Twirling the empty bottle in his fingers, Tim leaned back with one hand clasped behind his head. He couldn’t get Jessica Kaufman out of his mind. It had been years since he dated—years since he had voluntarily socialized with anyone. He meant what he said when he told her he was going to stop by and check in on her and the girls. Running his free hand through his long hair, he smiled, knowing it would be soon.
***
Jessica lay in the far-left corner of her vast California-king bed, barely taking up any space. She scrolled through the numerous messages on her cell phone with a raised eyebrow. It seemed word had gotten out about her finalized divorce, some of her friends in the neighborhood texting to make sure she was okay, asking if she was going to have to move. Some of these gals weren’t close friends—they were nosy bitches looking for the latest neighborhood gossip, and she was the flavor-of-the-week. Their boldness and blatant rudeness in their questions was unbelievable. There were also a couple of messages from her mother, and her best friend Elizabeth asking her to please call. Jessica didn’t have the energy.
She tossed her phone onto the bedside table and stared up at the ornate ceiling fan turning lazily above. Being an only child had its disadvantages. This was one of them. She was a grown woman and her parents still treated her like a child, coaching her in her behavior and what she should say to everyone about her divorce. Her own mother had dared to tell her she shouldn’t even think about dating for at least three years!
“No man is going to want someone with four daughters, sweetie. I want you to be prepared.”
Jessica inhaled sharply, wishing she had a sister to talk to. She could always call her bestie, Elizabeth, but it was late, and she’d see her tomorrow and fill her in then. It gave her great satisfaction knowing her girls had each other. They would never be alone in the world like she was growing up. They would always, always have someone to count on when life hit them hard.
She sighed, feeling like a tractor-trailer had hit her. Maybe she and the girls should take that long, overdue vacation to Disney World she’d been thinking about. Now was as good a time as any. But could she handle four little ones on her own in a place that big without help? She hadn’t been able to handle them all in the past few months, her out-of-control household evidence of that.
Contemplating a Disney vacay, Jessica bent her fingers in front of her face and scowled, looking at her fingernails—the edges gnawed off from countless days of stress and angst not knowing where she and her daughters would end up. If her mother saw her nails or the way she dressed each day in flimsy running shorts and tank tops, she’d be appalled. It was a far cry from the meticulously put-together outfits she used to take pride in wearing before she had children, intentionally showing off for her new husband. All her life she had been conditioned to create a façade of perfection. As a teen, she was the perfect daughter, the perfect high school cheerleader, and the perfect sorority girl. As a woman, she mastered the image of a perfect friend, a perfect wife, and a perfect mother. The reality of marriage and children threw perfection out the window, and she just didn’t care anymore. Really, what did it matter? She did the best she could to make it through another day without completely falling apart in front of her girls.
When the courier delivered the papers from her lawyer, the new reality punched her in the gut and made her feel like she had failed her children. Overwhelmed with disappointment and uncertainty, she wanted to jump in her white Land Rover and drive far, far away. But she had responsibilities at home. Her only real escape was the pantry in her kitchen, explaining to her daughters that she needed her own time-out, which gave her space to fall apart without upsetting them in the process. What she wasn’t prepared for was a tall, Georgia pine of a man coming to her rescue in her most vulnerable moment.
If her parents knew she had allowed a strange man into her home while she had a mini-meltdown in the pantry, they would have come unglued, for sure. They’d snub their noses at a man like Tim McGill and insist she stay as far away as possible from a blue-collar worker who looked more like a beast than a man. It didn’t matter if he was a decent human being or a kind-hearted gentleman. The fact that he worked in landscaping and used his hands in manual labor was something they’d never approve of. It was drilled into her head her entire life that she was destined to wed a wealthy, educated man. Yeah, right. Look how that turned out.
Pulling the sheets to her chin, she thought about Tim. The girls were enamored with him, saying his bearded face and long hair reminded them of the Beast in their favorite Disney movie. She laughed at the memory and thought guys with that much hair were usually hiding from something. Did he have some kind of a past, or was he just a crunchy granola kind of guy with a free spirit? He seemed pretty reserved and laid back, and he was nothing but gentle around her daughters. She recalled watching him on the video baby monitor when he tenderly picked up Jo-Jo, his face breaking into a giant grin, tickling her while she lay on the changing table. The way he spoke to her with true intention was precious, and she was fascinated watching him. Stephen never engaged with their daughters like that. Stephen never seemed to have any time for them at all, and when they did spend time together, he was often more annoyed than anything. Disapproval and anger were his go-to’s, not able to handle the loud noises and playful antics of four little girls. It was his loss—and her daughters. Would they ever have a father figure in their lives? A man who could show them unconditional love? Sending up a fervent prayer, she shivered.
Baby Jo-Jo started to babble over the baby monitor. Jessica looked over at the video screen perched on her bedside table and smiled. Her tiny daughter stood in her crib, bobbing up and down saying “mama” over and over. Sliding out from underneath the sheets, Jessica tiptoed upstairs into the little girl’s room, her feet padding on the thick carpet. Joanne’s little face lit up at the sight of her, which made her heart throb with love.
