clean up al the fal en petals after the flowers bloomed and died. And what woman needed more work around the house? There was enough dirt to sweep and vacuum on the inside without getting into more
of it on the outside.
Stil , I couldn’t deny an appreciation for a beautiful garden in ful bloom, and I certainly adored the smel of roses and lilacs.
I watched the woman in the hat for a few minutes. There were no roses or lilacs in her garden. Everything just looked brown and wet.
The woman sat back on her heels and surveyed her work, then glanced up and saw me. She waved her arm through the air, as if she were trying
hard to get my attention.
I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if she might be waving at someone else – we didn’t know each other after al – but there was no one around,
so I waved back.
She smiled brightly, and even from a distance, I felt a strange stirring of recognition. Perhaps I had met her before, many years ago. Perhaps I knew her from my childhood. Maybe we went to school together. She looked to be about my age.
Knowing Mom would need some time to dress and put on her makeup, I decided to go over and say hel o. I started down the steps and crossed the
street.
“Good morning!” the woman cheerful y said. Getting up off her knees, she placed a hand on top of her hat and smiled at me. She was strikingly
beautiful with long black hair, a creamy complexion, ful lips, and blue eyes.
I held out my hand. “Hi. I’m Cora’s daughter, Sophie. Have we met before?”
Stil smiling, the woman removed her gardening gloves. She stepped forward to shake my hand, and I noticed two large mud stains on the knees of
her jeans. “No, but Cora and I are very close.”
I acknowledged the comment with a nod, and wondered what she must think of me. Surely she knew that I hadn’t seen my mother in many, many
years.
“I’m Catherine,” she said, without the least sign of awkwardness. “It’s wonderful to meet you at last.”
“I just arrived this morning.”
She chuckled. “I know. I was out here in my garden when you passed by earlier.”
“Oh.”
I hadn’t even noticed her.
Too caught up in my own problems, I suppose.
“You have your mother’s eyes,” she mentioned, with a warmth of spirit that eased the tension in my neck and shoulders.
“I’l take that as a compliment.” My mother had beautiful eyes.
I gestured to the garden bed at our feet. “I’m no expert, but aren’t you starting a bit early?”
“Not at al ,” she replied. “The ground is soft, the sun is shining. The time is just right.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about gardening. I live in New York.”
She linked her arm through mine. “That, my dear, is no excuse. Would you like a tour?”
“Um…” I glanced back at my mother’s house. “I suppose I have time.” I fol owed her to the flowerbed over by the fence.
“Right here, I’m going to have about fifty brown-eyed Susans,” she explained. “They’re my favorite flowers, but they won’t come up until late summer, so I have some iris bulbs mixed in. Over here is my biggest hosta, which wil be enormous by mid-summer.”
We walked al the way around the house, and Catherine described every flowerbed in bright, colorful detail. It was a comprehensive garden tour –
even though al I had seen so far was dirt.
We circled around to the front again, and I worked hard to summon my enthusiasm.
“It’s going to be beautiful. I wish I could be here to see it in ful bloom, but I’l probably be gone by then.”
“Back home?”
I nodded, determined to hide the fact that whenever I thought of returning to my home in Washington Square, my insides churned with dread.
Life had been so painful there.
“Wel …” Catherine paused. “When you have a life to get back to…”
“Me?” I chuckled bitterly. “I’m afraid I don’t have much of a life, here or anywhere else.”
Oh, God, did I real y just say that? I sounded like such a
of it on the outside.
Stil , I couldn’t deny an appreciation for a beautiful garden in ful bloom, and I certainly adored the smel of roses and lilacs.
I watched the woman in the hat for a few minutes. There were no roses or lilacs in her garden. Everything just looked brown and wet.
The woman sat back on her heels and surveyed her work, then glanced up and saw me. She waved her arm through the air, as if she were trying
hard to get my attention.
I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if she might be waving at someone else – we didn’t know each other after al – but there was no one around,
so I waved back.
She smiled brightly, and even from a distance, I felt a strange stirring of recognition. Perhaps I had met her before, many years ago. Perhaps I knew her from my childhood. Maybe we went to school together. She looked to be about my age.
Knowing Mom would need some time to dress and put on her makeup, I decided to go over and say hel o. I started down the steps and crossed the
street.
“Good morning!” the woman cheerful y said. Getting up off her knees, she placed a hand on top of her hat and smiled at me. She was strikingly
beautiful with long black hair, a creamy complexion, ful lips, and blue eyes.
I held out my hand. “Hi. I’m Cora’s daughter, Sophie. Have we met before?”
Stil smiling, the woman removed her gardening gloves. She stepped forward to shake my hand, and I noticed two large mud stains on the knees of
her jeans. “No, but Cora and I are very close.”
I acknowledged the comment with a nod, and wondered what she must think of me. Surely she knew that I hadn’t seen my mother in many, many
years.
“I’m Catherine,” she said, without the least sign of awkwardness. “It’s wonderful to meet you at last.”
“I just arrived this morning.”
She chuckled. “I know. I was out here in my garden when you passed by earlier.”
“Oh.”
I hadn’t even noticed her.
Too caught up in my own problems, I suppose.
“You have your mother’s eyes,” she mentioned, with a warmth of spirit that eased the tension in my neck and shoulders.
“I’l take that as a compliment.” My mother had beautiful eyes.
I gestured to the garden bed at our feet. “I’m no expert, but aren’t you starting a bit early?”
“Not at al ,” she replied. “The ground is soft, the sun is shining. The time is just right.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about gardening. I live in New York.”
She linked her arm through mine. “That, my dear, is no excuse. Would you like a tour?”
“Um…” I glanced back at my mother’s house. “I suppose I have time.” I fol owed her to the flowerbed over by the fence.
“Right here, I’m going to have about fifty brown-eyed Susans,” she explained. “They’re my favorite flowers, but they won’t come up until late summer, so I have some iris bulbs mixed in. Over here is my biggest hosta, which wil be enormous by mid-summer.”
We walked al the way around the house, and Catherine described every flowerbed in bright, colorful detail. It was a comprehensive garden tour –
even though al I had seen so far was dirt.
We circled around to the front again, and I worked hard to summon my enthusiasm.
“It’s going to be beautiful. I wish I could be here to see it in ful bloom, but I’l probably be gone by then.”
“Back home?”
I nodded, determined to hide the fact that whenever I thought of returning to my home in Washington Square, my insides churned with dread.
Life had been so painful there.
“Wel …” Catherine paused. “When you have a life to get back to…”
“Me?” I chuckled bitterly. “I’m afraid I don’t have much of a life, here or anywhere else.”
Oh, God, did I real y just say that? I sounded like such a
Similar Books
