A Different Kind of Forever(22)

Diane was toward the rear of the yard, trying to dig up an oversized azalea bush. He could see she had already prepared a new hole for it, right beside a large, slate patio. She was dressed in overalls, faded and baggy, caked with dirt. She was wearing a sleeveless tee shirt underneath, and her hair was pulled up and off her face in a spiked ponytail. She had been working for a while, and had almost completely dug up the bush, but it was stuck, and as she strained to uproot it, he could see the muscles on her arms tighten from the strain. Sweat trickled down the side of her face, soaked the neck of her shirt. She pushed against the shovel with all her weight, grunting with the effort, but the bush did not move, and as her arms began to tremble she threw up her hands.

“Fuck,” she said very loudly. Michael broke onto a grin.

She was wearing green canvas gloves, and she pulled them off and threw them down.

“Fuck.” She turned away from the azalea bush, then walked back to it and tried to kick the shovel with her foot. She missed, and stumbled, off balance.

“Fuckf*ckf*ck.”

Michael walked toward her. “Would you like some help with that?” he called, trying not to laugh.

She whirled and stared at him, her mouth open in surprise.

“Michael. God. Hi. What are you doing here?”

“I tried calling, but you weren’t answering, so I thought I’d take a chance on just coming over. You said you’d be home.”

The blood rushed to her cheeks. “Oh, right. My ex picked up the girls early, so I’ve been out here all morning. I can’t hear the phone, especially with the music. I’m sorry. I should have brought out the cordless. I knew you were going to call.” She wiped her hands against her thighs. “I was trying to keep busy. I didn’t want to be hanging over the phone all day.” She looked away from him, biting her lip

“Oh.” He was watching her closely. When she looked back at him, he grinned. “So, do you want some help?”

“That would be so great. I was starting to get a little frustrated.”

“So I heard.”

She looked sheepish. “Not exactly appropriate language for an English professor, is it?”

“No, I thought it was perfectly appropriate. Do you have a pitchfork?”

“Yes.” She walked back toward the house and picked up a pitchfork from off the grass. He took it from her, and plunged in into the moist dirt. He worked quickly, using his weight, and in a few minutes, the bush heaved and flopped sideways. He and Diane lifted it into a wheelbarrow, he took it over to the patio, and moved it into the new hole. He shoveled in dirt and she tamped it down, then she dragged over the hose.

“Thirsty?” she asked. He nodded, so she handed him the hose and went into the house. She turned off the music, and returned with a tray laden with two glasses and a tall pitcher. Michael buried the end of the hose into the base of the plant, and they sat down across from each other in two Adirondack chairs, drinking iced tea.

“Thank you, Michael. You just saved my whole morning.”

“Always a pleasure to be of service. Is there anything else around here you need help with?”

“No.” She spoke quickly and too loudly. She sipped tea. “No, thank you. Besides, you must have something more entertaining to do besides digging around in the dirt.”

He made a face and looked at his watch. “Well, sometime today I’m supposed to be going over to my sister Angie’s house. She’s painting her den. Whenever Angie decorates, she makes it a family affair. It wouldn’t be so bad, but she jumps into these things without knowing what the hell she’s doing, and then everyone starts giving advice, and by dinner there’s at least one major meltdown.” He shook his head and brushed loose dirt from his jeans. “It gets ugly.”

“How can painting one room be so complicated?”

“Well, she wants to do stripes and something called a faux finish. She explained it in detail to me the other night, but I have no idea what she’s talking about, and neither does anyone else.”

“But that’s easy, really. My dad was a painter. I worked with him every summer for years.” She stopped and poured more tea. “I’d be happy to help.”

“Really?” He sat up. “That would be fantastic. You have no idea.You wouldn’t mind?”

“Hey, you just performed major surgery back here. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me,” he said quietly. They sat together in silence for a few minutes. She was suddenly aware of how she must look – no make-up, dirty, hair tumbling down the back of her neck. She drained her glass.