But it wasn’t like she had money for a plane ticket. Maybe she’d be able to convince Will to fund her trip, though he’d probably want to make it a one-way ticket just to get her out of his hair. No… fuck. It would have to be a bus ticket. Airports were finicky about things like seeing valid ID before letting people on planes. Takingthe bus to Minnesota would be a days-long trip, but it might be worth it. Still, there was no use thinking about it when any possible conversation about it was hours away. She needed to do something to keep her mind off the situation, to keep from wondering if her family was okay, if her job still existed. Her headache still lingered on the periphery, so she decided to go outside to get some fresh air.
A moment later, she stood on the front step, breathing deeply, staring out at miles of green grass and a picture-perfect blue sky perfectly punctuated with cottony clouds. It sure was idyllic, she’d give the writer that. The scene was perfect for romance. In comparison, the shrubs and flowers that bordered the front of the house looked a little… lackluster. Emmy chewed on her lip for a moment. Would Will be upset if she… zhuzhed things up a bit? Given the look of the landscape bed, he didn’t care much about it. Therefore, he couldn’t be mad if she messed with it, right? Especially if she made it look better.
Decision made, Emmy wandered around to the back of the house. A place like this was bound to have a shed.
“Bingo,” she said when she found it.
The door squeaked when she opened it. The first thing she saw was a shiny riding mower, which explained how Will kept his immense lawn trimmed. Unfortunately, it quickly became clear that the mower was the only thing there that he made regular use of. There was a pitiful collection of gardening tools that had gathered rust and dust in equal measure. Spare landscape rock was piled in the corner. A bag of potting soil slumped against the wall like a drunk man sleeping off a couple shots too many. On one shelf waswhat had to be an antique watering can, likely one that Will’s grandfather had bought in his youth.
“No wheelbarrow,” she muttered to herself. “Fine. I could use the workout.”
Rolling up her proverbial sleeves, Emmy began transporting what she needed to the front of the house, starting with the rocks. Once she had enough to work with, she grabbed the potting soil. Finally, she grabbed a trowel, a hand rake, a weeder, and a pair of pruning shears that whined in protest when she tested their ability to open and close. With the sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze and the occasional bird call for background music, she got to work. This was what she needed to keep her mind off everything else. Dirt and flowers. The satisfaction of using the weeder to hook and pull stubborn weeds. When she saw how much work she had to do, she belatedly realized she’d need a trash bag. Or two. The first was quickly filled with undergrowth, dead leaves, and a few of the most prominent weeds. With the bulk of the dead and the annoying out of the way, she set to work pruning the shrubs with the reluctant shears that could barely close due to all the rust. The sun was warm, but not unbearably so. Plus, the breeze kept her cool. She paused in her work only to grab a glass of water. After gulping down half of it, she pressed the cool glass to her forehead for a moment.
By noon, she’d finished pruning. Then she had to face the fact that several of Will’s perennials would be better off put out of their misery. Others were salvageable, but there were going to be some empty spaces. Maybe she could arrange landscaping rock over the dirt. She hadplenty. Wiping the back of her hand over her forehead, she looked back at the shed. It seemed a shame to waste the tools she had at her disposal. The antique watering can called to her. She ran and got it, looked it over as she walked back to the front of the house. Rusty and rustic. It could work. She tested the handle on top, found that it was loose. Using the weeder, she pried first one side, then the other free. The handle went into her second garbage bag. She opened the potting soil and dumped some into the watering can. Then she carefully dug around a peony that didn’t look too worse for wear. She placed the plant inside the watering can, used more potting soil to keep it in place. Then she arranged the new planter in the empty space, built a little wall of rock around it so it looked purposeful. Sitting back on her heels, she took a good look.
“Yeah. He can’t get mad at me for this. No way.”
A couple hours later, she decided she’d done all she could do with the tools at hand. She cleaned up the garbage and debris and returned the tools to the shed. Next stop: the shower. The cool water felt like heaven. She stood for a good thirty seconds just letting it run over her, soaking her hair, washing away the first layer of sweat and dirt. Then she soaped, shampooed, conditioned, combed. It was a long process. When she stepped out of the bathroom, wearing fresh, clean clothes, she saw that Will was home. He was in the process of hanging his keys on the hook, so she assumed he’d just walked in.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” His brow was furrowed slightly. “Did you hire somebody to do stuff with the plants out front?”
Emmy raised an eyebrow. “I’m a little low on funds right now, so no, I didn’t hire anybody. I did it myself.”
She didn’t know if she should be flattered or insulted when his eyebrows lifted in a show of stunned surprise. “Youdid that? By yourself?”
Suddenly self-conscious, Emmy shrugged. “I told you I’d go stir-crazy before long. It kept me out of trouble.” She glanced up at him through her lashes. “Do you not like it?”
“To tell the truth, I’ve never thought about the bushes much. But they look great. About as good as they did when my grandpa was still alive. I saw what you did with his watering can. Very cool. He would have loved that.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, for sure. Maybe I should take you to get some more supplies. You can tackle the side of the house next. Do you do this for a living? Back in… you know… your realm.”
She snorted at the word choice, then shook her head a little. “No, not for a living. It’s just a hobby.”
“Some hobby. You could go pro if you wanted to. Guaranteed success.”
She waved that off. “Are you too tired to take me to the library?”
“I’ve gotta shower, but then I’m good to go. Just hang tight.”
*
Much as Emmy had done earlier, Will stripped off his clothes and stood under the spray of the shower. He’d had a tough time at work, tougher than usual because he kept wondering what the point of saving lives was when none of the lives were real. Fortunately, a lot of his job wasso familiar to him now that he could do it in his sleep. His body had carried out several tasks through muscle memory alone. Still… he wished he could just forget about Emmy’s unexpected appearance for a while. Not Emmy herself: she was fun and interesting, and a good gardener, apparently. But if he could just forget the circumstances of her being there… Will sighed, closed his eyes, and stuck his head into the spray. A drink sounded good. Maybe he’d hit the bar while Emmy was doing her thing at the library. Then again, would it be any better if he sat alone at a bar? Even with alcohol, he’d still be alone with his own thoughts. On top of having a never-ending stream of questions running through his head, he’d be the sad sack who was drinking alone.
He texted Jared as soon as he got out of the shower.
A couple seconds later, Jared sent back the two beers emoji.
Having secured a drinking buddy, he went back out to find Emmy. She was standing behind the couch in a pose he recognized as yoga. For a moment he just stood there watching her stretch and bend, the way her body moved fluidly from one stance to the next. She looked so serene that he felt bad interrupting her. And, yeah, watching her move like that was giving him some pleasant thoughts. When it looked like she was pausing, he cleared his throat. She opened her eyes, rolled her body back into a relaxed position.
“Hey, didn’t hear you walk up.”
“No worries. You ready to go?”
“Yeah, let me grab my phone.”
