*On Monday Fern made an amazing discovery. Tucked between the volumes of gardening magazines in the old bookcase she found a slim notebook belonging to Odette. Inside were gardening notes as well as sketches of favorite plants and detailed maps of both the vegetable garden and the perennial beds around the house.
She had not been able to see the notebook until she took all the volumes out for dusting and that made her wonder if Odette had been compelled to hide her notebook from her husband.
Handling the notebook reverently, she took it to the kitchen and sat down with her morning coffee to read it thoroughly. She especially loved the little nuggets of gardening wisdom Odette had scattered throughout the notebook. Design your gardens as if you are a painter, allowing the colors to flow, creating focal points, giving a sense of movement to the whole.
She wondered if that was advice Odette had been given, or something she’d simply known innately. Fern’s respect and admiration for her just kept growing.
When she was finished her initial read, she went outside and compared Odette’s map to the current reality, the perennials she had rescued and those she’d been given by Bobbie. There were still a lot of holes but now she knew what to put in them.
She made note of the missing plants and then, pumped with enthusiasm, she drove to the nearest garden center in Grand Forks. She would start small and purchase just a few plants, and see how well they did, before buying more. She selected Russian sage (Perovskia atriplicifolia), candle larkspur (Delphinium elatum), and Japanese forest grass (Hakonechloa macra).
By the time she got home the west side of the garden—where her new plants were intended to live—was still in shade and she decided it would be safe to transplant. On her way to gather her tools, she paused to admire her new fence. It had gone up quickly, too quickly. It had been nice having George’s company, even if it was just to look up from her own task to see him working in the adjacent field. But she’d especially enjoyed the day they had worked together stapling the chicken wire. He gave simple, easy-to-follow instructions, didn’t get flustered when something went wrong, just calmly set about making the correction.
There was a lot of satisfaction in building something with her own two hands. It was also nice to have someone to share a meal with afterward. George was easy to talk to, but she also felt comfortable when they just sat in silence.
Her thoughts kept turning to the time he’d removed his T-shirt and used the garden hose to wash off. Then she castigated herself for being foolish, like a teenaged girl instead of a grown woman. She was too old to be having these thoughts about George.
She focused instead on transplanting her plants, on digging big enough holes, adding compost, watering well. Then she watered her recent transplants from Bobbie. She wondered if on some cellular level the plants recognized the soil. Did they know they had finally come home? She liked to think so.
At noon she took a break for lunch, then went back to the vegetable plot and continued her systematic digging. The work was hard, the day was hot, yet soon her thoughts circled back to George. She tried to think of another project she could hire him for. Was that pathetic of her? Probably.
She was beginning to understand why George was an outsider in his own town. There was something a bit different about him. Though he had a beautiful voice, he talked slower than most men and rarely made eye contact. He didn’t have a lot of confidence. None of that mattered to her. She knew she was different too. There were unwritten laws about how to behave around other people that she had never figured out. Various people over the years had accused her of trying too hard. How could trying hard be a bad thing? She had merely wanted people to like her, yet outside of the care home setting, they rarely did.
Foolishly she had hoped that her life in Tangle Falls was going to be different. She had screwed up her courage to go to that street party and the solstice dinner. But both times she had felt like the awkward wallflower at a school dance.
Monique and Bobbie were the sort of women who knew the right clothes to wear, the right things to say. When they made jokes, other people laughed. They danced easily through life, they had no idea what it was like for people like her.
After hours of digging Fern was finally so tired, she had to stop. She went inside for a shower and a cup of coffee. And that was when she heard someone drive up to her house.
She peered out the front window and there was George getting out of his old truck. George. They had made no plans for today. Maybe he’d forgotten something here?
She went outside and felt a foolish smile spread over her face. For a moment he just stood and looked at her. Fern put a hand to her damp hair, wishing there had been time to blow it dry and put on makeup.
“Sorry to stop by with no warning.”
“Did you forget something?”
“No. I should have sent you a message first.” He rubbed his wrist looking awkward.
“I’m glad you came by George.” Frantically she thought through the contents of her fridge, trying to come up with an idea for dinner. Cheese omelet? She had fresh chives. And lettuce and radishes for a salad. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
His gaze didn’t quite meet her eyes, it was stuck at about kneecap level. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to see the waterfalls the town was named for. It’s a short easy hike to get there.”
Her first reaction was pleasure. He wanted to spend time with her. But then she worried. What was George’s idea of short and easy? She did not want to get in over her head, to make herself look foolish.
“I’m not really a hiker.”
“This one is easy, I promise.”
Easy for him perhaps. But it wouldn’t be for her. “It’s already past five.”
