Steady (Indigo)

by Robinson, Ruthie

  “Hello, Kat. How’s my favorite goddaughter doing today?” he asked.

  “I’m your only goddaughter. Where’s Colburn?” she asked, looking around for her other godfather. Henry Colburn was the Co. of Abernathy and Co. and the opposite in appearance and temperament from his partner. African-American, short, stocky, and sturdy—the three S’s, Katrina often called Colburn. He and Charles were partners, both in business and in life, had been partners at a time when it wasn’t a safe thing to be.

  Charles was the easygoing one of the two, Caucasian, tall and whippet thin, friendly to Colburn’s intolerance for bullshit.

  She knew they both loved her, had performed their own godfather ceremony after her adoption. Colburn and Charles had both served in the Vietnam War—Charles with her adopted father—and the three men had forged a bond that hadn’t been broken. They were in their late sixties, but you couldn’t tell it by the amount of work they did at the store each day.

  They were, as her adoptive parents had been, avid gardeners. Her gardening education growing up had been supplemented by them. She was twenty-one when her parents were tragically killed in a car accident and she had been taken firmly under her godfathers’ wings. They’d helped her settle her parents’ estate, sell their home, and build a new one. They attended her graduation from college and looked on as she began working at the bank. They had always been there for her; without them, she would have been lost. She tried to stop by at least once a week, more when her day job was easy. She walked over and took a seat on the stool that sat next to the register, preparing to bring Charles up to date with the happenings of her life as he rang up customers.

  “Why the long face?” Charles asked.

  “You are not going to believe this, C, but my neighborhood committee has chosen someone else to lead the gardening competition this year.”

  “Who?”

  “My neighbor, Will Nakane. You know, the one who built that eco-friendly home on my street. I know I’ve told you about him. Well, he apparently has a green thumb as well as a green home. He is being asked to lead this year, and, get this, all because he’s built himself one heck of a backyard. Can you believe that? Apparently it’s one wonderful, stupendous backyard. Did you hear me say backyard?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Backyard,” Charles repeated.

  “Backyard,” repeated the customer, a little old lady standing at the counter. Katrina smiled at that, letting go of some of her anger just that quick.

  “That’s not the worst of it. The worst part is that they want me to be an assistant to him to help him work through the process.”

  “Is that so?” Charles said, handing a bag to the customer. Charles knew all of this, of course, he had listened to John one day last week when he’d stopped by the store. The avid gardening community was very small and knew each other very well.

  “Is that the guy you have a crush on, the one you talk about all the time?”

  “I do not talk about him all the time,” she said, C’s comment bringing her up short. “Do I?” she asked, looking intently at him. “Do I?” Had she?

  “Yep, you do. ‘His home is interesting, Uncle C’. They are doing this. They are building that,” Charles said, mimicking her voice, and even the movement of her head. “You’ve provided me and Colburn with a running commentary cataloging the complete details of the building of his home. When that was done, you moved on to describing his comings and goings. I know who he is, the Japanese kid, right?” he asked.

  “Right,” she said, mortified that she’d been so transparent. She hadn’t realized she’d talked that much about him.

  “Okay, be honest with me, C. Does it seem fair to you that he’s being asked to lead? I mean, one Japanese garden in the backyard and the competition is his for the taking,” she said, returning to her main beef.

  “You do know, Kat, that you can’t lead every year. It seems fair that someone else should have a chance to lead for a change. You’ve been in charge for the past, what, four years?”

  “Not really. They’ve never given me full control, not like they’re going to give Will.”

  “So his design won’t require the neighborhood committee’s approval?” Charles asked.

  “Yes, I guess so.”

  “Well then, they could reject portions of his design as well, couldn’t they?” he asked, smiling at the next customer in line.

  “Yes, but I bet they won’t. Everyone loves Will, the golden boy, his fantastic home, now fantastic backyard, fantastic women, and fantastic body.” She stopped, catching herself, but not before she heard C’s bark of laughter.

  “Yes, your crush is still with us,” he said, still laughing. “Have you voiced your concerns to John and the committee?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’ve demanded a meeting with the committee. I will argue my side next Saturday morning. I want this year, C. Any suggestions as to what I should say?”

