Fern had visited the cemetery as a sort of pilgrimage for Odette. She’d come to Tangle Falls to free herself from the ghosts of her past, instead she’d found new ones. Odette was a voice inside her head. In the garden she told her where to dig, which plants to move, which leaves to cut.
She was living in the other woman’s house, working her gardens, and there was a connection growing between them. Fern had wanted to see her last resting place. She’d hoped it was beautiful, and it was. But it was George who was on her mind for the rest of that afternoon.
When she’d first seen him, she’d been a little frightened. Grim-faced and stocky with broad shoulders and muscular arms. She’d been very aware that she was alone with him. That no one knew where she was or would ever report her missing if something should happen.
And then he’d spoken. His rich, smooth baritone had been unexpectedly gentle.
And when he’d told her the story of his family, she’d been undone. Nothing lightened the weight of a personal sorrow more than sharing someone else’s burden. Her years at the care home had taught her that much.
She wondered if George was right, if the fire that had killed his family hadn’t been accidental. If he was, it meant the guilty party had never been held accountable. She wondered how George lived with that. What he did with the anger.
She refused to consider the other possibilities, that he or his father had started the blaze. She’d never known his dad of course, but George was such a gentle soul. And he obviously missed his family so much.
Fern spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen preparing dinner. At five thirty, George showed up, as promised, driving an old pickup truck. She noticed he had showered and changed since she’d seen him at the cemetery. His black jeans and T-shirt were different from the ones he’d been wearing earlier, and his hair was still damp. As she walked closer, she could smell the clean spicy scent of his shampoo.
“Thank you for coming. This is the garden I was talking about.” She walked with him to the section where she had planted her lettuce and carrots, the tops of which showed signs of being recently munched.
“Yup, looks like the deer have been at this.” George took in the entirety of the cultivated space. “Do you want to fence in this entire plot? Or just this section?”
“Maybe just this section for now. The Singletons needed a vegetable garden large enough for a family. But this is too big for me. Next year I might let the rest go back to grass.” Rather than expending her effort on growing more vegetables, Fern wanted to create a pond and a water garden. But that was a project for next year.
George took measurements and asked her what sort of fence she wanted. He talked to her about the options and in the end, she decided on a six-foot tall, wood-framed, chicken wire fence.
“I’ll drive to Grand Forks tomorrow after work,” George promised. “If I can get everything I need, I’ll be able to start work on Wednesday.”
“Wow, that’s a lot faster than I expected.”
“We have to get that new fence up if we want to save any of your vegetables from those deer.”
As George started back toward his truck, Fern worked up her courage. She had never been good at interpreting social cues from her peers. It was possible he’d only agreed to build her fence for the money. Not because he liked her or wanted to help. She didn’t want him to feel she was being pushy. But maybe she would ask this one time, and if he said no, well, she wouldn’t do it again.
“I’ve made a chicken potpie for dinner. Too much for one person. Would you like to stay and share it with me?”
She could tell the invitation surprised him. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there rubbing his wrist. Every molecule in her body cringed as she anticipated his rejection.
But then he nodded. “Thank you.”
At the table, she was aware of him watching her. Mimicking her moves as she placed the cloth napkin on her lap and picked up her cutlery.
“This is incredibly good,” he said after taking his first bite. “I’ve never had chicken potpie before.”
“Really? This is one of my favorite comfort foods. What’s yours?”
He thought for a minute. “Anything but turkey.”
It took her a moment to understand. When she did, she laughed. Across the table she could sense George relaxing. She was glad she had invited him for dinner.