“Miles—”
“You know, sometimes, I wonder if there was some higher lesson I was supposed to learn from the whole thing. Something that maybe I’d missed in a former life. An opportunity I missed in this one, and losing her—them—is my punishment.” I steal a glance at him from the corner of my eye. “Like, somehow, I deserved it. Earned it.”
“I can’t believe that, man. No one deserves that kind of trauma.” Jason drains his beer. Silently, he orders another round.
“I don’t know. If I can’t find the lesson, the least I can do is try to do right by the whole thing.”
“Well, we’re here for you, man. Anything you need.”
“About that,” I start, holding my breath.
Jason pins me with an arched brow. I’m almost certain he’s already dreading his offer.
“I’m going to have to bounce when I get the call from Aly’s lawyer. I’m guessing I won’t have a ton of notice before I need to leave, so until then, is it cool if I keep working the odd hours? In early, out early? Hell, I don’t really even need to leave early most days. I just… Whatever I can work ahead on is what I’m doing.”
Jason nods, huffing out a laugh. “You don’t have to kill yourself with the job. It’ll be there when you get in and still fucking be there at the end of the day. I’m not worried about things falling through the cracks, not from you.”
I wish I felt the same way. Instead, all I feel is the looming potential of disappointment.
“Why arewe digging up all the grass?” Jake asks. “Does this mean I won’t get paid as much?” He leans against the fence at the back of the small lot, draping his arms along the length, sagging dramatically.
“Nope. Pay is for the job, not per blade of grass. Come on. Let’s get the grass up before your mom decides to make her garden bigger.” The spade cuts through the sod, lifting it in clumps.
Jake works, humming something that sounds a hell of a lot like one of the songs for his video game. Knocking dirt from the clods of grass and chucking them into the wheelbarrow.
By the time we are down to bare earth in some curved pattern that Chloe drew out for reference, Jake and I are hot, sweaty, dirty messes.
“You boys want a cold drink first, or should we go straight to the garden center to pick up dirt and plants?” Chloe asks, juggling a couple of big cups filled to the brim with ice and water and…cucumber?
Jesus, she put chunks of cucumber in the water.
I take a cup and sip, tasting. And then I drain it. The cold water, while good on its own, is better, more refreshing with the light flavor I can’t even describe.
“It’s good, right?” She’s smiling huge, relaxed and happy.
“It is. Not used to drinking my salad unless it’s in a protein shake or smoothie, but this is…”
“It’s weird,” Jake says, cutting in. “She always hides veggies—like, in everything. Iknowyou do it with muffins and other stuff, Mom,” he adds, plucking cukes from his water like they’re bugs floating but popping them in his mouth anyway.
Chloe shrugs. “Yep. You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you? Okay, are we ready?” She collects the empty cups and marches back across the yard, her sweet ass swaying, ponytail bobbing.
Dear God, she’s beautiful.
“Let’s go, bud,” I say, wrapping a hand on Jake’s shoulder, steering him after his mom.
“I just don’t understand why we need any more dirt. She always does this stuff, and it’s crazy.” Jake rolls his eyes and throws his hands out, letting them fall to his sides.
“Yeah, this one falls underwork hardandrespect your elders. And when in doubt, just do what your mom says. That’s probably the best rule to live by.”
We pile into my truck and spend the next couple of hours picking out flowers and vegetables. Dirt and rocks and mulch. Chloe agonizes over decisions. Which colors to put together.Which variety of tomato plant. Carrots and cucumbers, beans and berries. And Jake and I just follow along behind her. Pushing the cart, checking out the flowers in other people’s carts, looking at the pictures of full blooms on the little tags.
“What about this one?” I hand Chloe a plastic pot with a bunch of leaves and nothing else. I bite down on my lip to fight a smile as she scrunches up her face.
“What is that?” She takes the pot from me and looks at the tag. “Poppies?”
I glance over my shoulder. Jake is at the end of the row, looking at the Venus flytraps.
“Mmhmm. Those pretty pink petals remind me of—oof.”