  “No, I bet you’ve got it covered,” he said.

  ***

  Will answered his cell on the first ring. Twelve o’clock and he was in between meetings.

  “Hello, Will, this is John. I hope I’m not interrupting your day. Can you talk for a second?” he asked.

  “Sure, I’ve got a second, but not much more. It’s been a bitch of a day,” he said somewhat distractedly. He needed to get ready for a meeting in thirty minutes and wondered if he had time to grab something quick for lunch.

  “It’s about the competition. My premonition concerning Katrina has come true. She has asked the committee to reconsider your selection as leader,” John said, rushing on. “She doesn’t have anything against you personally, but she wants to make sure the committee has heard her ideas and seen her design before the decision is final. Normally we wouldn’t have this extra meeting, but she has done quite a bit for the neighborhood so we need to at least give the appearance of hearing her out.”

  “Okay,” Will said, looking down at his watch, starting to gather up what he needed for his next meeting. So Katrina was taking exception to his leading. He guessed he wasn’t surprised by it; she loved her plants and twigs. Nope, no surprise there.

  “I would like for you to attend. You don’t have to, but it would be nice for the committee to see you, and if they have any questions you would be available to answer them.”

  “John, I really don’t have to do this. It certainly wasn’t something I sought. You asked me. I certainly don’t mind if Katrina heads up this year.”

  “No, the committee has made its selection, and we want you to lead this year. We also believe that, with Katrina’s assistance, we could win, and not by some small margin as we did last year.”

  “When is the meeting?” Will asked.

  “Saturday morning, nine o’clock,” John said, rushing on. “I know it’s short notice, but we would like to resolve the issue sooner rather than later.”

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. I’ve got to go.”

  “Sure. Thanks,” John said as Will disconnected. He would be missing lunch again, and he was hungry, he thought, heading toward his next meeting.

  ***

  The following Saturday morning, Katrina walked over to John’s home, the regular meeting place of the neighborhood committee. Made up of only four people—Sandy, Mrs. Washington, Stan, and John—it was much smaller than the larger city one to which she belonged.

  The meeting was starting in about ten minutes. She’d debated her arrival time endlessly—should she get there early to talk to some of the board members before her presentation or arrive on time? On time won out; she opted to stay home, using the extra time to try and settle her nerves. She was never nervous; the garden was her home away from home, where she felt the most comfortable.

  Cowgirl up, Katrina, she told herself, grabbing the bag that held her designs and the extra copies she’d made for the committee members and headed out the door. John lived to the left of her at the end of the street where it rounded into a cul de sac. Katrina rang the doorbel
l and waited.

  “Hi, Katrina,” John said, opening the door. “Glad you could make it,” he added, giving her a smile as if she had not been the one responsible for them meeting again today.

  She walked through a small foyer that opened up into a large living room where all of the members sat awaiting her arrival, looking up at her with various expressions on their faces. There was annoyance on Stan’s face, patience on Sandy’s, love and encouragement on Mrs. Washington’s, and John, well, she knew how he felt.

  And then there was Will—she hadn’t expected him—his face unreadable before he looked at her and smiled. It was a small one, not the teasing one she’d gotten used to; this version was empathetic and encouraging. She was too angry today to be encouraged. What was he doing here? He shouldn’t be here, she thought, not returning his smile. The members were either on John’s couch or in the surrounding chairs. She stood in front of the group.

  “Hello,” she said, smiling, hoping to camouflage her nerves. A chorus of greetings came back to her.

  “Well, let’s get started,” John said, taking a seat between Will and Sandy and extending his hand outward to indicate that Katrina should start. She opened her bag and pulled out her designs.

  “Okay, first let me say thank you for holding this special meeting and giving me this opportunity to present my ideas for the competition,” she said. She then passed out copies of her design to everyone, including Will, who looked at her again, eyes still unreadable. He’d dropped his smile.

  “So I’m sure everyone knows the theme for this year is ‘A World of Gardens’,” she began, looking around the room. “I’ve given you a copy of what I feel is the winning design. One I believe captures this year’s theme perfectly. I think it’s our best chance of winning. It reflects a gardening style that has been around forever, at least since late nineteenth century England, modified a bit to include the use of Texas native plants,” she said, pausing, taking in the five bowed heads reviewing her design.