“Days are long this time of year. And I packed a picnic for our dinner.” His gaze had finally crept up to her eye level. “But that’s okay if you don’t want to go.” And then abruptly, “I should leave.”
He no sooner spoke the words than he was striding toward his truck, his final words reverberating in her mind. How many times had she said something similar to people who had turned her down? That’s okay if you don’t want to eat lunch with me; that’s okay if you don’t want to go to a movie with me; that’s okay if you don’t want to walk to school together…
She, of all people, knew what it had cost him to make this invitation.
“Wait,” she said, just before he closed the truck door. “I’m coming with you.”
*
George could hardly believe Fern was in his truck, with him. The idea to invite her on a hike had come to him this morning. After a week of spending almost every evening with her, he just couldn’t face going home alone, going through his same routines, alone always alone.
He should have phoned or texted first, he knew. But he had expected rejection, and he hadn’t wanted to see it in black and white, a permanent record on his phone. So he’d taken a chance. He’d driven the route that had become so familiar to him. But when he’d arrived, he’d been afraid to get out of his truck.
It had taken all of his courage. To get out of the truck. To say the words he’d rehearsed on the drive over. And he’d done so with only the slimmest of hopes that she would say yes.
Now that she had, he felt guilty for what he hadn’t told her. Yesterday Constable Kowalski had asked him to come into the Midway RCMP detachment to be fingerprinted. George hadn’t been legally required to do it, but he went anyway, wanting to be seen as cooperating.
He’d met the person in charge of the investigation, Inspector Regan Peters. She’d subjected him to all the same questions the constable had, and a lot more besides. She’d dug into his past and asked about his family and the fire. She’d wanted the names of the kids at school who had bullied him, and specifics on who had done what and when.
He hadn’t known it was possible for a stranger to know so much about him. It was worrying. And frightening.
He glanced over at Fern. She caught his gaze and smiled. He should probably tell her about yesterday, he actually wanted to tell her. But what woman would go hiking with a man who was a suspect in a murder investigation?
*
The trail to Tangle Falls was just one and a half kilometers long, but it seemed as if most of that distance was vertical. Five minutes into the hike Fern was puffing. She noticed George did not have the same problem. He moved athletically. Confidently. Still, when he noticed her struggling, he stopped and offered her a drink from a large metallic water bottle. Now why hadn’t she thought to bring water? She wondered what else George had in his backpack that she had neglected to bring.
“The bottle is for you,” he assured her. “I brought one for each of us. Drink all you want.”
She did, gulping down the water gratefully. When she was sated, she passed the bottle back. “Go ahead and have some. I don’t mind drinking from the same bottle. Unless you do?”
With his gaze focused on a squirrel chattering at them from a nearby pine tree, he said, “Are you sure?”
“George you’re a very clean man. Unless you were sick, I would always be happy to share a water bottle with you.”
She was rewarded with a small smile.
“That’s okay. I have my own water bottle. But I appreciate you saying that.”
“The kids who used to tease you at school were really mean. You have to remember they were the ones in the wrong, not you.”
“You’re right. This stuff is hard to forget though. Kids at school used to hold their nose when they passed by me. No one ever shared anything with me like they did with the other kids. Not a water bottle, not a bite of cookie, not even a chip from a bowl.”
She’d read articles in the National Geographic magazines about the caste structure in India. What George was describing sounded like the sort of discrimination suffered by the lower caste. The untouchables.
“How cruel.” She put a hand on his arm. Firm muscles. Warm skin. He was not untouchable to her. “When I was a kid, I had trouble fitting in too. A girl I was trying to make friends with told me I tried too hard. I got the message from other people too. So eventually I stopped trying.”
The labels and judgments delivered so casually and thoughtlessly in youth had the sticking power of duct tape.
“The only people who seemed to like me were the residents of the care home where I worked.” Her coworkers had mocked her for being such a favorite, but she hadn’t cared. She’d soaked up the smiles, the compliments, and, yes, the touches. A friendly pat on the cheek, a squeeze of her arm. She hadn’t even minded the old coots who gave her bottom a tap. How they loved it when she pretended to be shocked. For that moment they felt like young rascals again.
“The residents were lucky to have you,” George said.
“I felt lucky too. I probably would have stayed at my job a lot longer. If it hadn’t been for covid.”
“Want to talk about that?”
“Another time. Let’s keep moving. I’m determined to see that waterfall even if it kills me.”
“I won’t let that happen.” George gave her a faint smile before re-shouldering the pack. This time as he set off with his long, easy strides, he set his pace even slower than before, and Fern was able to keep up without difficulty.
“Do you do a lot of hiking?”
