Romantic feel, flower boxes, warmth...
Jennifer stared at him, knocked off guard not only by his choice of words, but the accompanying sparkle in his eyes.
Was this really coming from him?
“You already have a natural wall of privacy in place there.” He pointed off to the dense clusters of skinny palm trees on the opposite side of the driveway, then turned to the other side, a mishmash of plants bunched around the base of more palm trees. “But I’d like to see that area cleaned up a little. Maybe add a few ginger and ferns. Once rooted, they’ll spread, and do a nice job of filling in the gaps between trees.” He stopped as though a thought occurred to him. “Do you have an irrigation system?”
“Yes,” she answered abruptly, honed in. “Both front and back.”
“Great. It will help to establish your new plants.” Glancing around one more time, Jackson suggested, “If you’re ready we can head to the back.”
“Around this way,” she said, her mind still buzzing with images of fountains and flowers. Curious to what he would propose next, she led him to the pool area via the driveway.
“Those Oaks are some real beauties.”
She followed the direction of his finger. “They are lovely,” she agreed, steering her line of thought to one of the few positives, at the moment.
As Jackson rounded the corner and stopped dead. The smile dropped from his face. “That’s depressing.”
Jennifer sighed. It was one of the things she hated most about moving in before the landscaping was finished. Like living in limbo, it was incomplete; a mix of beauty and waste.
A disorganized mess. She frowned. “The same contractor who remodeled the house built the pool, so naturally they were completed together.”
“Not to worry.” Jackson shrugged off the brief dip into negative territory and his smile was back. “We’ll get this yard in shape before you know it!”
If only she felt as certain.
“Does that wall run along your property line?”
“Yes,” she confessed. Like being seen without makeup, he was observing her yard at its worst, particularly the huge blemish—the ugly, cracked back wall. “Unfortunately. It’s an awful eyesore. The workers cleared the weeds from it and found the stucco is in need of serious repair. They’re scheduled to fix it next week and then I plan on painting it the same color as the house, maybe put a bench or something in front of it.”
She turned to him for his reaction, almost woeful at the prospect. “I could tear it down, if you think it might help.”
Jackson looked aghast. “Oh no, that’s a definite asset!”
She scrunched her brow. “Asset? How on earth do you figure?”
His expression brightened. “I’d like to put in a wall fountain, surrounded by colorful Spanish tiles and a half round basin on the ground. About midway up.” Once again, his hands were working through the air as he seemed to be thinking on his feet, encouraging her to envision the project. “A splash ledge, maybe in the shape of a giant clam shell.” He made a wavy motion with his hands. “Keep it simple, but elegant.” He looked to her as though seeking confirmation.
Jennifer squinted, trying to imagine it as he described. “You like fountains,” she said dully. While she considered herself a positive person, she found it hard to match his enthusiasm. Living with this mess took a toll on one’s outlook.
“I love fountains. Water is good for the soul,” he said, words flowing from him like a river of poetry. “It’s a powerful cleansing force that heals anything from stress to illness and everything in between. For added texture, we can place some climbing fig on either end.” He paused, as though waiting for her to catch up. “It makes for an attractive, dense wall covering.”
As the sun eased past the treetops, she raised a hand to shield her eyes. The artist in her was embarrassed she couldn’t keep up with his vision. Intricate, emotion-provoking, it was clear his ideas for the property were superior to her own.
“The pool is a good size, the shape simple.” A rectangle with inverted corners. “Gets plenty of sunlight—an important thing to consider, as it dictates the mood of the pool.” Jackson flashed an approving smile. “And a pool full of sunshine is like a party on demand!”
Yes, she nodded, thinking absolutely not. This was to be her sanctuary, not party central.
He curled a finger around his lips. “I like the paver pool deck. It coordinates well with the driveway and roof, and the keystone coping completes the look. I see a couple of statues at the far corners.” He pointed out the imaginary fixtures. “Some small cherubs, nothing elaborate, or maybe some lions.”
He framed the area with his hands again, a photographer assessing his shot. “I can imagine a few terra-cotta planters filled with dark green shrubs.” Jackson stopped, as though it had just occurred to him to ask her opinion. “Do you lean toward a manicured look or more natural and free?”
“Natural,” she replied, though he most probably took her for the manicured type. She’d always preferred the natural fall of plants and flowers, growing as nature intended them.
“I assume you’re planning on using a professional yard service, to take care of the property for you?”
“Yes,” she replied, taking offense to the insult she thought she detected in his voice. “I work. I don’t have time to take care of a lawn.” And Aurelio would no sooner cut the grass than tune his car engine. His time was too valuable. In fact, he chose high-rise living on South Beach for that very reason.
“No problem. But if you change your mind, I design a garden to live by.”
She gaped at him. “What?”
“Live your garden.” He slapped both hands back to his hips, slipping fingers into the front pockets.
She assumed the concept was universal, though she had no idea what it meant.
Jackson merely smiled.
Not a cloud in the sky, it was growing uncomfortably warm. While she may not know, he didn’t have to know she didn’t know. “Of course. A garden to live by.”
“It’s my own slogan.”
Her pulse tripped over the blunder.
