Digging In: A Novel(49)

Mr. Eckhardt sat with military stiffness in his Adirondack chair, flanked by Miss Khaki and Label Lover. They each clutched a glass of lemonade. Label Lover had scooched her chair slightly closer to Mr. Eckhardt’s, and she stretched out her leg so it nearly touched his. Miss Khaki couldn’t stop staring at Label Lover’s Michael Kors sandals and brightly painted toenails.

I called hello over the fence, and they all startled. Mr. Eckhardt slowly balanced his glass in the grass. Then—surprisingly—he helped both ladies to their feet in a gentlemanly fashion.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” Oh, geez. I could come up with something better, couldn’t I?

“It’s too hot,” Miss Khaki said. “Bill’s lemonade is the only thing making it bearable.”

“There’s no such thing as too hot,” Label Lover said, talking over her rival. “Right, Bill?”

Mr. Eckhardt squirmed. “I do like the heat, but the grass can’t take too much of this sun.”

Wow. The diplomat.

Label Lover leaned over the fence. “I’m sorry your garden isn’t working out.”

“What do you mean?”

She gestured grandly at my backyard. Her red fingernails matched her toes perfectly, the color of fresh blood. “This is a mess. We’ve been more than patient. I haven’t filed a complaint with the board because Bill asked me not to, but my patience is wearing thin.”

I looked at Mr. Eckhardt, but he wouldn’t meet my eye. “Do you think my garden has promise?”

“I suppose everything deserves a chance. I still think the tomatoes won’t make it, but the herbs look promising.”

I beamed at him. Couldn’t help it.

“Everything deserves a chance,” echoed Miss Khaki. She gazed at Mr. Eckhardt with dreamy eyes.

“We need to be practical,” Label Lover said, scowling. “This will be an absolute eyesore in a few months.”

“Why don’t we deal with that later?” I said. “Let’s enjoy it for the moment. I’m having a party on Saturday. A garden party. I’m extending the invitation to the three of you.”

For a moment, I relished the silence that fell over the group.

“I don’t know,” Miss Khaki said.

“Absolutely not,” Label Lover said.

“I’ll be there,” Mr. Eckhardt said. “Haven’t been to a party in a while.”

Miracle of miracles, he looked happy to be invited. Delighted, even.

The two older women glanced at each other. “I’ll be there, too,” they said simultaneously.

Label Lover downed the rest of her lemonade. “Will you refresh my glass, Bill?”

Mr. Eckhardt took her glass, and the one Miss Khaki had quickly emptied, and headed into his mystery kitchen. When he was out of earshot, Label Lover leaned over the fence and said, “Your backyard project is putting undue stress on our Bill. All that man asks for in this life is a little peace. Why must you disrupt it?”

I opened my mouth to defend myself and realized I didn’t quite know what to say. I didn’t have a clue about what Mr. Eckhardt wanted out of life. I didn’t know anything about him. “Maybe he’ll learn to get some enjoyment out of watching it grow,” I said lamely.

Label Lover raised one penciled eyebrow. “You think very highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“She should be proud of herself,” Mykia said, coming up behind me. “I’m sorry you can’t see that.”

Before Label Lover could hit back, Mr. Eckhardt returned with a tray of glasses filled to the brim with lemonade, enough for all of us. Simple as it was, I was touched by the gesture.

“Bill makes his lemonade from scratch,” Miss Khaki crowed. “How long has it been since you’ve had homemade?”

I’d made some the day before. “A long time,” I said, flashing a smile at an obviously embarrassed Mr. Eckhardt. “Too long. And this tastes great.”





CHAPTER 21

Everything was set for the party.

But I couldn’t entirely take responsibility for it. Mykia, Glynnis, and Jackie pitched in. Mykia brought food, more than I could possibly feed to the small group attending. Glynnis helped set up a few card tables in between the rows of plants, topping them with tablecloths made from vintage sheets she’d been collecting since childhood. Jackie dragged folding chairs from my basement, hung twinkly lights, and gave me general emotional support.

In addition to Mr. Eckhardt and his harem, I’d invited everyone from Guh, including Lukas, the few women I knew from the neighborhood, and, of course, Trey and Colin, who actually said they might attend. Charlene called to say she would bring a seven-layer salad. Sean also said he would be coming, which led me to . . .

“What are you wearing?” Jackie asked while I tore around my bedroom, slapping deodorant under my arms and generally trying to make myself look human. She wore a jean miniskirt with a tight, iridescent-pink tank top. It was wholly inappropriate for a fiftysomething woman and 100 percent Jackie. I loved it. The only articles of clothing I felt comfortable in were my new garden clothes—shredded jean shorts and dirt-stained T-shirts. I had very few casual ensembles. Everything else fell into the category of dated professional attire or clothes reserved for weddings and funerals. I had nothing that said garden party.