*Fern jabbed her spade into the earth then stood on the steel edge with both feet, trying to sink the blade as deep as possible before turning over the dark dirt. Getting down on her knees, she dug her gloved hands into the soil, breaking up the clumps, and letting the fine soil sift between her fingers. Usually after a few hours of this hard labor, the memory of her nightmares would fade, leaving her in peace.
Not today.
At noon she went inside for a drink. She surveyed the contents of the fridge but didn’t feel hungry. There was no room in her stomach for anything but the snarl of worries and fears that seemed to grow larger every day.
Lately she’d become more and more convinced that the things her father told her before he died were wrong. He’d been so sick. He could have been delusional. Then everything she’d done since then would have been for nothing. She sat down at the table and sank her head into her hands.
The deep quiet of the house was a cruel reminder of how alone she was. George wasn’t coming until tomorrow. She still had more than twenty-four hours with only her miserable thoughts for company.
The solution came to her so suddenly she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before. She should get a pet. Her father had been dead set against having any sort of animal in their house. But he was gone, and she set the rules now.
Should she get a cat or a dog? As a child she’d gone through stages of wanting both. But cats could be standoffish. She wanted a pet who would keep her company. Something to love that would love her back.
She pulled out her laptop and soon found a pet shelter just over an hour’s drive away. A pet supply store was just a few minutes beyond that. She’d change out of her gardening clothes and take a shower…already she was feeling better. The knot in her stomach was loosening. Maybe she’d get a takeout chicken burger and vanilla shake on her way home.
*
Fern was prepared to be stood up on Friday night. She cooked the meal she’d planned but told herself she would freeze the extra food so it wouldn’t be wasted. She washed and blow-dried her hair but didn’t allow herself to wear a dress. When the time came for George to arrive, she went to the bedroom to sort her underwear drawer so she couldn’t look out the window and watch for him.
And then she heard a vehicle crunching along the gravel in her driveway. Cooper, her new mixed breed rescue dog, sprang from his nap on the rug and raced to the door. Her heart went from heavy and anxious to excited and nervous. She wished she had time to put on the dress, paint her nails, do her face, all the things she’d been afraid to do in case she jinxed herself. But she did have time to apply some lipstick, so she did that.
Then she rushed out to the porch.
George was already out of his old Ford pickup carrying a lovely, teal-colored ceramic vase. He looked squeaky clean, hair still damp from the shower, jeans and black T-shirt freshly pressed. And he looked nervous too.
Cooper reached him before Fern could, jumping and barking and wiggling. George crouched and scratched his neck. “You got a new dog. Hey there fella.”
“His name is Cooper.”
George presented his gift. “I couldn’t find any flowers as pretty as the ones you grow, so I thought maybe you would like a vase. The color reminded me of your eyes.”
“Thank you, George.” It was the most touching, thoughtful gift she had ever received, and her eyes began to tear. She had to get control of herself. “Come sit on the porch for a bit. I made some iced tea.”
“Sounds good. I was up early this morning to dig a grave for an elderly man who died in Chicago.”
“In Chicago? Why’s he being buried here?”
“In his will, he requested to be buried back in his hometown. He doesn’t have any family left in Tangle Falls, but since he’d never married or had children, he wanted to be laid to rest beside his parents. A younger sister is buried there too. She died of meningitis when she was a baby.”
“Will anyone be at his graveside service?”
“Just me and Paulette, the funeral director.”
If she could have only one person at her graveside when she died, Fern would want it to be George. Not just because she was falling in love with him. But because he was so kind and caring. He respected the dignity of the human spirit.
Later, during dinner, George ate everything she put in front of him with obvious enjoyment. “I’ve never had eggplant Parmesan before. It was delicious.”
She could tell he meant it. “My dad was a meat and potatoes guy. I enjoy cooking something different for a change.” She pushed back from the table. “Would you like to take a tour of the perennials? I found Odette’s old gardening notebook, so I’ve been using that as a guide and it’s really helping.”
“That’s cool about the notebook, but let’s clean up first.”
“I can do that later.”
“It’ll go faster with the two of us.”
She liked that he insisted on helping. He stacked the dishes carefully into the dishwasher, then scrubbed her counters like he was preparing for surgery. When he was finished, he didn’t leave the cloth in a puddle at the bottom of the sink the way her father would do on his rare excursions into the kitchen. No, he rinsed the cloth and hung it to dry.
“Thank you, George.”
He smiled shyly. “Now the garden tour?”
It was only seven, there were still a few hours of sunlight left in the day. She had planted her newest perennials yesterday being careful to position them according to Odette’s map, and they looked happy in their new home. To think she’d known next to nothing about flowers when she moved here, but now she could name each plant, most of them in Latin too.
