Glory Road Page 6

  CHAPTER 8

  When grouping plants in a garden, take special care to select species with similar needs. Consider the temperaments of each plant and the relationships between them. Where plants are positioned in a garden—and which plants they’re next to—can spell happiness or discontent, and it’s often difficult to predict which it’ll be.

  —LEIGH T. JACOB, HARMONY IN THE GARDEN

  EVAN

  Iwas spreading pine mulch under the new miniature gardenias we’d just planted when a customer pulled up the drive in a fancy black car. From my shady spot on the side of the shop, I listened as Mom talked to the man about pie and flowers. When Gus started flirting and Mom tried to dismiss her, I took my chance and sneaked down the driveway toward the road. I hadn’t finished with the mulch, but it could wait.

  I slowed down when I reached the fork in the driveway—the right side meandered toward the shop and the other side wound around toward our house. My favorite pecan tree stood guard at the fork. In the fall it’d drop fat pecans by the bucketful. One of my favorite things was to pick up pairs of pecans and crack them between the heels of my hands. I stopped and tipped my face up toward the sunlight. Above me, branches and green leaves reached for the pale-blue sky, and I squinted until the colors blurred together.

  Sometimes the quiet of our road bugged me, but most of the time where we lived felt like a sort of paradise, like we were separated from the rest of the world by dark soil and trees and fields full of dandelions and clover. Most of the kids at school lived in regular neighborhoods with paved driveways and ice cream trucks, but we had it better out here. Fewer people, more room to breathe, more space to think.

  I was thinking of ways to convince Mom to let me practice driving—I’d already told her I wanted to get my learner’s permit the day I turned fifteen—when I heard a deep, quiet voice coming from the road. It was singing. And it wasn’t just some random song, it was “Hallelujah,” probably my favorite song in the world. I was sure it was the Jeff Buckley version, not Leonard Cohen’s. But that may have just been wishful thinking.

  I couldn’t see him at first—he was behind the tall azalea bushes that grew next to the fence. I knew he was there because a dog on a leash trotted out in front of him. I saw his arm, then finally the rest of him came into view.

  The face in the passenger window of the old Jeep flying down the road.

  The guy at the gym when I picked up my student information packet. Earbuds, head bobbing to the invisible beat, black jeans, that last glance over his shoulder.

  Nick.

  The dog strained against his leash, pulling Nick to the side, toward the weathered wood fence separating the road from our front yard. Finally, the dog stopped and stuck his nose through the fence and panted. Nick pulled on the dog’s leash, talked softly to him, then faced me. He didn’t say anything at first, and since I didn’t either, we stood there staring at each other for what felt like ten minutes but was probably only a couple seconds. Finally, unable to stand the awkwardness, I spoke.

  “I like your dog,” I said. Inexplicably.

  A half grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “I sort of do too.” He gave a gentle tug on the leash, then he and the dog approached the end of the driveway. “Sit,” Nick said. “Stay.”

  I forced one foot in front of the other and prayed I didn’t look as nervous as I felt. Why was I nervous? I wasn’t the get-nervous-around-guys type. A bead of sweat dripped down my chest into my bra. Gross.

  He leaned down—he was very tall—and scratched the dog’s ears. “This is Stanley.” His voice was like melting butter, the kind Gus browned in the oven in her old cast-iron skillet so it turned deep and smoky. “I’m Nick.”

  “Evan.”

  “I remember you. From the school the other day. What kind of name is Evan?” He didn’t ask it in a rude way, like some people did. He didn’t quite smile, but the edges of his words weren’t so sharp.

  “It was my grandfather’s name. His middle name. It’s weird, I know.” People let me know, in their own ways, that it was strange. I kind of liked my name though.

  “No, I think it’s cool.” He gestured behind me. “So is this your . . . Do you live here?”

  “Yeah. Well, in the yellow house.” I pointed over to the left. “This is my mom’s garden shop, Twig. I help her out some.” I glanced down at my turquoise-and-black striped leggings and my favorite gray Village Records T-shirt, both flecked with dirt and a little damp from sweat and whatever else. “I’m working today.”

