Digging In: A Novel(52)

“I have to try.”

“Colin’s dad always talks about how important it is to decide where you’re going to put your energy. I think you’re putting your energy in the wrong places. You’re being totally random.”

I had to concede the possibility that he had a point. My decisions, previously so well thought out, seemed rash and made in an effort to push back the scary emotions rising to the surface. Was it all a Band-Aid? I wasn’t sure. I wanted to think of the garden as an affirmation of life, as a new path toward fulfillment.

“I don’t think that’s true,” I told Trey. “I really don’t.”

“You keep thinking that. I’m going to spend the night at Colin’s.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Why? Don’t you want to have the house to yourself tonight?”

“That’s not fair.”

Trey shrugged and headed for the French doors. “Nothing is.”



After composing myself, I checked on the status of food and drinks and, once satisfied everyone was happy, tried to enjoy myself. The sun had gently moved from dusk to darkness, and the twinkling lights Jackie hung looked magical. Someone cranked up the music, some old Van Morrison that seemed perfectly appropriate. The smells from the garden were not overpowering but subtle and soothing, a perfect mix from nature.

“Those tomatoes are going to be amazing,” Sean said as he came up behind me. His words brushed against my ear, and I felt a shiver of anticipation. It was a foreign feeling, and I tried not to analyze it.

“I really hope so. I’ve been working pretty hard to keep them healthy.”

“A garden is hard work.” While he talked, he slipped one hand around my waist and took my hand in his other. “But dancing isn’t. Want to give it a whirl?”

We got a few raised eyebrows, but more smiles, as he spun me around the patio. Rhiannon and Byron soon joined us, followed by Seth and Glynnis, a very serious expression on her face as they held an intense conversation while swaying to the music. Her gaze kept straying toward Byron, and I watched heartache dull her eyes.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Sean said, but it was he who knew how to move. I’d never been very good at following someone’s lead, but he sensed that and effortlessly made adjustments. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said softly as he brought me up close.

“Yes?”

I felt something cold on my shoulder. Sean’s eyes widened, but he didn’t step back, and held on as I turned to see . . .

Mr. Eckhardt. His face resembled one huge broken capillary—red, angry, expansive. He hooked one long finger under the strap of my dress.

“Hey,” Sean said. “Take your hand off her, sir.”

Mr. Eckhardt ignored him and tugged hard on the delicate material. “This isn’t yours! You stole it!”

The other partygoers drew closer, like bees to the dramapot.

Mr. Eckhardt’s glassy eyes held anger and confusion, but not the healthy dose of crazy I expected to find jumping up and down behind his irises. Instead, sadness put a film over them, tragedy’s glaucoma.

“I found it,” I said, voice shaky. “I found it in the backyard.”

Mr. Eckhardt stepped back and nearly lost his footing on the edge of the concrete. He shook my hand off when I tried to steady him. “You’re doing this on purpose. You want to torture me with it. Are you so angry with your lot in life that you have to make others feel badly? That’s a pathetic trait in a person. I don’t think much of you, but I did think you were better than that.”

I blanched. “Can we talk about this inside?”

Mr. Eckhardt glanced around at the others. “Why? Because you don’t want them to know that you’re a thief? That you steal from good, solid people?”

I crossed my arms over my chest protectively. The dress suddenly felt too flimsy, too exposing. “I didn’t steal anything from you.”

“No,” he spat. “But you did steal from someone.”

“From who?”

“My wife.”



“Let’s sit down and have a talk,” Sean said as he ushered us into the kitchen. “I’ll get us some drinks, and we’ll pretend we’re all nice, civilized people.”

“I’m not sitting,” Mr. Eckhardt said as he leaned against my counter.

“But you’ll stay?” Sean asked.

Mr. Eckhardt’s eyes met Sean’s, and a silent, masculine agreement transpired between them. “I’ll stay for a few minutes.”

That was good enough for Sean. He dashed out to the bar, leaving me with my very surly neighbor.

I plucked at the collar of the dress. “You know where I found this, don’t you?”

“You should leave things as they are,” Mr. Eckhardt said. “Why can’t you do that? You’ve got some kind of sick obsession.”

“Are you sure it’s me who’s got something sick going on?”

Sean came back with three strawberry margaritas. I thought Mr. Eckhardt would refuse his, but he accepted a glass and took a healthy sip. “This is good.”

“Well, then we’ve found some common ground,” Sean said with a forced smile.