A High-End Finish(11)

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Early Sunday morning I was able to spend a few hours in my garden, weeding and pruning and babying my plants. Robbie and Tiger joined me outside, playing and sniffing and weaving up and down the narrow walkways between the raised beds of vegetables and flowers. When they grew tired of all that fun, they slept in the sun up on the patio.

The garden had been created by my mother, Ella, who was a botany professor and renowned horticulturist. She had expanded the garden until it filled every inch of our large backyard, right up to the fence where she experimented with espaliered apple and peach trees.

She taught us how to start a worm farm and grow string beans on a kid-sized teepee. I still remembered the sound of her laughter as she tried to teach my sister and me the Latin names of plants. She died when I was ten years old, and after that the garden became overgrown and weed infested.

It wasn’t until I broke up with Tommy years later that I rediscovered some of the joy she’d inspired in me. It had started as a way to keep busy so I wouldn’t go crazy, but I spent hours every day that summer cleaning, weeding, cultivating, and expanding the flower beds and adding herbs and more vegetables around the perimeter. Gardening became my solace. I cleaned out the old equipment shed and turned it into a garden room, where I would hang herb cuttings and dry flowers. I made potpourri and experimented with tinctures. I canned green beans and tomatoes in thick jars with basil and rosemary sprigs. I steeped herbs in oils and vinegars and gave them away as gifts.

I worked like a dog every day and went to bed exhausted every night. I did whatever it took to avoid staring at the sudden gaping hole that was my life. My mother’s garden saved my sanity.

To tell the truth, it hadn’t taken me long to get over Tommy’s betrayal because, hey, karma was a bitch named Whitney and he was stuck with her. Besides, once I went off to college and met other guys, I realized I could no longer blame Tommy for much of anything. No, my problems with men were all my own fault. I wasn’t quite sure why, but I’d done something horrible to irritate the dating gods.

For example, I met my first college boyfriend in American history class. Alan was so cute. We talked all the time and connected on every level. He loved my friends and always gave the best advice on what to wear to parties and school events. There was only one problem. The morning after our first night together, Alan confessed that he was gay. Not the most flattering thing a girl wants to hear.

And then the year I lived in San Francisco, I met another really great guy. He picked me up in a gorgeous vintage Corvette and we drove across the bridge to Sausalito for dinner. Halfway through our date, he was arrested for stealing the car.

I could now add Jerry Saxton to my list of disasters. As an acknowledged magnet for dating nightmares, why was I so surprised when my evening with Jerry Saxton had turned out so badly?

Meanwhile, I had managed to steer clear of Tommy and Whitney for those few years. But once I’d moved back to town and taken over Dad’s company, I realized I would be running into Tommy everywhere I went. Not just randomly around Lighthouse Cove, but all the time. Tommy had joined the police department, which shared a parking lot with City Hall. Part of my job as a general contractor was to file building permits and check on various statutes and zoning information to make sure my company was always in compliance with the local codes and regulations. And I did all of that at City Hall.

So one of the first things I did when I took over the business was track down Tommy and inform him that we were going to remain friends whether he liked it or not. He didn’t realize we’d ever stopped, but that was Tommy for you.

After that talk with Tommy, I was able to relax and move along with my life. But lately I felt like I was waiting for something to happen. I just didn’t know what. I would look at my friends and wonder if they were happy. Was I happy? I found myself guarding my heart and wondered, From whom? Maybe that was why I had finally agreed to go out with Jerry. I needed to shake things up. Unfortunately, given my past experiences, I should’ve known better.

So, now I was stuck back in that loop of waiting for something to happen and not knowing what. And for someone as proactive as I was, that feeling could drive me a little crazy.

So, I worked. In the garden. At my construction sites. With my friends. I ran on the beach and worked out at the gym. I bundled flowers and dried herb cuttings to give to neighbors and my friends, who used them to decorate their town square shops.

It all helped, but I still couldn’t get rid of that antsy, unsettled feeling. It was like a dream where you knew something important was about to happen but you weren’t sure if you were wearing the right outfit. Okay, bad analogy. Let’s just say it was all very weird.

And the ugly confrontation with Jerry Saxton hadn’t exactly improved my mood.

When that edgy feeling got really bad, I would go swimming or take a long drive, or I’d go shopping, usually at the hardware store. Everyone felt better when they had a new tool to play with, right? But I was afraid a new power drill wouldn’t fix things this time.



Sunday afternoon, I spent two hours cleaning and preparing one of the guest apartments over my garage for the tenant who would arrive the next day.

A few years ago, I had decided I could make a little extra money by cleaning out the big old storage room over our four-car garage and turning it into rental space. I hired one of my guys and we refurbished it, creating two good-sized guest suites, both with bathrooms and kitchenettes. I reinforced the stairway and repainted the fanciful wrought-iron railing. Outside each door I arranged a patio chair and side table for reading or dozing in the sun.