“It describes the essence of how I design. Your garden should be a reflection of you.” He paused, his eyes and interest taking her in more fully. “It should mirror your image of leisure, enjoyment. It’s the place where you can unwind, relax... Do nothing if you choose...or everything—depending on your personality.” He smiled as though a secret was unwinding between them. “Some clients want a party atmosphere in their backyard, while others want a tranquil environment, where they can escape the hustle and bustle of the city, the office. The goal varies, but the heart of the garden is the same.”
What Jackson was describing, seemed more like a slice of psychology than landscape design.
He glanced around, a quick survey of the grounds, then settled his gaze on her. He smiled and his voice dropped to quiet tones. “It should be a place where you want to spend your time. If we succeed, the job of maintenance won’t seem like a job at all. Rather than a chore, you’ll enjoy the upkeep of your space. Weed a little here, prune a little there...” Dancing brown eyes landed on her as he grinned. “I call it living your garden, a must for success.”
Growing up, it was her mother who clipped the weeds and pruned the flowers. She trimmed and mulched and spent hour upon hour keeping up with the grinding chore of maintenance. All this time, Jennifer had viewed the endeavor as a backbreaking necessity. Was she wrong? Had she been “living her garden” as Jackson implied?
“Do you have an idea for what you want to see out here?”
Jennifer looked at him with what surely must have been a dumb stare. Her fundamental plan had called for trees and shrubs, some grass and a few beds of flowers. This talk of fountains and statues, and living the garden threw her wholly off kilter! “Oh, uh, I don’t know...” She glanced around, feeling like an ill-prepared first-year resident. “Hibiscus,” she murmured. “Maybe some bougainvillea...”
“
Nice choices.”
But not near as well thought out as your ideas. “I’ve always wanted a fruit tree,” she added meekly.
“You certainly have enough sun for them.”
Habitat; an obvious consideration, yet the thought never crossed her mind. While she may know what she liked, she had no idea if it would grow in her yard. Immobile, Jennifer suddenly felt ignorant. It was a state of mind to which she was unaccustomed. And one she didn’t care for.
“Listen,” he said, and gently took charge. “Let me make some sketches. That way, you’ll get a better feel for what I have in mind and we can go from there.”
So much for all her dictation on how things would run.
“I’ll begin this afternoon.”
“Will it take very long?” was all she could think to ask. I mean, because—“
He held up a hand and his eyes softened to a caramel brown. “Mike explained you’re under the gun on this one. I’ll draw them up today and drop them by in the morning.”
Jennifer gave a double take. That quick? “Yes but, I leave for work pretty early.”
“Will six a.m. be early enough?”
She about fell over. How on earth could he produce drawings with any detail in so little time? She hesitated, but met with a solid wall of confidence she consented. “Yes, of course...”
“All right, then.” Jackson extended his hand. “I guess I better get to work.”
Shaking hands, she was once again taken by the warm clasp. Firm, yet soft. Comfortable. Her senses reeled at its sudden withdrawal.
“Goodbye.”
Jennifer turned to lead the way, but he stopped her. “I can find my way out.”
And with a quick wave, he was gone.
Jennifer stood spellbound, her gaze trailing after him until he disappeared around the corner of her house.
For a long moment she stood, unaware she was caressing the skin where they had touched. The exchange had gone nothing like she imagined. Not once had he said “dude” or “man.” In fact, he used no slang at all and instead, was rather well-spoken.
And his ideas... Some of them were really quite good!
But then again she thought, annoyed by her lingering reaction to his touch. Anyone can sound like they know what they’re doing if they follow a template. His portfolio of projects probably all look the same.
With an about-face, she marched back into the house. We’ll just see what Mr. Montgomery comes up with tomorrow.
Chapter Seven
“They’re beautiful, Jennifer.”
Organizing the flowers in a vase by her mother’s bedside, she agreed and spruced them for a rounder presentation. “Rudolph’s nursery does an outstanding job, don’t they?”
“They do, indeed.”
It had become a regular stop on her way to Fairhaven. The roses they grew were sheer perfection; long graceful stems topped with petals of red velvet. She buried her nose in the bunch, inhaling the rich, sweet perfume. “I don’t know how he does it, but they are magnificent each and every time.”
“It takes a loving touch to nurture such beauty.”
“And you should know,” Jennifer replied, heartened by the sentiment. She turned toward her mother. “Your flowers were always award-winning quality.”
Light blue eyes sparkled in pleasure at the compliment. Dressed in a simple linen dress, shoulder-length hair combed until it shone a lustrous gray and held back by a pearl-lined clip, Beatrice was elegance personified. Despite the ravage within her body, she still took the time to make up her face, and receive her guests in proper fashion.
With the staff’s assistance.
Fairhaven was the best assisted-living facility Miami had to offer, their reputation impeccable. The interior décor was equally lovely as creams, greens and blues were blended together in fabrics and furniture, walls were painted a buttery yellow and dotted by tasteful paintings of the Everglades. Lighting wasn’t fluorescent, but instead came in the form of lamps and sconces lending a cozy feel to the rooms. The aim was quiet luxury. As patients waded through the twilight of their lives, they would do so in style.
