Nipped in the Bud (3 page)

“
Shh
, you silly bird.”
I was always surprised by my affection for the mostly green feathered bigmouth, whose full name was Thunderbird. His bright blue head tilted to the side, portraying a simple innocence coupled with a haughty superiority. He was nearly thirty years old, but I’d had the dubious pleasure of Mr. T’s company only for the year I’d owned this building.

My shop had lived its first life as a service garage. The previous owner kept Mr. T to entertain the clients as they waited for their cars. The television, always on in the waiting area, had expanded Mr. T’s vocabulary. He randomly spouted bits from commercials, songs, and shows, especially his favorites like
The
A
Team
and
Jeopardy
. When his owner died, Mr. T went into a deep depression. I bought the shop and agreed to let him stay in his familiar surroundings to see if he would perk up. He didn’t just perk; he boiled over with enthusiasm.

“I
gotta
be free, I
gotta
be free,” he said in a singsong tone, his way of telling me he wanted out. We let him out of his cage daily for exercise. This required vigilance, as many plants are poisonous to parrots.

I didn’t have time to watch him, so I did my best to ignore his continual talking and surfed to Portland Construction Rentals’ Web site. With specifications listed on the screen, I sketched a quick layout of the fence sections my job required and tallied the cost.

“Three thousand bucks,” I grumbled then leaned back and threaded my fingers into my hair, loosening my ponytail. Maybe if I pulled it out from frustration, I could sell it to help pay for the fence.

“I’ll take Fun Facts for five hundred, Alex,” Mr. T said.

“Nothing fun about this, old buddy.”
I tapped out a quick message to Ned
Binski
, owner of Portland Construction Rentals, with my detailed fence needs, as Mr. T watched in silence.

Where was I going to come up with the three thousand dollars to pay Ned?
Easy answer.
I wasn’t. I’d need to convince him to bring the price down to free. He owed me for my part in getting the largest landscape design firm in
Portland
to sign an exclusive rental contract with his company, and it was time to call in a return favor. I never wanted to use his business as a bargaining chip, but I had no choice. Failing on this highly visible job was not an option. What was I saying? Failing at anything was never an option in my book.

“See you later, buddy,” I said to Mr. T and seated my wireless headset on my ear.

“Y’all come back now,
ya
hear?”

Laughing at his departing phrase, I went to the workroom and grabbed some large black garbage bags and rubber gloves. I dialed Ned’s number, sent up my second prayer of the morning, and rushed outside.

“That you, Paige Turner?”
Ned asked after the third ring.

I cringed as he read my full name off his caller ID.
Thanks, Mom.
A librarian, of all people, should have known better. She didn’t realize her mistake until after she signed the birth certificate, or so she claimed.

“Paige, you there?”
Ned asked.

“Hey, yeah, hi, Ned.”
I forced a smile in my voice as I tugged the formfitting gloves over my fingers then took out my frustrations with my crazy morning on a mound of soggy paper.

“So how’s business in the boonies?”

“Booming.
At least the store is. I bought an old gas station with three service bays. Turned them into greenhouses and planted gardens all around the place. The weekend tourists can’t seem to get enough of it.”

“That
sounds.
. .ah. . .what do you chicks say?
Quaint.
. .yeah, quaint, that’s it. I never thought you’d go all
girlie
on me like that and give up landscaping.”

Girlie, right.
If he could only see me now.
“I didn’t. That’s why I’m calling.”

“So, what do you need?”

Play it cool. Warm him up first. “Who says I need anything?”

He laughed, a big Santa Claus booming chortle, which is why I’d always thought of him as a thick Scotch pine, deeply rooted, sturdy, and towering over me. “I know you, Paige. You don’t call for a year,
then
out of the blue I hear from you. You need something.”

“Actually, I have a huge favor to ask. I just e-mailed an order for a chain link fence. I need to rent it for next to free.”

“For you
Paigey
-girl, I’ll give you my friends’ discount, 50 percent off.”

I stood up straight like a staked dahlia, taking strength from my posture while explaining my dilemma. “I’d never ask, Ned, but I just started the landscaping part of my business, and the city manager’s trying to kill it before it gets off the ground. I know I’m asking a lot. Is there any way you can let me have it for nothing and get it here by the end of the day?”

“Hold on,” he said reluctantly. “Let me pull up your e-mail to see what you need.”

I resumed trash picking while listening to his fingers click on a keyboard. I felt as trashy as the hunk of dripping paper I scraped off the concrete. Why was I doing this? Using Ned this way? Was a little business worth it? True, my back was against a wall, and I had no choice. All my profits from The Garden Gate were reinvested in equipment and supplies for this first job. I didn’t have any liquid assets, other than the small stream of water with scrapbook rejects floating merrily into a puddle at the end of the alley.

I shoved a large coffee filter into the bag. The tiny grounds clinging to the paper reminded me of Lisa’s lice situation. My fingers crept toward my head. I forced them down. No more scratching. My hands were filthy, and I had to focus on my own problem. I could pay Ned back. Yes, that was it. Once the landscaping business was up and running, I’d send him a check for the full amount.

“You’re in luck,” Ned said. “One of my drivers just came in. Give me a chance to load the truck, and I’ll drive out while he takes an early lunch break. Does that work for you, princess?”

“Yes, thank you,” I squeaked out, my voice wavering from his willingness to make the hour-long drive from Portland, not to mention forgiving the huge price tag associated with a rental fence.

“Ah, c’mon now, Paige.
You really are going all
girlie
on me.”

“Sorry, this just means so much to me.”

“Still no need to act like that, if you ask me.
Next thing I know, you’ll be wearing dresses and all that other girlie stuff.” He chuckled, perhaps at the vision of me dressed in anything that slightly identified me as a female. “Look, I
gotta
run if I’m
gonna
get the fencing out there. I’ll call you when I’m a few miles out.”

