Digging In: A Novel(27)

“I think it’s kind of interesting,” Trey said. “Keep reading, Mom.”

Trying to please both of them, I rolled my eyes in solidarity with Jackie, but cleared my throat and read on:

2. How does one enrich the soul? Reveling in nature. Falling in love. Eating a delicious meal. This is how you prepare your idea to live in the world. Expose it to the elements. Share it with others so that they may become entranced. Feed it with the contributions of your peers.

“I’m not feeding my idea with anything Seth wants to cook,” Jackie said. “This is stupid. Petra is stupid.”

I closed the book. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s got a point. When you came up with that great ad for Castorelli’s Deli, didn’t you fall head over heels in love with it?”

“Was that the dancing pickle?” Trey asked, laughing. “I loved that pickle.”

“It was a good idea,” Jackie said slowly. “And I came up with it on my own and designed the whole thing myself. I don’t think these tips, or whatever they are, are practical. Or fair. I’ve been doing this longer than anyone at . . . the company. I know what I’m talking about.”

“You do,” I said. “But maybe what we’re talking about and what they’re talking about are two different things.”

“It’s all advertising,” Jackie scoffed.

“I don’t know,” Trey said. “I kind of dig this Petra chick.”

Jackie made a face and went outside for another smoke.

“You live for your work,” Trey said quietly. “What are you doing when you’re there, Mom? You’ve never worried about losing your job before. You’re freaking obsessed with it. Is this guy picking on you?”

“No,” I said. “Not really.”

“Then what are you doing?”

I heard the fear in his voice. Trey knew more than I wanted to tell him about our financial situation. Children shouldn’t need to know about lapsed life insurance policies and low-return 401(k)s and college savings accounts that would only cover one year’s tuition. Jesse and I had been diligent about our money, but that didn’t seem to have the results we’d anticipated. Even careful people couldn’t save enough to cover retirement, college tuition, and the constantly rising costs of everyday living. Trey had a right to be worried. I had a responsibility to hide that I was terrified.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been a star at Giacomo for seventeen years. That means something.” The lie left a sour taste in my mouth. I filled a glass with water and squeezed some lemon into it. Trey stared out at the backyard.

“I can’t believe I’m actually saying this to you,” he said, “but you need to focus.”

I thought about the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times I’d said those same words to him.

“I’m always focused.”

“You’re giving too much attention to weird stuff, like this garden idea. You’ve never done anything like this before. You would have grounded me until the next decade if I did something like it.”

“Maybe I’m exploring, like you are.”

He smiled faintly, and then shook his head. “You aren’t allowed to do that.”

“And you are?”

“Yeah. I’m not a parent.”

“I’m not being irresponsible, Trey.”

He pointed at my shoes, encrusted with dirt, that I’d forgotten to take off when I came inside. “You sure about that?”





CHAPTER 11

“Is he going to watch us the entire time?” Trey asked, shooting a nervous glance in Mr. Eckhardt’s direction. “He’s really creeping me out.”

We were on our knees digging shallow holes for the tomato plants. I’d actually had the foresight to buy stakes and some wooden lattices, and it seemed I could at least prop up the wilted vegetables until they grew heartier. The back portion of the yard I’d devote to herbs. The pickings were slim at the nursery, and I knew I was planting the lesser-used varieties—sage instead of basil, marjoram instead of oregano, borage instead of parsley, lemon balm instead of mint. Behind the garage, I’d found some large, flat paving stones left over from the previous owner that we’d never gotten around to throwing away. I could use them as dividers.

Neither of us wore gloves, and the earth was still damp, sticking to our skin and wedging under our nails. We’d stopped wiping smudges of dirt off our faces about five minutes in, and we resembled matching coal miners, streaked with black.

“He’s still watching,” Trey whispered.

I winked at him and rose to standing. “Mr. Eckhardt!” I called over the fence. “Would you like to help us with the planting?”

He stood in one swift motion, and I heard not a single joint crack. “You’ve gone crazy,” he said. “This is an ecological disaster.”

“Isn’t that overstating it a bit?”

“The first thing I’m doing when I go inside is calling the village police department.” He leaned over the fence. “Do you understand me, Paige? This has gone too far. If you’re having a breakdown, do it privately, instead of tearing apart your lawn for attention.”

“She’s not having a breakdown,” Trey said.