A Different Kind of Forever(44)

She giggled softly. “No. Shh. Let me see what’s going on.” She went out and walked into the living room. The sound of the television was still coming down from Emily’s room. She waved to Michael, and he followed her back outside.

“Listen, if your neighbors call the cops about the stranger sneaking through their yards, you’ll come and bail me out, right?”

“Promise.” She grinned. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Anytime. See you Friday.”

“Okay. Good night.”





Marianne Thomas stopped by her office the next morning. “Hi. I’m glad I got a chance to see you. Have you got everything you need for next year?” Marianne asked.

“You mean the grad class? Yes, I think so. When do you leave for Greece?”

“July.” She watched as Diane packed some potted plants into a box. “You never told me about the musician. The one who wants to live in Montana? How is that going?”

“Very well, thanks.” Diane glanced over. “Why?”

“Just curious. Are you still seeing him? Usually by the second or third date you find out he’s married or a kleptomaniac or worships pygmies or something equally bizarre.”

“We’ve seen a lot of each other. So far, very good.”

“Really? How nice for you. How old is he?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Really? And in a band of some sort?”

“Yes, Marianne. He’s actually kind of famous.”

“Then bring him to the picnic next week. You’ll have the entire faculty in an uproar. Is he really outrageous? Blue hair, lots of tattoos, that sort of thing?”

Diane laughed. “Sorry. Truthfully, I have more tattoos and piercings than he does. And he dresses like an Ivy League grad student. If you’re looking for shock value, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“Does he at least drive a fancy sports car?”

“Yes. A DeLorean.”

Marianne sighed. “Well, that’s something. Invite him. I’m sure he’ll be a fascinating addition.”

“I’ll ask. Thank you.”

“Wait. Does he have a posse?”

Diane rolled her eyes. “Good-bye, Marianne.”





On Thursday, Diane answered her front door and found a pick-up truck in her driveway and a large man in khakis and a tee shirt on her front step, holding a clipboard and a potted rose bush.

“I have a bunch of stuff here for Diane Matthews. Is that you?”

Diane looked past him. There were three men in work clothes standing by the truck. “What kind of stuff?”

“Forty-two slate blocks, nine rose bushes, two flats of – “

“Wait a minute.” Diane took the clipboard from his hands and looked at it. Underneath the order sheet was a print-out of the rose garden plan she had made on Michael’s computer.

“Where did you get this?” She asked.

“I do Mike Carlucci’s place. He asked me to get the stuff and bring it over. Now my guys would be happy to set everything in for you, especially those slates, they’re heavy. But Mike said we just deliver, nothin’ else, unless you ask.” He looked down at her. “Mike’s a good guy. I’m Ed, by the way. You can call him and check it out.”

She touched the rose bush. The tag said Lagerfeld. The bush was a healthy green with tiny, tight buds. She walked out of the house and peered into the back of the truck. It was filled with everything she needed, including bags of bone meal, compost, and edging blocks. Ed had followed her.

“We could unload right here on the side yard, but I’d let us haul this stuff in the back for you, I’m tellin’ you, it’s heavy,” Ed advised.

Diane nodded. “Sure, that would be great. Follow me.” She took him to the back yard and showed him her prepared ground. Ed nodded approvingly.

“You did a good job. And you’ll get plenty of sun. This little slope here, good drainage. Nothin’ should die. But if it does, call Mike. Our stuff is guaranteed.”

He walked off, shouting to his men, and Diane watched as they unloaded flats, bags of stone, slate blocks, pavers, a small stone bench. There was even a shining silver wish ball for the center of the garden. He had remembered everything.

When they were done, she went inside and called Michael.

“Hey,” she said, “a man just filled my back yard with half a million bucks worth of roses.”