“Use my cell number. I’ll be at the park waiting for you, and I can give you directions.”

We said good-bye, and I looked up at the startling blue sky to thank God for the break. Okay, so my methods for getting the fence were creative and manipulative perhaps, but God still came through. I didn’t deserve the fence. Face it, I didn’t deserve anything, but God still provided and put joy in my heart.

Enough joy to make the rest of my cleaning seem to speed by even though it took nearly ninety minutes to scrape up every tiny piece of soggy paper. There. The last can was righted with the lid firmly settled. I took off my gloves and sighed over a big blue blotch right in the center of my uniform top. I couldn’t let the stain set in, or it’d ruin the fabric. At the cost of these custom-embroidered
polos
, I had to go home and toss it in the wash.

For the first time that morning, I easily succeeded in my plan. I rushed down the alley that ran behind the main businesses on
Oak Street
. Fortunately, none of the employees at either of the antique stores, the Bakery, or the Crazy Curl were outside to spot my disheveled condition. I cut left at the pharmacy and charged up the outside stairs to my apartment, where I kept a spare key under a variegated
hosta
on the back landing. The jade and lime colored leaves should still be rolled and barely above ground this early in the season, but the height of the staircase, coupled with the warmth of container gardening, had the plant’s giant leaves open,
completely
concealing the container.

Once inside, I tossed a frozen sandwich into the microwave for lunch and set off for the bedroom. I ripped off my shirt as I walked over the aged oak floors and then pulled a fresh polo from the closet. After slipping into the soft yellow cotton garment, I dialed Little Susie Homemaker on my cell and pushed my headset back onto my ear.

“Hey, Lisa,” I said and snatched up my dirty top. “How do you get a dark stain out of clothing?”

She sighed, her usual reaction to a question that she thought I should know the answer to by this point in my life. “Depends on what caused the stain and the fabric it’s on.”

“Blue dye from scrapbook paper I spent the last ninety minutes cleaning up. It’s on my work shirt.” I set out for my stacked washer and dryer in the kitchen.

“Velma strikes again, huh?” Her tone lacked any real sympathy for my plight with my absentminded neighbor.

“She had that big scrapbooking party last week, and there was a huge mess. This is happening too often. I think I’ll start going by on Sunday when she puts out the garbage to make sure the cans are closed.” At the large picture window in my living room, I stopped walking and peered through the tall swaying pines into the park.
Something.
. .something white was moving through the bushes. “Are you at the park waiting for me?”

“No, I’m at Mom’s house, why?”

Wishing I had binoculars, I squinted and searched through the thick foliage. “I can see someone inside my fence.
Looks like they’re wearing something white.”

“How can you see them? Where are you?”

“At home.
Washing my shirt.”

“Well, I’d use a basic stain spray,” she said, as if the stain were more important than another breakin on my project. “Then soak it and wash like usual.”

I looked at the shirt then back at the park one last time. Seeing no further movement, I went into the kitchen. “I wonder if someone is over there messing with my things.”

“It was probably just a plastic garbage bag blowing around. You know how those things show up everywhere. Hold on a sec, Lacy is giving Mom a hard time.” It sounded like she placed her hand over the phone to cover a muffled conversation in the background.

I located the right bottle in the cabinet and sprayed the stain before tossing the top into the washer to soak. At the microwave, I pulled out the ham and cheese sandwich and waited for Lisa to get back to me.

“Sorry about that.” Lisa let a long sigh escape. “The girls are always so tired after preschool on Mondays for some reason. I need to get them down for a nap. Oh, but before I let you go, you’ve
got
to tell me what happened with Bud.”

As I wrapped up the sandwich to eat on the run, I replayed the meeting in great detail. “Even though I got a few good licks in, he was clearly the winner.”

Lisa snickered. “I wonder if he ran right home to report to his wife.”

“Nah, I think she was shopping or something.” I stepped into the front stairwell and told Lisa about the dump truck nearly running over Rachel.

“Do you think she was at the park to check up on you and Bud?” Her voice held the first excitement of the day.
Nothing like some nice juicy gossip to perk her interest.

“I think Rachel checking on me is kind of a stretch, but much as I hate to admit this, I think you were right about Bud and Rachel holding a grudge against me.”

“What?
Wait.
. .let me get some paper.” She laughed.
“Mom!
Mom!” she shouted. “Can you hand me that notepad and a pen? Paige just said I was right about something, and I have to document it.”

“Funny, Lisa.
Very funny.”
I ran down the steps.

“So what are you going to do about the fence?”

“My friend Ned is giving it to me for free. Soon as he gets the truck loaded, he’ll be on his way. Don’t
s’pose
your mom would keep the girls longer so you could come back?”

“Seriously, Paige, you need to hire somebody.”

“I don’t have enough time to find someone now. C’mon, Lisa, you’re always whining about still having excess baby weight. Think of the great exercise you’ll be getting.”

She groaned but in a tone that said she’d caved. “Okay. But this is the last time. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I exited the front of my building and stepped onto the sidewalk. Hazel came out of the Bakery, her head down, hands digging into a tote bag emblazoned with Led
Zepplin
in faded letters. I employed a part-timer to fill in at the shop during our lunch breaks, so Hazel never missed her daily gossip fest at the Bakery.

“Hey, Hazel,” I called out. Her head snapped up, exposing her wrinkled face and cracked skin. My hardworking employee was a native Oregonian through and through. She loved the outdoors, no matter the climate, and to me that spelled the sedum plant. Rugged, durable, rock-hardy, often described as tough as nails, sedum fit Hazel perfectly.