Digging In: A Novel(36)
“Don’t you remember being that age?”
“I didn’t go around stealing condiments.” He softened his comment with a smile. “Richie wasn’t going to press charges for something so trivial, but he’s known Trey awhile. He’s worried.”
I am, too, I wanted to say, but I didn’t know this man very well, and our family’s grief was private. It was ours. “I know you hear this from every mother, but my son is a good kid.”
“I didn’t think otherwise, but even good kids act out when life isn’t going their way.” He took a sip of tea, winced at the heat, and then blew over the top of the mug. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was also waiting for me to say something.
“My husband died two years ago,” I blurted. “I thought we were doing okay, but maybe we’re not.”
I waited for the usual questions: How did he die? How old was he? Are you doing okay? But Officer Leprechaun simply nodded. I waited another moment, but he didn’t respond, didn’t encourage. He was probably really good in interrogations. His patience made me want to explain, to tell him that what he was seeing wasn’t really us, but a temporary us, brought on by stress and missing the person who made the family work. But then I thought death was permanent, so I couldn’t say that honestly. The stress would always be there. The missing, too.
“Can I take a look at how the garden is doing?” he said after the interminable silence.
“What?”
“I’d like to see what you’ve done out there since the village threatened to shut you down.” The twinkle was back in his eye, and this time I didn’t want to put out that light.
When we walked onto the patio, I tried to see the garden through the eyes of someone who hadn’t seen it struggle to survive every day. It had a haphazard look, like thirty gardeners had come in and done their own thing. The overall effect was messy and disorganized, but I could see some improvement, some growth.
“It’s getting there,” he said kindly. “Don’t know if those tomatoes will make it.”
“They will,” I said.
“Confidence is a good fertilizer.”
“Are you trying to say I’m full of shit?”
He laughed. “Nothing of the kind.”
We walked around, my pride growing as I realized how hard the plants were working to take root. They wanted to flourish. They wanted to live. “It’s a lot of work, but I like it.”
“My grandmother had a kitchen garden, but not as big as this one. Still, she always had a lot of produce left over to share with the neighbors. What do you intend to do with all your bounty come August?”
Suddenly shy, my deal with Mykia seemed like a pipe dream. I didn’t want to tell him about my salsa enterprise, but then I didn’t want to seem unfocused either. I cleared my throat. “I’m going to make salsa and sell it at the farmers’ market. Hopefully. I just need to learn how to can without giving someone botulism.”
He knelt down, knees and cop gear groaning, and studied the tomato plants up close. “Gonna still be a while until these are ready,” he said, pointing to the now plump green tomatoes.
“So I have time to learn,” I said.
He peered up at me, squinting into the sun. “What are you doing on Sunday?”
“What?” I choked on the word.
He stood. “I have the day off. My grandma taught me how to can. It’s easy, and I could teach you in an afternoon.”
It was like a wintry wind swept through the backyard. My hands went cold, and my heart . . . was he asking me out? I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about dating. Actually going through with it was another matter entirely. The feelings it brought up—guilt, worry, guilt, sadness, guilt, fear, guilt, and a heart-stopping, gut-clenching excitement—were uncomfortably strong. It felt like cheating. It felt undeniably wrong.
“Paige?”
But this man, this ruddy-faced bear of a man, seemed sweet. Maybe it wasn’t a date? Maybe he pitied me and wanted to help out the poor widow?
“Don’t overthink this.” He smiled, the mind reader.
I looked away. “I’m just mentally checking my schedule. I think it’ll work.”
“Good. Just keep in mind . . . the process is messy.”
“Noted.” The thought of another man in my kitchen made my stomach lurch.
He walked me back to the patio. “I don’t have any children myself,” he said before leaving. “But I’ve seen plenty of teenage boys in my time on the force. He’s a good kid, but sometimes circumstances make sure that doesn’t matter. I know you’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Always,” I said as Officer Leprechaun got back into his cop car. He made a U-turn, flicking the siren on momentarily as a goodbye. Breathing deeply to quell the little earthquakes erupting inside me, I went in to see to my son.
Later that night, I shut off all the lights in the house, checked the locks, and watched the green lights blip on the fire alarms. Safety was never guaranteed, but there were a few things I could control. Then I checked on Trey. His door was shut, but a thin strip of light underneath it told me he was still up.
“Yeah?” he said when I knocked.
“Can I come in?”
“No.”