  “My dad could use some help with that. He’s got this idea to start a vegetable garden in our backyard. I’m surprised he even knows vegetables don’t always come wrapped in plastic with little stickers on them.”

  I laughed. “Send him down here. My mom can probably help.”

  Stanley stood and whined, then pushed against Nick’s leg.

  “Do you live around here?” I knew it was a stupid question, seeing as he was walking his dog and his dad was planting a garden in a backyard close by, but his presence confused me. No one like him had ever lived on Glory Road. I was sure of it.

  He pointed his thumb back down the road. “My dad and I just moved in. It’s my grandparents’ house. They moved out, and my dad’s fixing the place up.”

  “That’s cool.”

  He nodded. “It’s . . . quiet around here.”

  “It’s always pretty quiet. Not much happens. But it’s also kind of nice that way.”

  He tilted his head as if considering my words. “Yeah, I can see that. We moved from Atlanta. Midtown. Something was always happening there.”

  Stanley whined again and turned to Nick and panted.

  “Okay, buddy.” He smoothed the dog’s ears. “I’ll get you back home.”

  “Right. I need to get back too. We’ve got this computer thing going on and my mom’s probably going ballistic by now.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  I shrugged. “It’s just dead. I think she’s getting it fixed, but it’s going to be a while before the guy can get to it.” As if he needed this much information.

  “My dad works with computers. If it’s not totally dead, he can fix it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I could mention it to him. Maybe they could work out some sort of trade. Computer help for gardening advice.”

  “That’d be awesome.”

  “Okay then.” He tugged on the leash and Stanley followed him. “See you around?”

  I nodded. “See you.”

  “Sit,” I wanted to say. “Stay. And please keep singing that song.”

  For lunch Mr. Rainwater brought Gus a Ziploc of catfish fillets. I could hardly look at the bag. It was bulging and oozy and it made me want to gag, so Gus shooed me away so she could fry them up. As I left the kitchen she stopped me. “Who was that boy you were talking to?”

  “Which one?”

  She raised an eyebrow, expertly flipping a fillet in the hot oil. “The one out by the road.”

  I turned quickly to the den to see if Mom was there.

  “So who was he?”

  “A new neighbor.” I tried to sound casual. “I was just welcoming him to the street.”

  “Well, aren’t you a regular little welcome wagon. He was cute.”

  “Who was cute?” Mom breezed into the kitchen from the side door. Her cheeks were pink.

  “No one—” I began, but Gus cut in loudly.

  “Some boy Evan was talking to out by the street while you were chatting on the porch.”

  “Wait, what?”

  I waited for more—the twenty questions I knew Mom wanted to unload—but she just looked at me with her eyebrows arched high.

  “It’s nothing,” I said. “Really.”

  “It’s been an interesting morning,” Gus said from the stove. “Can’t wait to see what happens this afternoon.”

  Now I was curious. What had I missed up on the porch? I remembered that black SUV sliding up the driveway and the
man who climbed out of it.

  I was about to ask Mom, but she pulled off her garden apron and tossed it in a chair. “We can talk later. Let’s eat.” She picked up a piece of catfish just out of the pan, blew on it, then popped it in her mouth. “I’m starving.”

  That afternoon clouds pushed in and a breeze blew through the open doors of Twig. Mom and Mr. Rainwater were in the back organizing a shipment of ferns that had come in that morning from a grower nearby. Gus was directing them, pointing her red fingernails here and there as she saw fit. Mom mostly ignored her directions, but Mr. Rainwater tried as hard as he could to please Gus. Anyone with half a brain could see that.

  A truck rumbled to a stop out front, but I didn’t bother getting up. I was perched on the stool behind the counter, trying one last time to bring some flash of life back to the computer, when I heard footsteps on the front porch.

  “Come on in.” I didn’t take my eyes from the screen. I thought I could see a faint logo behind the black. “Mom’s out back if you need her. Ferns are 20 percent off today.”

