Digging In: A Novel(67)

Everything inside me jumped for joy. Everything outside remained calm. “That sounds like a deal.”

“But now I need a fucking smoke. Is it okay if I go out back?”

“Only if you stand at the fence and exhale toward my neighbor’s house.”

She smiled. “He a wanker?”

“That is an incredibly apt description.”

She stood up and held out her hand. “Come with me. Let’s go stand in your garden for a while. Maybe all that Zen will curb my need for nicotine.”

I decided at that moment that I liked Petra Polly, very much.

We made it to the sliding glass door before I noticed the figure in the garden. I flicked on the porch light and saw him, hunched over the tomato plants. The plants, the ones I so lovingly, painstakingly cared for, lay on the ground in tangled heaps. They’d been yanked violently from the ground, roots exposed and pathetically reaching in the wrong direction. The crimson tomatoes, some crushed, others split, but all . . . ruined.

Petra screamed.

Trey shuddered.

“What have you done?” My voice shook with the energy required to keep control of my anger. “Trey!”

He turned to me, face stained with tears. “I’m so sorry, Mom. So sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.”

The vision of him crouched over the dead plants tugged fiercely at my heart but, unlike the plants, not enough to rip it from the roots. I heard the sorrow in his voice. It was enough to bring me back, and I took in the scene more carefully. Trey wasn’t pulling the last plant out—he was trying to pack the ground around it.

He was trying to save it.

“You just wanted one thing,” he sobbed. “That’s it. You deserved for this to work out. I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so, so sorry. I gave you a hard time about it because you found something you loved. I thought you didn’t need me anymore.”

I knelt beside him and wrapped my arms around his substantial shoulders. “You are everything I ever wanted. I need you more than I need air. Don’t ever forget that.”

We both lost ourselves to tears, until I heard Petra say, “Well, that fucking plant is going to live if I’ve got anything to do with it. Let your mom baby it a bit. Come on, get a bucket for these tomatoes, and let’s see what we can salvage.”

“Who the fuck is she?” Trey said.

“Language,” I said automatically.

“I’m fucking Tinker Bell,” Petra said. “Stop crying. When life gives you tomatoes, you make tomato sauce.”

Trey stared at Petra for a moment before silently leaving in search of a bucket. Before he walked away, he squeezed my shoulder, a loving gesture that brought a surge of emotion.

“Why are you crying?”

A male voice.

Mr. Eckhardt leaned over the fence, taking in the mayhem that was once my lovely garden. “Well,” he said. “Well.”

The anger rose swiftly and mercilessly. I launched myself at him. “You! You did this! Do you hate me so much? Do you hate seeing people happy?”

“But you’re not happy,” he said.

“How would you know?” I spat. “How the hell would you know?”

“Is this the wanker?” Petra asked.

“Yes,” I said. “This is exactly the wanker.”

“You think I did this,” Mr. Eckhardt said dully. He squinted at the destroyed tomato plants, eerily lit by the porch light. “Why would I do a thing like that?”

“Are you kidding me?” I screeched. “You’d uproot this whole garden if you could!”

Mr. Eckhardt calmly walked around the fence to my side. “Does your water line have a filter?”

I nodded.

He turned to Petra. “You. Get a pitcher of room-temperature water and a glass.”

“Excuse me?” Petra said. “Are you fucking ordering me around?”

“Yes,” Mr. Eckhardt said. “I am. If you want this plant to have a chance, you’ll do it.”

With a frown, Petra retreated to the kitchen.

Mr. Eckhardt knelt in the dirt, gently patting the earth surrounding the remaining plant. “If the main stem wasn’t injured, this one should be fine. We’ll give it a careful watering so as not to disturb it further.”

I joined him on the ground. “Why are you being nice? Do you feel guilty? Did you psychotically rip these from the ground in a fit of rage? Remember, I found your wife’s dress buried in this backyard. Did you bury other dresses in this backyard? Are you looking to dig up all the evidence?”

Mr. Eckhardt stiffened beside me. “You’re embarrassing yourself. I’m just trying to help.”

“We don’t need your help,” Trey said. He carried a large blue bucket that had seen better days. “This is what I could find, Mom.”

“Let’s gather as many intact tomatoes as we can see,” I said, fighting the urge to lie down and sob until my tears soaked the ground. “I think you should leave, Mr. Eckhardt.”

Petra returned, and Mr. Eckhardt reached for the water. He poured some into a glass and slowly fed it to the survivor. “You need to do this again in the morning. I can manage it if you don’t have the time.”

“I think I can water one plant. I’ve been watering twenty-five all summer.”