff jeans. When’s the last time she’d seen that? She chanced a glance at the house. It looked different than she remembered. Oh, the paint was still chipped and faded, but it looked inviting. All of the flowerbeds were stuffed with flowers. The grass was trimmed along the edges of the sidewalk and around the trees. If she hadn’t seen this woman mowing she would assume they had a yard service too. Although her own yard service did not do flowers. Maybe she’d ask them to plant some for her. After she asked them to start coming at ten instead of seven.
She stopped at the road when she heard the mower shut down. The woman had pulled it into the shed at the back of their property. Cassidy stared at her as she walked back toward the house. The cutoff jeans were mid-thigh, leaving plenty of leg exposed. Long legs. The woman was nearly as tall as she was. The woman—Laura Fry—disappeared behind the house and Cassidy continued back toward her gate and driveway, conscious of the smile on her face. So her new neighbor was cute. That was a plus. And, if she had to guess, she would say Laura Fry was a lesbian. Although she wasn’t particularly friendly. Maybe that was a good thing. Overly friendly, she couldn’t handle. Weekends. Quiet time. No neighbors, even if they were cute lesbians. Quiet time.
However, loud laughter coming from the pool dispelled any notion she had of quiet time. Before going around the walkway to the back, she took the time to look at her yard. It was nice. Pristine, in fact. But sterile. No flowers. No colors. Not even any flowering shrubs, which she’d seen plenty of on her drive out. Her shrubs were all uniform and perfectly placed. She nodded. She needed some flowerbeds. She needed some color.
* * *
“I saw you talking to the neighbor. She looked younger than I imagined.”
Laura lifted the lid on the slow cooker and tested the roast with a fork. Another two hours ought to do it.
“Fortyish,” she replied.
“What did she want? That’s the first time she’s ever been over here.”
“She asked me not to mow on Saturdays. Apparently it distracts from pool time.” She smiled at her mother. “We struck a deal. She’s going to get her yard crew to come at ten on Fridays and I’ll stop mowing on Saturdays.”
“Well, that’s good. So who is she?”
“Cassidy Anderson.” She held her hand up. “And before you ask, no, I did not find out anything about her.” She was cuter up close than through binoculars, that’s for sure, although she didn’t share that with her mother. “I was a little rude to her.”
“Why?”
“Because she came over with this attitude. Like everyone should work around her schedule so as not to disturb her on the weekends when she’s got her groupies out by the pool.”
“Groupies? What are you talking about?”
“The anorexic blonde, who is apparently her girlfriend, and two young, giggling blondes today.”
“Laura Sue, have you been spying again with the binoculars?”
Laura took the potatoes and bowl of water over to the table where her mother sat. “Here, help me,” she said as she handed her a vegetable peeler.
“For saying you didn’t like to cook, that roast smells divine.”
“Thank you. The Internet is a wonderful thing. Thousands of recipes.”
“I could have given you mine. There’s nothing to it. Although I never made mine in the slow cooker.”
“It’s a little different than yours, Mom. Chunked garlic, mushrooms, a sprig of rosemary, a dash of tamari.”
“Onions? You have to have onions, Laura Sue.”
“Of course there are onions. I was just giving you the highlights. I’ll make gravy and we’ll have that over mashed potatoes.”
“Can you make gravy?”
“I watched a video. I think I can do it.”
Her mother shook her head as she peeled the potato. “A video. A video on how to make gravy? Your grandmother would never believe it. She taught me to make gravy by the time I was ten.”
“Good. Thank you for volunteering to make tonight’s gravy,” she said with a grin. Ah, it was too easy.
“You did that on purpose,” her mother accused. “There was no video.”
“Yes, there is a video. I just didn’t watch it. Besides, you need to cook. You’ll lose your skill.”
“I haven’t cooked since the accident,” her mother said sadly. “I do miss it. I just can’t—”
“Yes, you can. I’ll stand beside you. You won’t fall.”
Her mother met her gaze and held it. “You trying to get me back on my feet? You tired of living here?”
“No, I’m not tired of being here,” she said honestly. “And yes, I am trying to get you on your feet. But not because I’m tired of cooking—yet. It would be good for you. You must be sick of watching TV by now.”
“I’ve gotten hooked on my daytime soaps, I know. But you’re right. It would be good to be able to contribute some.” Her mother looked out of the big kitchen bay window, her gaze settling on the flowers Laura had put out just yesterday. “I so miss being able to plant my flowers. I miss getting my hands dirty.”
“Well, tomorrow after breakfast, you can get them dirty.”
Laura had seen her mother watching her yesterday, had seen the wistful look on her face. And even though nearly every flowerbed was stuffed with flowers, the back patio, where they normally ate breakfast, was still bare. So yesterday, she’d gone out early—while the neighbor’s yard crew was disturbing the silence—and bought some large planters, potting soil, and two big flats of impatiens. They had no impatiens anywhere else and the patio was shaded enough for them.
“What do you have planned?”
“You’ll have to wait. I’ll even let you use your chair.”
Her eyes brightened. “I’m going to get to plant some flowers?”
“Yes. I’ve got some planters for the patio. There’re still out in the truck.” Frankie’s old truck. It had come in handy, that’s for sure.
“Thank you, Laura Sue. That was sweet of you.”
“I try,” she said with a smile.
Her mother smiled too. “I can’t believe you were so mean to me when you first got here.”
“Me? You called me fat!”
“You called my husband a jerk!”
“Was I lying?”
Her mother held her hand up, a half-peeled potato in it. “Truce, remember.”
Laura laughed. “Yeah…you thought he was a jerk too!”