  “How much are dead computers?”

  I jerked my head up and the room spun a little. When everything evened out, there stood Nick in front of me, standing next to a man I assumed was his dad.

  “What are you doing here? I mean—hey. What are you doing here?” I brushed my hair back from my face and mentally catalogued my appearance—hair falling down from the knot at the back of my head and leggings that bore the remnants of a bag of soil I’d ripped open too quickly.

  “Your mom needs computer help, right?”

  “Yeah . . . ?”

  “I brought my dad. He wants some tomato plants anyway.”

  “Hi.” The man smiled. Somewhere in his face—his eyes maybe, or his mouth—he was just an older version of Nick. But where Nick was tall and slim, his dad looked like he should have been chopping wood or leading a pack of dogs through the Alaskan wilderness. Like he’d be at home in plaid flannel and a hat with ear flaps. Maybe it was the beard. It was kind of nice though. “I’m Ben.”

  “Evan.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard.” Mr. Bradley glanced at Nick. Then my heart stopped.

  I stood quickly and the stool tipped behind me. I grabbed it and righted it back on all four feet. “Let me run out and get my mom. She’ll be so happy about the help.” I turned toward the back of the shop and tripped over one of the legs of the stool. I grabbed it again, took a deep breath to calm myself. “She can definitely help you with the tomatoes. Or any other vegetables.”

  I slammed open the screen door and jumped down the steps in time to see Mr. Rainwater pushing his wheelbarrow around the back of the greenhouse toward Mom. She peeled up the corner of the tarp covering the plastic pool, and he dumped the load in.

  “Mom, someone’s here to fix your computer.”

  “What? Now?” She squinted in the sun and pushed her dark-brown bangs off her forehead with the back of her gardening glove.

  I nodded. She said something to Mr. Rainwater, then started for the shop, pulling her gloves off as she walked.

  “Did you call someone?” she asked as she walked toward me. “I think if I fool with it some more, I might be able to do something. This morning it started making these weird laser sounds. At least it was something new.”

  “Laser sounds?”

  “Yeah, sort of like Star Wars?”

  “Those are light sabers. And they probably won’t do any good. Just come talk to him.” I wanted her to hurry up and come on before the smell of Mr. Rainwater’s fertilizer made it inside the shop to where I assumed Nick and Mr. Bradley were still waiting. But then I heard the screen door slam. I turned around when I heard Mr. Bradley’s voice.

  “Have you seen black lines across the screen?” He stood at the top of the steps, his mouth in a half grin. “Is it shutting down a lot?”

  “It doesn’t shut down,” Gus said from the rocking chair tucked under the arbor. “It takes occasional afternoon naps.”

  “Hi, Mrs. McBride.” Mr. Bradley smiled at Gus and my mind whirled. Mom was next to me now. “I can look at it,” he said to her. “If you want. It’s . . . That’s what I do. Computers.”

  “Wait—y’all know each other?” The question was directed to all of them, but I was watching Mom. In a split second a whole universe of emotions skittered across her face before a pink flush spread across her cheeks. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and propped her other hand on her hip, then dropped it.

  “Mom?”

  She wiped her hands on her shorts, pointless since her shorts were covered in dirt too, and blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Hi, Ben.” She put her hand on my back. “Looks like you’ve already met my daughter, Evan.” I heard a squeak behind me, and Mom and I both turned. Mr. Rainwater was approaching with the empty wheelbarrow. “This is Harvis Rainwater. He lives down at the end of the road.”

  He tipped his cap at us. “I just have one more load, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “You’re fine,” Mom said, her voice quiet.

  “I’ll head up front with Harvis,” Gus called down as she stood from the rocking chair. “You go on and see about your computer.”

  I didn’t understand the glance that passed between Mom and Gus, but Mr. Bradley seemed to. He retreated back into the shop.

  “Mom?” I whispered. “How do you know him?”

