The Unfinished Garden (31 page)

Chapter 31

“Dad!” Daniel shouted up the stairs. “C’mon! We’ll be
late.”

James glanced at his watch. No, they had three minutes. Daniel
definitely had a touch of OCD, but they’d had a good conversation about that—one
of many centered on anxiety, depression, the whole genetic shebang. James had
even shared his recent journey through the world of exposures, although, if he
were being honest, that was a poorly disguised excuse to talk about Tilly.
Thankfully, Daniel had suspected nothing. James was torn between his desperation
to keep Tilly present in his daily life and a dread of answering questions about
their non-relationship. If he had to explain his feelings for her out loud, he
would crack. Five weeks and six days since he’d heard her voice, but every time
he spoke her name, he kick-started his heart.

“Give me two minutes,” James called back. He sat on the bed in
his son’s guest room, phone pressed to his ear, resisting the urge to twist his
hair. Was Saturday night a bad time to call?

“Virginia!” He shot up when she answered the phone. “James
Nealy here.”

“James! What a delightful surprise. How are you, my dear?”

“I’m well, thank you.” As he should be—running every day,
pushing his body until the exhaustion in his limbs melted away and his need for
Tilly dulled to match the ache in his lungs. September in Seattle had surprised
him with endless warm, sunny days, but he’d hoped for gray skies and rain.
Weather that spoke to him of Tilly.

James cleared his throat. “I’m afraid this is a quick call,
since my son and I are going to the movies.”

“How lovely.”

James smiled. He missed Virginia, although maybe not her psycho
dog. And he missed Woodend. He had never been as happy, or as desolate, as he’d
been in that house—thanks to the torture of love, or rather his love for Tilly,
which was unique and exquisite, and killing him cell by cell. His only link to
her these days was the twice-weekly phone call with Rowena that had become his
means of watching over Tilly and Isaac, of reassuring himself that they were
safe and happy. That knowledge was invaluable.

James cleared his throat. “Rowena tells me Sebastian has
decided not to buy Woodend.”

“Indeed. Heaven only knows what took him so long. I gather she
proposed?”

“And he accepted.” So, Virginia wasn’t surprised that he and
Rowena had stayed in contact. But then again, Virginia was all-knowing. “Do you
have a new buyer?”

“James.” Virigina sounded like his tenth grade Spanish teacher,
the one who spent an entire school year turning his name into a reprimand. “I
won’t sell Woodend to you.”

“Not even if I begged?” Or doubled her asking price, which he
could do if he sold his never-lived-in mansion.

“You don’t need Woodend to win my daughter’s heart. Have a
little faith.”

Yesterday Rowena had told him the same thing, but he was almost
out of faith. He was almost out of everything. Tilly had given him back his
life, but without her, what was the point? Without her he was empty.

* * *

A ragtag tropical storm had answered Tilly’s gardening
prayers with three inches of rain and seventy-degree warmth. Scarlet salvias
spilled into coleus the colors of stained glass windows, and the giant leonitis
and castor bean plants had stepped, surely, from the pages of
The Lorax
. Had her main bed ever looked this good?

Tilly tried to relax into her Sunday afternoon and enjoy the
music of her forest: the melody of the thrush, the hammer of the scarlet-headed
woodpecker, the cry of the hawk seeking its mate. The sunshine was soft and the
air flavored with wood smoke, yet the pinched feeling in her stomach tightened,
stealing her joy piecemeal.

She concentrated on the memorial dogwood, its leaves of copper
and crimson marking the end of another year without David. But this year’s end
was different. She was different. Images of the breathing tube protruding from
David’s mouth—a stake through both their lives—still haunted her, but she no
longer struggled to recall David’s voice nor fought to convince herself that he
was merely waiting for her out of sight. And thanks to James, she anchored
memories of David with laughter, not remorse.

Tilly grinned, conjuring up the day her mother had visited
David in hospital. Groggy from jet lag, Mrs. Haddington had pulled the wrong
cord in the bathroom and a battalion of nurses had barged in to rescue her
mid-flush. Tilly and Isaac had laughed until they’d ached. David would have been
laughing, too. Their last family joke.

A pair of hummingbirds chittered over her candy corn cuphea,
and the memory evaporated, replaced by the ache of words unspoken, but not to
her husband.

