“A Zen garden?”
He nods, holding up a bag of sand. “You get to create your own little garden. Set up the stones how you want, the little ornaments, rake the sand. It’s supposed to be calming.”
I can’t help but grin at him. This big, tatted hunk of muscle and power gets excited over things like Legos and Zen gardens.
“Do you need something calming?”
“You have no idea,” he says, still smiling as he arranges the little bags in front of him.
He sets down the plate, opens the bag of sand, and pours it on.
I’ve never seen him so excited.
I watch him in awe, picking up the tiny rake in his massive, inked hand, and start pushing the sand all over the plate.
He’s so precious.
He loses himself in the process. I can see his eyes glaze over in concentration when he sees the tracks the rake leaves in the sand. I decide to leave him to his newfound serenity.
Getting up, I walk out the room, finding Maggie walking down to the garage with a basket full of products that look too heavy for her.
“Can I help with that?”
The sound of my voice makes her jump. “Gosh, girl, don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I just wondered if you needed help – with the basket.”
She looks down at the basket, almost offended. “It would be improper for me to allow the lady of the house to help.”
“I’m hardly the lady of the house. Here,” I hold out my hands, “let me take it.”
I can see the sheen of sweat on her wrinkled forehead, see the slight tremble in her arms. Then the battle in her grey eyes between what she wants and what she thinks is right. So, I close the distance and ease the basket out of her hands.
It’s so heavy it shocks me for a moment that she could even pick it up to begin with.
I can see the physical ease in her hunched body as soon as I relieve her of the weight. “It’s going in the work garage.” She turns and walks ahead.
I follow, remembering Alfie’s coaching, keep the core engaged, my tailbone tucked.
I’m puffed by the time we get to the garage. I drop the basket on one of the work surfaces.
“Thank you,” Maggie mutters and sets about unloading the contents.
It’s all tools and cleaning products.
“Is this for Caden’s bike?”
She nods. “Among other things.”
“Can I help?”
She gestures to the clean cloths. “You can put them on that shelf over there.”
I do as she says, letting the silence fall over us like a foul smell.
I toy with the words on the tip of my tongue, something I’ve wondered ever since the day with Fiz in the DIY store. I figured I would ask Alfie, but I didn’t want to show him that I was even remotely interested in this family. I thought Maggie might be a safer bet.
Before I can think the better of it, the question slips free. “What’s the Blackwood law?”