  With her hand still on my back, she gave me a gentle nudge. “We used to go to school together.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes were darting around like she was taking stock of everything around us, which didn’t make sense to me because everything was the same as always. “I . . . I guess he works on computers or something. How did he . . . Did you call him?” She shook her head. “But you didn’t . . . This doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well, I . . .” I knew I should say something, but all of a sudden admitting that I had anything to do with Nick and Mr. Bradley showing up here felt incredibly uncomfortable.

  “It’s fine. Let’s go see what he has to say.”

  Inside, Mom stopped at the counter next to Mr. Bradley.

  “It’s been a long time, Jessie.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “It has.”

  “And you’ve been . . . ?” His gaze drifted over Mom’s shoulder to where I stood. He cleared his throat and looked back at her.

  “This is it.” She patted the laptop. “And before you ask, yes, it’s old.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “I bought it fourteen years ago.”

  “Oh.” He chuckled. “That is old.”

  “I should have upgraded a long time ago, but . . .” She shrugged. “They’re expensive.”

  “Not always. They’re generally cheaper now than when you bought this thing. But maybe you won’t need a new one. Let me try a few things.” Mom backed up so he could slide around the counter and sit down. He punched a few keys, then tried another combination, then another. I watched them, but I also kept an eye on Nick. He stood at the rack of seeds, casually spinning it around.

  As Mr. Bradley worked, Mom leaned against the other side of the counter and fiddled with a frayed spot on her shorts. “How’d you know about my computer?”

  He pressed and held a button, and after a moment, the screen flashed and a green blinking line appeared in the top corner. “Nick and your daughter met this morning and she mentioned you could use some help.” Mom’s head snapped up and she cocked her head at me, brow furrowed.

  Should have told her.

  “Apparently Nick’s trying to drum up some extra work for me.”

  “So this is what you do? I mean, for a living?”

  “Sort of. I’m a consultant. I do cybersecurity for a bunch of firms, but I do some IT work on the side.”

  “He’s a total computer geek,” Nick called from the back.

  Mr. Bradley laughed. “Thanks.”

  “He’s also clueless about gardening, but he wants to grow his own vegetables. That’s the real reason w
e’re here. I figured if I could get him around an actual gardener, maybe something will rub off on him.”

  A corner of Mom’s mouth tilted up, but her smile seemed more sad than happy. “I can give you a few pointers about vegetables. It’s the least I can do if you can get this thing up and running.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. May not be a quick fix though.”

  Mom watched as his fingers tapped on the keyboard. She bit her lip and crossed her arms, then uncrossed them. The silence between them was awkward, so I moved toward Nick at the spinner rack. As I slid around one display table of potted English ivy and another one of Gus’s fried peach pies wrapped in waxed paper, I glanced back at Mom. I tried to gauge her tension level by the deepness of that little furrow between her eyebrows, but her head was turned too far. I did catch her smoothing her hair behind her ears though.

  “Looking for seeds?” I asked Nick when I made it to the rack. I propped my hands on my hips and bumped my funny bone on the corner of the table behind me.

  “Do tomatoes even come as seeds or do we buy them already grown?”

  I massaged my elbow. “You can do either. But we have some already started. That’ll be easier than starting them from seed. And anyway, you missed the time to plant tomato seeds.”

  “Of course we did. I was on board with this garden idea at first, but he’s so set on it now. He’s even marked out spots in the backyard where he wants different vegetables to go.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I think he needs to direct his pent-up energy on something a little less . . . involved.”

  “Knitting? Cooking?”

  He smiled and spun the rack with one finger. “Knitting. I like that. I could use a new . . . whatever you knit. Hats?”

  It felt good to make him smile. “I have no idea. Let me show you the tomatoes outside.” I turned toward the back door and he followed. I glanced up at Mom and Mr. Bradley as we walked out. He was focused on the screen, tapping out some sort of code onto the keyboard. Mom sat on the stool next to him.

  “I could get into cooking,” Nick was saying. “Dad’s okay, honestly. But it’s usually just the two of us and he doesn’t feel the need to impress me much.”