“Bring the champagne,” said Tiphaine.
Chapter 7
A few moments later, the two women stood outside the neighboring house and rang the bell. Tiphaine opened the front door and stepped aside to let them in.
The Geniots’ house was more or less identical to Nora’s, and she had no difficulty finding her way to the back door. She walked out onto the deck and let out an involuntary gasp of admiration, then began rhapsodizing about the glorious colors of her neighbor’s delightful yard. Plants and flower beds were planted in perfect harmony, shrubs and bushes seemingly in dialogue with the wind, an enchanting concerto of color and scent. Nora had seen the beautiful backyard from her first-floor window, but looking at it up close, stretched out in front of her, she was able to appreciate it in all its glory, the perfect balance of order and creativity.
“It’s stunning,” she said, utterly beguiled.
“Thank you,” said Tiphaine.
“How do you do it? You have a real gift.”
“It’s kind of my job, actually. Do you want me to show you around?”
Nora and Mathilde were happy to accept.
Tiphaine gave them a tour of the yard, with explanations about each flower or shrub, its properties, and why she had chosen to plant it there instead of somewhere else.
Two-thirds of the way down, the path split the terrain into two equal sections, which Tiphaine had transformed into a vegetable garden, where she grew different types of lettuce, carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, and zucchini.
When they reached the very end of the yard, she showed them behind the row of bushes that concealed the boundary wall. Here Tiphaine had created a space about three feet wide and ten feet long, where a compost bin filled with decomposing organic waste was concealed.
Tiphaine explained to Nora and Mathilde the composting process and its multiple benefits: its use as a fertilizer, the valuable and varied properties that improve soil structure and increase biodiversity, and, last but not least, the recycling of household waste.
Nora, whose gardening activities were limited to repotting, was impressed. And a little revolted by the off-putting stench of rotting organic matter.
“It’s true it doesn’t smell great,” Tiphaine admitted. “Which is why I planted this row of bushes: they keep the smell of the compost on this side and hide the bin, too. So, are we going to smoke this joint?”
They walked back up to the deck and sat down. Tiphaine started to roll a joint. It was an odd moment; they made small talk, as if to make their illicit activity seem ordinary.
“I prefer staying outside,” said Tiphaine. “My son’s up in his room. If he caught me smoking a joint...He doesn’t often come down after ten, but I’d rather not take the risk.”
“It’s funny to think we used to hide our smoking from our parents, and now we hide our smoking from our children,” said Nora with a chuckle.
“How old’s your son?” asked Mathilde.
“Fifteen.”
“Oh god, I’m sorry,” she said, making a face.
Tiphaine nodded and sighed deeply, and the other two women laughed.
“My eldest is eighteen,” added Mathilde, sympathetically. “I won’t pretend it’s nirvana every day, but let’s just say the turbulence is behind us. At least as far as that one’s concerned.”
“How many do you have?”
“Three,” said Mathilde, eyeing the joint that Tiphaine had nearly finished rolling. “Eighteen, nine, and four. Two boys, one girl. And not a minute to myself.”
“Such is our lot in life,” said Nora with a pensive sigh. All three suddenly froze as they heard a noise from inside the house. They held their breath and waited, throwing nervous glances at one another, ready to hide the evidence of their crime in case of an untimely intrusion.
“It’s probably Sylvain,” Tiphaine said in a whisper, glancing at her watch. “He’s normally back around now.”
“Is that your husband?” asked Nora.
“Yeah, he has a lot of work on right now. He often gets back late.”
“What does he do?”