The place was top of the line in every way, except one. It wasn’t home. It wasn’t where her mother should be.
But Beatrice insisted. She wasn’t moving in with her daughter, despite Jennifer’s pledge to provide round-the-clock nursing care, a private bedroom and bath of her own.
No. Her mother remained adamant. She wanted her independence. She wanted her own place. Even if it was in a nursing home.
“Come,” she said, patting the cotton blanket. “Let’s visit. Tell me all about your new garden.”
Jennifer obliged without thinking, settling into the chair beside her. “I have a landscaper,” she said flatly.
“Marvelous!”
“Maybe yes,” Jennifer tempered her enthusiasm, “maybe no.”
“What?”
At her mother’s confounded look, she explained. “He’s a bartender,” Jennifer said, not bothering to conceal her concern. “On the side of his landscaper business.”
“Bartender?”
“Yes. We actually met for the first time at Michael’s party the other night. You remember, the one he held for Catherine’s engagement? Well, this fellow was there, tending bar.”
“Oh, heavens!” Beatrice exclaimed, as though this were bad news, indeed.
“It was only a favor to Michael. He insists landscaping is his first priority,” she assured, placating her mother’s sudden alarm. “Seems he and Michael are friends. In fact, it was his recommendation I relied on in my selection.”
Beatrice’s eyes expressed disappointment over the development. “Doesn’t Michael understand you want a professional job done? You want design work, not someone who’s going to plant a few bushes here and there.”
Jennifer nodded, her mood pinched by her mother’s concern. “He does, but Michael swears this fellow is the one.”
“Are you certain?”
No, she wasn’t certain of anything. “He came by this morning and had some good ideas. He’s supposed to drop the drawings by tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
Her thoughts exactly.
Beatrice eyed her warily. “I’d be a bit leery, if I were you.”
“Yes,” Jennifer echoed her mother’s sentiment. She was bothered, too but time had clipped her wings on this one. She knew of no one else to call. “I’m willing to withhold judgment until we see what he comes back with tomorrow.”
As if she had a choice in the matter.
“Do you have someone else lined up in the event his work is unacceptable?”
“Not yet.” Jennifer’s body sagged at the admission. “But not to worry,” she assured with a confidence she didn’t feel. “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll find someone.”
But what Jennifer saw in her mother’s eyes could have been a reflection of her own. Tension. They didn’t have time to spare, should his promises prove hollow.
Jennifer dodged her gaze, and landed upon the fresh bouquet of roses she brought today. Sitting atop the mobile swing-table, the flowers did little to add warmth, cheer. They were merely a skimp of color to an already well-decorated room.
Her gaze drifted. The picture frames scattered across her mother’s dresser and nightstand, filled with images of family and friends, didn’t do much either.
While lovely memories, they were just things.
And things didn’t matter. Not when illness came to call.
“When will you receive his proposal?”
“Tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
“That’s what he says.”
Her mother didn’t look pleased. “Maybe I should call someone. In the event his design falls short.”
Jennifer shook her head. “Please, let’s wait.” This was her responsibility and she would make it happen. “His ideas actually sounded quite good this morning. He may surprise us.”
Beatrice lifted her brow.
“Tom
orrow I’ll have a better idea and if need be, we’ll call someone else.” Adding more names to the list of prospective hires only added delay.
Somewhat pacified, her mother agreed. “Okay. But call me first thing in the morning. I know several people with possible connections in the landscape design business.”
Of course she did. Beatrice Hamilton was a venerable institution in the Gables. If she didn’t know them, they knew her. Of her. The woman was a dynamo of action when she set her mind to it.
“Now listen,” she said, and reached for Jennifer’s hand. “Let’s not talk about that anymore. Let’s talk about you.” She ushered forth a grand smile. “You’re going to make a beautiful bride, my dear.”
Eyes bright and alert, they held the real life in her mother’s fading body and shone without a hint of fear.
Unlike Jennifer. She was dreading her mother’s passing.
Beatrice gestured for her daughter to take her hand, painfully slender fingers covered in a delicate pastry of skin to which she obliged, closing it in her own. Jennifer gave a gentle squeeze.
“I’m so happy for you. Aurelio is a wonderful man, Jenny.”
She nodded, her response locked in the rigid swell of her throat.
Her mother eased her head back against the pillow. “Like your father. He was a good man...” she said intently. “And so good to me. Our life together was filled with love and adventure, everything new and exciting, because we were together.”
As exciting as Africa she wondered, but didn’t dare broach the subject. Adding to her mom’s burden was something she was loath to do. This weight was one she must carry alone.
“I know you two will be as happy together as we were,” she said in a wisp of breath, and closed her eyes.
Gone was the rush of panic Jennifer used to experience at the closing of those aging lids, replaced now by tired resignation. She had long since learned it was a sign of retreat; a relief for her mother to get rest, and not the final goodbye.
Not until she was ready. Jennifer dropped any pretense of strength and allowed her head to fall. The spirit was a powerful force. Journals had been written on the will to survive and she knew it wouldn’t be extinguished until it was good and ready; her mother’s case in point.
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