“Come here, sweet girl.” She lifted her out and retreated to the comfortable rocker she had used for many months as she nursed her little ones. Jo-Jo snuggled into her chest as Jessica rocked back and forth, the long day slowly coming to an end. She rested her chin on her daughter’s blonde curls and breathed in the scent of lavender and baby skin. This was her happy place, holding her child close. She exhaled and started to humYou Are My Sunshinebefore she closed her eyes.
Her divorce was final—it was all behind her. Who knew what the future held. As long as her daughters were safe and she could hold them in her arms, there was nothing to fear. She’d do just fine on her own, empowered by their unconditional love.
Chapter Four
“Mrs. McDonald called and wanted her rose bushes pruned back if you can get to it,” Martin Hernandez instructed over the phone in a thick accent. “You know how meticulous she can get when it comes to her flowers, and she’d like to be there when it can get done.”
“I’ll get to it today when I’m finished at the Johnson’s,” Tim replied, taking a respite from the hot and humid day in the shelter of his air-conditioned truck cab.
“Gracias, Tim. You are much appreciated.”
Tim genuinely liked Mr. Hernandez. He was an immigrant from Mexico, entering the United States as a young boy when his parents illegally crossed the Texas border. They wanted a new and better life for their family. Tim loved hearing Martin’s tenacious tale of determination and hard work, learning English and gaining his citizenship. The enthusiasm Martin showed would make any American heart swell with pride. He’d helped his parents start the now profitable and reliable landscape company. Since coming to America in the late eighties, the entire family had gone through the process of becoming U.S. citizens. They were legally allowed to be here and work as hard as they wanted for their American dream. Unfortunately, there were those highfalutin folks who assumed the Hernandez family were illegals. This enraged Tim. Martin had to verify citizenship on more than one occasion, always proving the judgmental cocksuckers wrong. He was proud of the entire Hernandez clan and what they had accomplished over the years. They reminded him of the multiple Mexican families that tended his family’s almond farm back in the day—hard-working men and women who were loyal and who he considered part of his own family.
The Hernandez company was one of a handful of landscape vendors approved to do business in the upper-class, gated community. Most households who employed Martin and his crew never complained and were more than satisfied with their stellar work. Bringing Tim on board a year and a half ago was a fluke as Martin had only ever used his own family members or day laborers for bigger jobs. Tim had never worked in landscaping but was willing and able to take on the dirty work—anything to get him out of the house and keep his mind off what he had lost. His Spanish speaking skills clinched the deal, and Martin gave Tim a shot. He’d been a team player ever since.
Using his sharpened pruners, Tim was careful as he cut back the prize rose bushes of Mrs. McDonald the way she had shown him. An abundance of gorgeous flowering blooms, some of which were larger than Tim’s fist, were on full display in the pretty garden. She had instructed him to cut the largest blooms first and place them in a utility bucket she kept on the porch so she could arrange them later in her home or donate them to the fancy tables at their country club. As fast as these flowers bloomed, Tim often wondered if her home resembled a florist shop, overrun with roses on every available surface.
Mrs. McDonald was an elderly woman in her late-seventies—one of the nicest clients he tended. It never failed, if she were home and would see him in the backyard, she’d bring out a tall glass of her famous sweet tea and offer it to him. They usually chatted about the weather or how she had learned a new trick from her bridge group how to keep the aphids off the delicate petals of her prize flowers. Hers was the prettiest garden in the neighborhood, by far. Probably because it wasn’t just for show—she actually spent time tending to it.
Sure enough, when he was three-quarters of the way done, and the utility bucket was overflowing with fantastic roses in a variety of colors, Mrs. McDonald opened the back-porch door, holding a glass of tea in her gnarled hands.
“Good morning, Tim. I thought you could use a cold beverage. It’s turning out to be a scorcher today.” Her accent was more Carolina based, smooth and distinct.
Taking off his gloves, he smiled at the old lady and reached for the drink. “Thank you, Mrs. McDonald. You must have read my mind.” He took a large swig of the sweet tea and swallowed. “Martin told me you’d be home today while I pruned.”
She nodded and fanned her hand out, offering him a seat. The two chatted under the shade of her porch as a large ceiling fan twirled the hot air above them. The elderly woman was a widow, her husband Henry passing a few months before Tim started working in her garden. There was always a Henry story she was eager to share as well as the latest pictures of her two adorable grandchildren who lived in Florida. Today, it was a picture her youngest grandson had sent in the mail—a scribbled mess of an assortment of colors on a thin page from a Superman coloring book.
“He’s in a superhero phase right now. The red cape I sent this past Christmas rarely stays off his little body.”
Tim chuckled, setting his empty glass on a side table, the remaining ice clinking in the bottom of the glass. “Well, what little boy doesn’t like a superhero?” He started to stand. “Thank you so much for the tea, Mrs. McDonald. That really hit the spot.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“Your flowers are popping like crazy. What have you been doing to them?” He towered over the small woman who looked up at him with a cheeky smile.
