Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“It’s a good day for planting. The beds are already all tilled up.” She walks to the back door and points at the flower gardens, which to my consternation, have indeed been turned over. “That rain last night helped a bunch. That and Van finally got my old tiller running late this morning. He did a great job out there, don’t you think?”
“Oh.” I stare so hard at the freshly turned dirt that my eyes burn. “Yeah, he did.” I force one heck of a fake smile. “That’s great. I can’t wait to get the flowers in. Did you have a plan? I don’t know much about plants or anything. I just bought whatever I thought looked nice. I don’t know a thing about which ones need shade or extra sun or which ones are going to get tall.”
Nanny shrugs. “Nah. Just put them in however you like. Whatever survives makes it, and whatever doesn’t, I’ll nurse back to health myself.” Nanny is a plant queen, so I have no doubt she means that.
I know I’m taking a big risk here because I’m always so utterly transparent, but I do it anyway. “Is Van here?”
“He just went to the hardware store. He broke a pry bar this morning trying to get the rest of those old deck boards up, and it was my only one. I told him to get some gloves too. That old deck is a mean, splintery bitch.”
I stare at the few deck boards that are missing. Before this, I didn’t notice the pile of two or three off to the side and the ones missing from the edge. “I see that,” I muse.
“Judging from the way Van was going at those boards, I guess he really meant business. Although, who doesn’t like a bit of demolition?” She winks at me. “I personally love wrecking things. Smashing shit up is one of life’s greatest joys.”
“Did you just say smashing shit up?”
Nanny looks confused. “Isn’t that how the saying goes? No, I guess it’s fucking shit up. Yes, that’s it!” She grins and cackles. “That’s one of life’s greatest joys.” She pats my arm. “Now, you go on out. I’ll send Curly Cookie to keep you company until Van gets back. Not that he’s much company. Van, I mean. I apologize for the silent treatment. It’s not you, you know.”
“I do know.” I think I know. I mean, I know he had stuff going on before he kissed me and ran out on me as though he’d just realized I had lizard lips and a frog tongue and that I tasted like old flies. Ugh. Shudder. What a horrible mental picture.
I head outside, skipping over the sag in the deck and the splintery ends where the boards were removed. There aren’t any steps now, but I jump down the few feet, landing safely in my flip-flops while managing not to spill the lemonade in the process. The yard is pretty quiet for a Sunday, and the neighborhood is draped in the easy afternoon silence. It’s so hot out that it could sizzle an egg before it ever hit any surface, so maybe that’s why there’s a general lack of noise. Everyone is hiding out in their houses. The tree at the back corner of the yard is big enough to give some shade, and the garden shed casts a small shadow over the back flower garden that skirts along the sagging fence, so I decide to start there.
I came prepared for a gardening battle. I wore my old jeans, my flip-flops so I could kick them off and enjoy the earth between my toes, and an old T-shirt that I’m pretty sure I’ve had since high school. It’s one of those band ones, all faded out now, so you can barely see the logo on the front anymore. I have my hair tied up in a messy bun, and I’ve included a headband to keep the strands out of my eyes. I even brought a pair of my mom’s old gardening gloves, and I have them safely tucked into my pocket. I’m ready to rock.
Halfway into the first tray of flowers and the back row of the garden, I realize I’m so not ready to rock because the gate opens and slams shut, and Van is there. I freeze as if I’m a flower garden ghost, or maybe his worst nightmare materialized in front of him. I can’t say the pinch of his lips or the instant frown on his face is flattering. Mouthful of flies. Mouthful of flies.
I stand up, freezing again in place and waiting, even when a trickle of sweat traces down the back of my neck because it’s punishing out here. He should be the one to say something. Last night was so strange. Strange and wonderful.