“No, it’s not,” she smiles. “But he did love them.”
We work in the garden for three hours. Meredith directs from her chair, her ankle still healing, while Wyatt and I handle the physical labor. We weed, water, check for pests, and prune dead growth. It’s hard work. My back aches, and my hands are sore even through the gloves, but there’s something deeply satisfying about it, about putting your hands in the dirt and watching things grow.
“You’re a natural,” Meredith calls to me as I carefully transplant a tomato seedling into a larger pot.
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do. You’ve got the patience and the gentleness for it. Some people treat plants like they’re in a hurry, rushing through everything, and then wonder why nothing thrives. But you take your time. You pay attention.”
“My mother would be horrified,” I say without thinking. “She thought gardening was beneath us, something for the hired help.”
“No offense to your mother, but that’s ridiculous,” Meredith says bluntly. “Putting your hands in the earth and growing your own food is one of the most human things a person can do. There’s nothing beneath about it.”
I look at the seedling in my hands, at the delicate roots and the promise of what it can become.
“I’m starting to believe that,” I say.
After we clean up, Meredith insists on making lunch. Wyatt and I, of course, try to help, but she shoos us right out of the kitchen.
“Go sit on the porch. I might be old, but I can still make sandwiches without supervision.”
We sit on the porch swing, the chains creaking softly as we rock back and forth.
“She’s as stubborn as a mule,” I say.
“Family trait.” Wyatt stretches his legs out, crossing his ankles. “Thank you for doing this. She’s been lonely since Grandpa died. She won’t admit it, but she has been.”
“I like spending time with her.”
“She likes you, too. She told me this morning, before you even got here. Said you have ‘good energy’.” He does air quotes with his fingers. “Whatever that means.”
“It means she’s very polite.”
He smiles. “It means she approves, which, trust me, is not something she does easily. She absolutely hated Laney.”
I blink, surprised. “She told me they met, but she didn’t say she hated her.”
“Oh, she wouldn’t. She’s too polite, but I could tell. See, there’s this thing she does with her mouth when she disapproves of someone, like she’s trying not to frown.” He demonstrates, pursing his lips slightly.
I laugh. “Does she do that with me?”
“Never. Not once. From the moment she met you at dinner, it was different. She kept looking at me during the meal, like—” He stops and shakes his head.
“Like what?”
“Like she was waiting for me to figure something out.”
We rock in silence for a moment.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Always.”
“Last night, when Gary Allen was at the bar, you looked like you were ready to throw him through a wall.”
“Because I was.”
“Why?”