“I usually go on Saturdays. Sometimes Sunday, too, after my picnic with my family.”
Interesting that he talked about his family as if they were still alive. It made her want to squeeze his hand tenderly. Her father may have been weird, but at least she’d had someone in her life. Since he was seventeen, George had been alone.
“When we were kids,” George continued, “Mom used to make us go to church on Sundays. I hated that. I feel a closer connection to God in the mountains than in a church.”
“My father and I never went to church. But I know what you mean. For me, that special place is my garden.”
The trail was quite busy and every time they came upon other hikers, George would fall into step behind her to make room for the other party. One middle-aged couple had two dogs that fawned over George as soon as they saw him.
“Hey Ella. Clara.” George crouched so he could scratch the dark Labs behind their ears.
Only then did the dog owners seem to notice them. The woman gave a brief smile and kept walking. The man paused.
“Oh hi, Grub,” said the man. “Nice evening for a hike.”
“Sure is.” George turned to Fern. She thought he was going to introduce her, but before he could get out the words, the man had already followed his wife. The dogs, however, lingered until they were called.
“Who were those people?” Fern wanted so badly to correct that man. His name is George.
“They live next door to me. Their dogs are always getting in my yard. But I don’t mind. I like dogs.”
The couple hadn’t seemed very friendly for next door neighbors. “Why did he call you Grub?”
George scratched the top of his head. “My school nickname stuck.”
The way his mouth soured, she could tell he hated it.
“Maybe you need to unstick it, George.”
He looked at her as if she’d said the most outrageous thing. Then he smiled slowly. “Maybe you’re right.”
Fern became aware of a dull roar in the distance, drowning out the cheerful bird chatter from earlier in the hike. As they continued to walk, the roar grew louder, until finally they couldn’t hear each other talk.
And then they rounded a switchback, and a magnificent wall of cascading water was suddenly visible. The waterfall was at least thirty feet tall, ending in a huge, greenish-blue pool of translucent water.
“George, this is spectacular!” It felt like a miracle, that you could be completely enveloped in a tall, dark forest only to turn a corner and suddenly be gifted with a sight like this.
George led her to a flat rock where they could sit and enjoy the view. He took her hand to make sure she didn’t slip. Once her footing was secure, he let go. From his pack, he pulled out a scrumptious picnic. Sandwiches from Green Piece, iced tea, and fresh fruit.
Putting her mouth close to his ear so he could hear her she said, “Thanks for bringing me here, George.” She would use his name every time she talked to him. She would drown out every Grub he’d ever heard with a hundred Georges.
“It feels good to be here with you.” He looked at her intently. “Your eyes are the same color as the river. They’re very pretty.”
“Thank you.” And then, because she had no doubt about his intentions and because she sensed he had already gone as far out of his comfort zone as he could possibly manage in one day, she leaned close to him and kissed him gently on the lips.
He placed his hand on the side of her head. Stroked her hair. “I want to ask you out. But I don’t know how to do that. The only restaurant I like is Stella’s Diner, but I only go there for the pie. We could go to Grand Forks for a movie…would you like that?”
“How about you come to my place for dinner. Friday night?”
He hesitated. Seemed about to say something. Then just nodded.
On the way down the mountain, Fern’s steps felt light and buoyant. She was proud of herself for completing her first hike. It wouldn’t be the last. Over time she would get stronger and fitter and eventually she’d be able to keep up with George.
Hiking was just one thing she imagined them doing together. Sunday picnics at the cemetery. They would also share dinners. She couldn’t think beyond that, she didn’t dare think beyond that.
“I’m already looking forward to Friday,” George told her as they walked toward his truck. Before she went inside, he kissed her again. She placed both of her hands on his shoulders, not wanting any of this to end. But another group of hikers was coming off the trail, laughing and talking loudly.
George opened the door for her, and once she was settled with her seat belt fastened, he closed it gently and gave the roof of her SUV a pat.
During the drive home, her heart glowed as she relived all the special moments. The way he listened so intently when she talked to him. His compliment about her eyes. His thoughtfulness in bringing her water and holding her hand and making sure she didn’t slip.
And the kisses. She didn’t have a lot of experience in this department, but even if she had she was quite sure that George’s kisses would fall in the exceptional category.
The glow lingered after she got home, while she watered the perennial garden, and as she prepared for bed. It was only after she was under the sheets, trying to settle for the night, that doubts crept in.
So far, she had been honest with George, and she was quite certain he’d been the same with her. But over time he was sure to have more questions. And what would she do then? Lie? She’d have to, wouldn’t she? Because if she told him the truth, the whole truth, even kind, sympathetic George would think she was a monster.