“How about the vegetable patch?” George asked. “Is it doing better now that we’ve fenced out the critters?”
“Yes, but I need to get in there and weed.” And she’d done so much digging in the unplanted area that it looked like a construction zone.
George surveyed the space thoughtfully. “This is a huge garden for one person.”
“I know.” The house and the property were both much too big for one person. He must think she was crazy. Half the time Fern thought so too.
After the tour Fern served another glass of iced tea on the porch. She wished she owned a two-seater glider, so they could sit beside one another. Instead, they were each on one of the cheap plastic Adirondack chairs she’d bought at the hardware store in Grand Forks. Cooper was curled on the wooden floor, positioned so his nose touched the tip of Fern’s cork sandal.
Perhaps because he’d lived alone for so long, George didn’t often initiate conversation. He seemed perfectly content to sit in silence, looking out at the view: her gardens giving way to the McArthur’s grazing pasture, and then the forest and mountains, and above it all the gift of a clear, blue, summer sky.
“It’s very peaceful. You must sit out here a lot.”
“It’s nice with company.” She didn’t even need him to make conversation. Just his presence, his solid, masculine bulk in the chair beside her was a comfort. “But usually, I’m in the garden until dark. Or catching up with housework.”
Keeping busy was the only sure way to hold back the darkness. The regrets, the questions, the guilt. “Since my father died, I’ve had a hard time sitting still.”
He set down his glass and absently rubbed his left wrist. “I have the same problem. That’s why—” He paused. “I like work. Projects. When it’s too late to be outside, I work on Legos. It’s a silly hobby for a grown man.”
His face was flushed. She hated that he felt embarrassed. “Not at all. It’s not that different from being obsessed with model trains or picture puzzles. Did you always like to be kept busy?”
“When I was a kid, I used to love sleeping in on the weekends. My sister would jump on my bed to try and wake me. She was the chatty one in the family. Always telling stories and making us laugh.”
There were two Georges, Fern realized. The one that had existed before his family died in the fire. And the one that survived after.
“Your sister sounds fun. Did she have lots of friends?”
George’s slight smile vanished. He rubbed his wrist again. “She would have liked friends, she was so social. But she ran into the same problems I did. Kids made fun of our parents, of the smells from the turkey farm.”
Fern sucked in a breath. “Poor Susie.”
“I remember her asking our mother why the other kids didn’t like her. It tore me up. I knew we were never going to fit in. We were too different. But my family kept trying. Mom dragging us to church. Dad making us go to town events.”
“Like the Halloween party the night of the fire.”
He nodded. “I didn’t want to go. My parents were somehow oblivious to the fact that the townspeople tolerated rather than liked them. But my sister felt every slight and every insult so keenly. I hated seeing her suffer…” He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m talking too much.”
“George, one thing you’ll never be guilty of is talking too much.”
He gave a slight smile, and she was encouraged. She liked that he trusted her enough to tell her these things. And she wanted him to keep doing it.
“Tell me more about your parents. Did you get along well when they weren’t forcing you to socialize?”
“Oh sure. They were both easygoing.” George bent low so he could pet the dog. Cooper reacted by rolling over and exposing his belly. “It bothers me that the last time I saw my dad we argued.”
“That was at the Halloween party?”
“Some kids said mean things to Susie, made her cry. I told Dad we shouldn’t have gone in the first place. That he and Mom were making us miserable by trying so hard to fit in.” Emotion choked his voice and he paused for a moment. “I know I told you about this before. But it’s one of those things that keeps repeating in my head. The awful things I said to him…”
“If your father was here right now, I know he would forgive you. You need to forgive yourself as well, George.”
*
George couldn’t tell Fern the worst thing he’d said that night. That he’d gone further and accused his parents of being the reason he and Susie weren’t accepted or liked. You guys look weird. You sound weird. No one in this town wants anything to do with you or your kids. So just stop already. Stop pretending we’re normal. Cause we’re not.
He’d let out all the ugliness that had been building inside of him for God only knew how long—the first time he was snubbed in kindergarten, probably. I don’t want to go to his house. It stinks and his mom talks funny.
Stop it. He was getting worked up and he didn’t want to fall off that cliff again. He was supposed to be on a date. The first real date he’d had in his life. And he was acting like it was a therapy session.
He focused on scratching the dog’s belly. Cooper wiggled and stretched out one of his hind legs. “I think he likes this.”
“I think he likes you.”
George could feel his body relaxing, his mind clearing. “I’m sorry. After all these years I shouldn’t still get so emotional.”
“It’s okay. Family issues are tough. Believe me I understand.”
He looked over at Fern, at her kind, caring face. He wanted to keep talking. To tell her about the police interviews, about providing his fingerprints, about the dreadful fear that had begun waking him in the middle of the night.
But he didn’t dare.