AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Somehow we managed to eat after that.
Through lingering eye contact that left me squirming on my seat and pressing my thighs together, I’d managed to down two glasses of wine and force myself to observe him under this new lens.
Gus let me watch him. We both took turns. I watched the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed at me telling him about the time I had to crawl into an excavator bucket ten feet in the air to identify whether the remains were human or not. (It was papier mâché.)
I watched, entranced by the movement of his jaw, somehow still square through his short beard. I took note of the way he intentionally rounded his shoulders when he leaned closer to me, as if trying to make himself smaller, less intimidating. But the consideration it showed only heightened his commanding presence. Only a great person, meant for a great life, would consciously diminish his physical presence to balance it with another. It was yet another outward sign of his deep capacity for empathy.
It was what had drawn me to him in the first place.
I gnawed off a piece of garlic bread and swallowed painfully, the bread sticking in my throat as a thought formed in my head.
I was in imminent danger of falling in love with my fiancé.
Gus
After dinner, Decca guidedme to the backyard, where the fire waited to be lit. As she backed out the door, her eyes lingered on my still full glass of wine leftover from dinner.
I opened my mouth to answer her unasked questions, but I was stopped short by the sight before me.
Her front yard was wild and unkempt, lush with color and texture, but here, out back, was a dream; something out of a garden magazine. Or it would be with a little TLC. The enormity of the landscaping took my breath away.
Low, woven fences and stone walls divided sections of the garden here and there, lending it a historic feel. Pea gravel paths spiraled around plantings, dividing the space into four organically shaped quadrants. A Tudor-style shed stood in the back of the deep lot under the shade of the trees.
The whole thing might have looked weedy to some eyes, especially at night.
I saw nothing but magic.
I’d never been a plant guy, unless you counted my weekly chore of mowing the funeral home lawn. Now, my fingers itched to give this bit of earth the attention it deserved, to restore the beauty I knew it contained. Maybe I should’ve gone into landscaping instead of the priesthood. “This is… Dec, this is gorgeous.”
“I haven’t been able to spend much time out here lately. I’m never home.”
“Did you design this?”
“Some of it. Granny bought this house after my mom died. The garden was a project for us. A way of helping us come together and heal from the loss. The look of it changed over time as I grew older. Different influences flowed into my life, and I poured them out in the garden. It went through a heavy seashell phase after I read a book on the Groves of Versailles in middle school. I was a weird kid. I’m sorry you’re seeing the garden now, at its worst.”
“How long has it been since you’ve really gotten your hands dirty out here?”
“Three years.”
“Since Granny died,” I said what she couldn’t.
Her eyes filled with tears as she nodded. Her crumpled face made my heart seize, but I didn’t make a move toward her. A hug wasn’t what she needed. Three years was too long for her not to be working this land. It had once been a tribute and a source of healing after her mom’s death.
It could be the same for her granny.
“Can you teach me to garden?”
She looked up, surprised. Her lips parted, as if to argue. But she didn’t argue. She nodded. Something that looked like hope bloomed in her eyes.
Wind rushed through the leafy canopy of the tall, uplit trees in the corner, and their limbs bowed with a graceful arc. Decca’sface glowed brighter as the silver clouds pushed past the moon, unveiling the bright orb in its fullness.
White flowers and leaves appeared from under the blanket of night, like Decca’s white velvet skin against the backdrop of her black attire. I wasn’t sure if her look was intentional. I hoped so. I hoped she admired her own beauty, the same way she’d cultivated the beauty in her garden. I hoped she’d never felt anything less than bewitching, and all her past boyfriends had lavished praise on her. I knew I would, once we got to that point. Until then, I’d just have to save it all up. All my appreciation and desire.
I couldn’t help but stare at the shadows and light playing on her face as she fiddled with a matchbox and her wineglass, distracted by something.
In the center of the garden, the bonfire dominated the landscape—or it would as soon as it was lit. A small, stone wall rose out of the black slate ring of patio. In the center, logs rested in a teepee, waiting to rage into an inferno.
Decca placed her glass on the arm of one of the Adirondack chairs and slid open the matchbox. Taking a breath, she struck the match, staring into the flame but making no move to light the kindling.