Twenty-three hours earlier she had called James’s iPhone, the
phone he kept with him always, and had reached his voice mail. Sick with nerves,
she had been unable to leave more than a brief message. How could she have been
so sure of him, of them, and been so wrong? But yesterday was over, and she
didn’t have to accept his silence. Tonight, she would explain to Isaac that Sari
was coming to stay, and then detail the school carpooling schedule she had
jury-rigged while he slept. Her brain spun with the favors she’d owe when she
returned.

Would Isaac cheer or cry at the news that she was running after
James? How would James react? And what would his son think? Okay, so she might
make a fool of herself, but living with regret was far worse. She should
know.

A mob of cyclists whooshed by on Creeping Cedars Road, and an
acorn clonked down the roof through the web of a fat, russet spider. Cyclists,
acorns and spiders—the next month belonged to them. And, if she could convince
him, James and Tilly.

“Mom….” Isaac kicked over a large stone and scoured underneath
for skinks. She smiled at his stained T-shirt, his untied sneakers, his bangs
falling into his eyes now that he had decided to grow his hair as long as
James’s. “When can we put up the Halloween decorations?”

“This afternoon?”
Great, Tilly, bribe
him.

“Awesome!” He plunked the stone back in place and moved on to
the next one. “Don’t we need a new crashing witch this year?”

“Already bought one.” Damn, that was meant to be a
surprise.

“You have? Wow-zee. You’re the best, Super Mom.”

“That would be me.” Super Mom had always been enough, but not
today. Tilly flopped back and splayed her arms, crucifixion style, over the
steps.

The phone in her hand shrilled and she leaped up, her spine
tingling.
Let it be James. Let it be
— She clicked
the talk button. “Piedmont Perennials.”

“Hello, Tilly.” Was this the voice Sebastian used to coax
clients through tough financial decisions? Or had he created a special tone for
the ex-lover best friend to the love of his life? That had to be worth a session
or two on the psychiatrist’s couch. Not that Sebastian would ever consider
visiting a shrink.

“Hey. This is…a pleasant surprise,” Tilly said. Why couldn’t it
have been James? Was it so hard to answer one phone call? Was he avoiding
her?

“How’s the business?” Ice chinked on the other end of the phone
line, even though it was way past English cocktail time.

“Expanding. Sari, my partner, pelts ahead with a vodka tonic in
hand. I prance along behind with the gin.” The humor worked; the maelstrom in
her head dissipated.

“Jolly good, then.”

What, no reprimand for mixing business and alcohol? “Want to
tell me what this is about?”

Sebastian made a sucking noise, as if he’d tasted something
sour. “That obvious?”

“You? Spitting out what you want to say on the first
attempt?”

“I’m a changed man. All touchy-feely.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Although she preferred not to. “How’s
Ro?”

“Christ, she’s amazing.” Sebastian’s voice filled with the awe
of a child watching fireworks.
Yukety, yuk.
Tilly
pointed a finger into her mouth. Isaac gave her a quizzical look, and she shooed
him away.

“And the kids?” Tilly pushed her hands into the small of her
back. She was stiff from a day of standing in the greenhouse, and there was so
much left to do, especially now she’d added Halloween decorating to the
afternoon’s activities. “How’re Archie and Sophie adapting?”

“You mean to their father becoming a love-struck teenager?”

Not exactly what she meant, but close enough. Tilly bent down
and rubbed her fingers over the leaves of her scented agastache, then sniffed.
Hmm. Anise, delicious.

“Sorry,” he said. “You probably didn’t want to hear that.”

“Nonsense. It was nauseating, but sweet. I’m happy for you
both, really.”

More ice chinked and Sebastian took a gulp of something. All
summer she had tried to figure out what his favorite tipple was, but Sebastian
had become a man without a cocktail preference, a social chameleon who drank
what everyone else did. The realization was oddly irritating.

“The children are fine, better than fine. They adore Rowena.
It’s not them I’m worried about.”

Aha, so
that
was his problem. “If
Ro’s still beating herself up, tell her not to.”

“I have, I do, but it’s not enough. I want to give her a
present for our third-month anniversary. A special gift.” Tilly rolled her eyes
as Sebastian spoke. “You.”

