find a good position in her chair and put one elbow on the table. “I don’t think we can pin all this on you. It started long before you got here. And you were also dragged here while unconscious. It’s hard to get more innocent than that.”
He saw from her expression she was shifting into mission mode, her eyes already fixed on what she planned to do with the rest of her day. Decisions made apparently, she stood abruptly, transitioned from one set of clothes into another, grabbed her tea, and went outside.
Although she hadn’t asked him to this time, Malcolm followed her. He sat and worked to take it in—the reasons for her strong attachment to this place. It was quite beautiful. That he acknowledged.
Her sprawling flowerbeds were separated by flat stones, each bed of different shapes and sizes. Lush, vibrant shades of green surrounded bright pockets of color. A rich mélange of calming scents rose around him, the aftermath of rain on leaves, sunshine on earth. Sporadic bursts of late-winter light made the wash of petals shimmer in the breeze.
His slow perusal pulled him outward, past Cy’s lemon tree, the two orange trees on either side, all the way to where green junipers stood sentry at the edges of the land.
It was a good place. Earth and sky made very happy here.
In it, Dinah moved with purpose. Driven. Never tiring. Occasionally she stopped to drink tea that had long since gone stone cold. Then her thoughts visibly cleared and she set off on some new task.
“You could leave,” he’d said. Maybe she couldn’t.
Malcolm tore his gaze from her and cast his mind into the world beyond the trees. He saw the little town she’d spoken of, the rough men who inhabited it. Would they really try to claim her?
They should come. He’d love to kill them.
The hours passed, and he’d been too absorbed to notice. She shut the water off and went past him into the house. He knew what she’d do next: the quick undressing and the robe again. It happened as predicted, after which a thoughtful look came over her. She pulled another bottle from the shelf and motioned for him to join her at the table. “Kentucky Bourbon,” she said, showing him the bottle. “It’s good. Try some.” She got two glasses, pouring one for both of them. Again they sat.
Malcolm took a drink. He liked the bite and heat of spirits. When he finished it she poured out more. He waited, knowing she had something on her mind.
“This is what I always wanted,” she began. “Just this: a small house and garden. When Cy first brought me here, I fell in love. The garden wasn’t anything like it is now—just citrus trees and grass. The rest was me. I sat outside and stared for hours, building up an image in my mind. I even planned it all out on a chart. Color, texture, flow. And then I went to work.
“It took a lot of time, but when I saw the shoots come up, I cried. I swear, I’m not a crier, but I couldn’t help myself. The blooms formed, and I can’t describe the joy. Maybe it sounds like insanity, but it feels like love. My love. Maybe it’s the only thing I’ve ever loved.
“Making up those charts, on the other hand,” she said, downing more bourbon, “that turned out to be a joke. This garden’s never looked a thing like my initial vision. Everything I do is mere suggestion. Nature makes the big decisions for me.“ She appeared to think this over for a moment, after which she leaned back in her chair and smiled with a blush of pleasure. “That’s what I like the most about gardening—the give and take. Out there it’s like a five-year conversation I’ve been having with the world. If I leave, the conversation will go on without me. And that’s the worst thing I can think of.” Instantly the pleasure faded. Malcolm thought he saw the shine of tears. They welled up for a second, and then she blinked and they were gone. No more than that. But he could see the wild look again, the look that said I need something to do. He
He saw from her expression she was shifting into mission mode, her eyes already fixed on what she planned to do with the rest of her day. Decisions made apparently, she stood abruptly, transitioned from one set of clothes into another, grabbed her tea, and went outside.
Although she hadn’t asked him to this time, Malcolm followed her. He sat and worked to take it in—the reasons for her strong attachment to this place. It was quite beautiful. That he acknowledged.
Her sprawling flowerbeds were separated by flat stones, each bed of different shapes and sizes. Lush, vibrant shades of green surrounded bright pockets of color. A rich mélange of calming scents rose around him, the aftermath of rain on leaves, sunshine on earth. Sporadic bursts of late-winter light made the wash of petals shimmer in the breeze.
His slow perusal pulled him outward, past Cy’s lemon tree, the two orange trees on either side, all the way to where green junipers stood sentry at the edges of the land.
It was a good place. Earth and sky made very happy here.
In it, Dinah moved with purpose. Driven. Never tiring. Occasionally she stopped to drink tea that had long since gone stone cold. Then her thoughts visibly cleared and she set off on some new task.
“You could leave,” he’d said. Maybe she couldn’t.
Malcolm tore his gaze from her and cast his mind into the world beyond the trees. He saw the little town she’d spoken of, the rough men who inhabited it. Would they really try to claim her?
They should come. He’d love to kill them.
The hours passed, and he’d been too absorbed to notice. She shut the water off and went past him into the house. He knew what she’d do next: the quick undressing and the robe again. It happened as predicted, after which a thoughtful look came over her. She pulled another bottle from the shelf and motioned for him to join her at the table. “Kentucky Bourbon,” she said, showing him the bottle. “It’s good. Try some.” She got two glasses, pouring one for both of them. Again they sat.
Malcolm took a drink. He liked the bite and heat of spirits. When he finished it she poured out more. He waited, knowing she had something on her mind.
“This is what I always wanted,” she began. “Just this: a small house and garden. When Cy first brought me here, I fell in love. The garden wasn’t anything like it is now—just citrus trees and grass. The rest was me. I sat outside and stared for hours, building up an image in my mind. I even planned it all out on a chart. Color, texture, flow. And then I went to work.
“It took a lot of time, but when I saw the shoots come up, I cried. I swear, I’m not a crier, but I couldn’t help myself. The blooms formed, and I can’t describe the joy. Maybe it sounds like insanity, but it feels like love. My love. Maybe it’s the only thing I’ve ever loved.
“Making up those charts, on the other hand,” she said, downing more bourbon, “that turned out to be a joke. This garden’s never looked a thing like my initial vision. Everything I do is mere suggestion. Nature makes the big decisions for me.“ She appeared to think this over for a moment, after which she leaned back in her chair and smiled with a blush of pleasure. “That’s what I like the most about gardening—the give and take. Out there it’s like a five-year conversation I’ve been having with the world. If I leave, the conversation will go on without me. And that’s the worst thing I can think of.” Instantly the pleasure faded. Malcolm thought he saw the shine of tears. They welled up for a second, and then she blinked and they were gone. No more than that. But he could see the wild look again, the look that said I need something to do. He
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