anything. Filthy rich, his father had instilled a different set of values in his sons—work hard, fight for what you want, never give up—all admirable qualities, but Jaxon had no idea the rest of the world didn’t live like them.
He’d gone on to live in the insulated world of celebrity and not given much thought to what happened outside of it.
Remorse hit him hard. How could he have been so oblivious? He and Cory had wanted to make a difference in the music world, but what about the real world? Suddenly his priorities seemed out of whack.
“I’ll be happy to help with deliveries,” he said.
After lunch they piled into Lily’s truck and she pulled them out into traffic. Jaxon enjoyed the companionable silence and his full belly as they drove, his eyelids getting heavier the longer they traveled. He’d almost drifted off to sleep when they pulled into a parking space near a large lot surrounded on three sides by older apartment buildings.
“We’re here,” Lily said.
A wrought iron fence ran the distance of the fourth side, hung with a sign that said West Side Community Garden. Inside, raised beds overflowed with vegetation and the place swarmed with all kinds of people working their plots. It was the picture of bucolic urban agriculture.
“You organized this?” he asked as he yawned and climbed out of the truck.
“No. I’m on the board of Houston’s urban garden league, so I help out with gardens all over the city, but I didn’t organize this one specifically. There’s a team that manages each garden.”
A Hispanic man in dirty work clothes and gloves approached with a big smile and pulled Lily into a hug.
“Lily. I’m so glad you’re here, mi amiga. And you brought help. Good. Everything is growing so fast nobody can keep up with it.”
“Carlos, this is my friend Jaxon. He’s staying at the estate for a while, so of course I dragged him along to put him to work. Give him some gloves and point him where you need him. He probably won’t do too much damage.”
She winked at him, and he figured he’d do anything she asked if she continued to pay him that kind of attention.
When she turned away he said, “Wait, you’re leaving me? I want to see your presentation.”
“I’m nervous enough as it is. I don’t want to feel like you’re watching and judging me.” It gave him a warm little boost that his presence would do that. Only a person who meant something would make someone nervous.
“I’d never judge you.”
“It would probably bore you anyway,” she said.
She glanced down at the pavement and shifted from one foot to the other, obviously jittery. He didn’t want to add to her anxiety, as much as he wanted to see her teach her class.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m happy to help Carlos however I can. Go have fun.”
Her relieved smile was infectious and he found himself returning it. She bounced up and kissed his cheek, then hurried off to mingle with the other gardeners.
Carlos led Jaxon to a row of wooden bins at the edge of the garden, filled with what looked like dirt and garbage.
“This is our compost area,” he said. He handed Jaxon a pair gloves, then gestured to a pitchfork leaning against the end of the row. “I’d appreciate it if you’d turn it.”
“Turn it?”
“Use the pitchfork and stir it up. Shift the stuff from the bottom to the top. Churn it around.”
“I can do that.”
Jaxon spent the next couple of hours turning piles of compost that smelled like shit, then filling wheelbarrows with it and distributing it wherever Carlos directed him. By the time he finished, his shoulders and back ached and he smelled as bad as the piles of mulch.
But he felt like he’d accomplished something concrete. He’d met a lot of nice people, learned some stuff about growing a garden in the middle of a city, and worked at something that didn’t depend on his fame. He got absolutely nothing out of it other than satisfaction. It felt pretty damn
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