“Me? I may be short but I’m impossible to gift-wrap. And
shipping’s prohibitive. Jewelry would be cheaper.”

“Very funny.”

Except he wasn’t laughing. God, how did Rowena have the
patience?

“I have to fly to Washington at the end of October,” Sebastian
said. “I thought I might bring Rowena and then fly down to North Carolina for a
weekend. Or would that be too awkward? Lousy idea, huh?”

“Are you kidding? That would be fab. Hey, Isaac! What d’you
think about Ro and Sebastian trick-or-treating with us?”

Isaac gyrated his limbs in opposing directions—part crazed
soccer fan, part disco diva. Was it too much to hope that he would accept her
news as happily?

“Isaac concurs. Come whenever.”

“Brilliant, bloody brilliant.” Sebastian blew into the phone.
“There is one other thing.” He sipped his drink. “You won’t give us separate
bedrooms, will you? It’s just that we can’t bear to sleep apart.”

“Oh
puhleeeease
.” Did he really
have to say that?

She shivered. Sebastian and Rowena were sharing bedrooms,
bodies, probably even a sodding toothbrush. They were creating a future
together, doing everything that she wanted to do with James. A yellow oak leaf
spiraled to Tilly’s feet and she stared at it. Her admiration for Rowena
doubled, tripled, quadrupled. Ro had lived with this yearning for twenty years;
Tilly wasn’t sure she could make it through twenty-four hours.

“How’s James?” If Sebastian were aiming for casual, he failed.
Clearly he hadn’t forgiven James for bunking with Rowena.

“On walkabout.” Tilly worried at a rose thorn in her finger.
Finally it had risen to the surface; one tug and it would be out.

“Rowena thought he might be back by now.”

Terrific. Rowena and Sebastian had been discussing her love
life. “Me too, which pokes a big fat hole in the sanctity of female intuition.
His house is done, though. You should see it.” Tilly snapped open the butterfly
clip that scraped back her hair. “Well, you wouldn’t be able to, since you’d
never clamber over the gates and hike up the drive.”

“You
tres
passed?”

“I just wanted a quick butcher’s for garden possibilities.
James wouldn’t care. The house is stunning, with lots of sharp angles and long
thin windows.” Speaking his name,
James,
made Tilly
want to turn herself inside out and howl. She was where she had never wanted to
be again—in love. And it was the worst feeling in the world.

“Tilly. Why don’t you admit that you love him?”

Love advice from Sebastian. How bizarre was that? She must have
been really messed up over the summer if she’d believed they could make the
whole friendship thing zing. Her best friend’s husband, on the other hand, was a
role they could both handle. Civility without strings. She resecured the
butterfly clip. “I reached the same conclusion, about being in love. So I
called, left a message, but he didn’t respond. We had this agreement, you see,
that he would wait for my call. Only he didn’t live up to his end of the
bargain.”

Tilly pinched a dead leaf from her red cascade rose. All spring
she had struggled to train it up a trellis, but while she and Isaac were away it
broke free. Now it wove wherever it fancied, and the effect was stunning. Next
year she wouldn’t interfere.

An unexpected thrill pounced, a longing for the surprises of
spring when tender plants poked through the soil in defiance of hardiness
ratings, self-seeded annuals popped up in unexpected niches and perennials died
without explanation, leaving gaps for new plants. Her garden was a place of
death, rebirth, and change, and like her life, would continue to evolve whether
James loved her or not. She would go after him, she would confront him, and if
he rejected her, she would walk away. Some things were worth the fear of
heartbreak.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Ring him again. Messages get
lost…mobiles break.”

“Not in James’s world. Nuh-huh. He got my message. The only
question is what he chooses to do with it.” The rest of the story was hers.
Sebastian didn’t need to hear more.

“You didn’t get this from me, okay?” Sebastian’s voice was
muffled, as if he’d turned away from her. “Village rumor has a wealthy American
buying Woodend.”

No! Her mother would have told her. Wouldn’t she? Tilly
squinted up through a visor of fingers and watched a cumulus cloud scud across
the sky.
Where are you, James?

“Mom?” Isaac touched her arm. “Are you sick? You look kinda
odd. Wow!” He jumped away from her. “Did you see that? Down there by the
creek.”