“And if he’s making himself dinner and settling in for a night by himself. That’s a man who’s faithful, loyal, and working so hard he doesn’t even think about anything except how much he misses his wife.”
“Amen!” Jo Ellen clasped her hands. “Let’s get on with the mission then. We’ll come back and cast aspersions on the bedrooms later.”
“Oh, yes we will! Aspersions with a cocktail.”
“Nothing better,” Jo agreed.
Having changedinto sneakers and capri pants—old lady shorts, Jo Ellen called them—they walked quickly, staying close to the tree line, the sounds of sprinklers and a distant lawnmower fading as dusk descended over the suburbs.
When they reached Crista’s backyard fence, Maggie slowed and peered through the slats.
The yard was perfect, of course. A massive wooden deck spilled from French doors, with a firepit and a summer kitchen, and lounge area.
“Oh, an egg chair.” Jo Ellen pointed to the oval seat hanging from a hook by the pergola. “I’ve always wanted to sit in one of those. They look so cozy.”
“Anthony and Crista got me that for my birthday last year,” Maggie told her. “I can sit in it and look over to the other side, where my rose garden is. It’s the prettiest view from up there. Want to see it?”
Jo Ellen squinted at the house, which was dark and looked empty. “Do we dare?”
Maggie didn’t answer but stood on her tiptoes, searching the windows upstairs and down for any sign of movement. “He’s not here.”
“Working late, no doubt.”
Oh, how Maggie wanted to believe that.
“Come on, let me sit in that chair.” Jo Ellen reached for the gate latch. “And see your garden. Or can we walk there from here?”
“No, you have to go down the stairs on that side of the deck. Okay.” Maggie gave a nod. “Let’s go very quickly and I’ll peek in the windows.”
Jo Ellen flipped the latch and they both cringed when the gate squeaked. Not that there was anyone around to hear, but still.
They walked into the grassy area, taking the steps to the deck.
“What a beautiful home,” Jo Ellen said. “How lucky that you live here with your daughter and her family. It’s perfect.”
“It is,” Maggie conceded. “But I’m pretty happy down in Destin with you.”
“Aww! Maggie!” Jo slowed so she could hug her. “That’s downright sentimental for you.”
“Stop.” She unpeeled Jo’s arms. “Sit in the chair and look at my garden. Quick, before Anthony comes home.”
“Don’t they have cameras?” Jo Ellen asked.
“Nope. But hurry.” Maggie ushered her over to her beloved egg chair, but her gaze went beyond it to?—
“What?” Maggie froze mid-step.
“No! He’s here? Oh, my?—”
“Look at my garden!” She could barely utter the words as she stared at an overgrown, scraggly mess of roses. Blooms drooping like they’d given up hope. Dead stems still clinging, unpruned and sad.
Maggie stared, horrified on a level that felt deeply personal.
“This,” she said, voice trembling with outrage, “is a disgrace.”
Jo Ellen grabbed her elbow. “Maggie—focus.”
But they were her babies! In a daze, she walked to the side stairs that led to the garden, taking them slowly, trying to breathe.