  “As you can see, I listed the items and steps that are needed to transform our existing garden to meet my design.” She looked around again and heads were still bent over her plans. Encouraged, she continued. “As you know, I’ve led the past four years, and during that time I have incorporated some of the English gardening styles into our existing garden already in subtle ways. See the sweep of the beds in the right section of the garden. Those would only need to be extended a little, providing us with a cost savings,” she said.

  “We aren’t worried about cost, Katrina, you know that,” Stan said, turning to look at Will. “The neighborhood sets aside money every year, and if we make the final five, the city kicks in a stipend.”

  Katrina’s lips stretched thinly at Stan’s comment, which had been directed to Will as if his leadership was a foregone conclusion.

  “I know, I just thought it would be an additional selling point in light of last year’s runner-up and their endless resources,” she said, rebutting Stan’s comment before turning her attention back to her audience. All were still looking at her design except Will, who was looking off into space, face still unreadable. “I’ve always loved the color, the beauty that this particular gardening style showcases,” she continued.

  “Katrina, let me just cut to the chase, as I haven’t got all day. The committee had already decided on Will’s Japanese garden design, which we’ve all seen. It’s fresh, innovative, I’d even call it art. It would be a welcome addition to the other similar, homogenous styles that already exist in this city. So if this is all you have to show us, then I, for one, am ready to vote. Again,” Stan said, looking up at her, annoyance on his face.

  Ouch, Will thought, feeling sorry for Katrina. He’d arrived early and had taken the pulse of the room before she’d gotten there. It hadn’t looked good for her, and he’d known before she began her presentation that it wouldn’t matter what design she introduced, this committee would not be receptive. He felt bad watching her try to make her case, standing in her brown outfit again, hair pulled back, glasses in place. Her case had fallen on deaf ears, except for Mrs. Washington, who had defended Katrina earlier, much like a mother bear defending her cub. But she was outnumbered by the other committee members, and she voted for his designs despite her defense of Katrina.

  “So this was a waste of time for you and for me. Your minds were made up long before I arrived, is that it? Is that what you’re telling me?” Katrina said, folding her arms across her chest, her professional demeanor giving way quickly to anger.

  “Why don’t you step outside and get some air, Katrina, while we talk?” Mrs. Washington said softly. Katrina took a deep breath and looked over at Will. “I stay if he stays,” she said, continuing to stare directly at him. So much for her interest in me, he thought.

  “No problem. I don’t mind,” he said, standing up. Katrina turned and walked out the door, Will at her heels. She walked fast, her steps sharp, short, and purposeful. Will, smooth and easy, followed behind her. They walked out the front door and he watched while she stalked back and forth in front of the door. Will pushed his hands into his pockets, leaning against the wall next to the front door and watched her. She repeated this process for about three minutes before turning to him.

  “Why are you here?” she said, eyes hard and unfriendly. Just as he’d predicted, the I-want-you-in-my-pants Katrina had disappeared. She’d stopped the stalking, at least. He removed his hands from his pockets slowly and crossed his arms at his chest.

  “I was invited.”

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “John invited me, anyway. It seems without your approval.”

  “That’s not what I meant. You shouldn’t be in this competition. What do you know about gardening?”

  “I know some things. Even you might be surprised,” he responded evenly. He knew she was angry and he understood why, so he was willing to give her some room to take some of that anger out on him, but just a little.

  Who was he to stand there, calm and cool? He, who didn’t deserve or earn this opportunity, Katrina thought. But stand there he did, continuing to watch her, arms crossed at his chest, watching her the same way he did New Year’s night. It was exasperating.

  “So you’ve designed the great backyard,” she said, pronouncing backyard as if it was something the cat had dragged in.

  “It’s not that great, but yes, I designed and landscaped it,” he said.

  “Well, even if I could get behind the idea of a Japanese garden being acceptable, there is the small issue of scale. And not knocking your backyard, but backyards are what I would consider small scale,” she said, sticking out her chin as if she was spoiling for a fight.

  “Katrina, I know you are angry,” he said.

  “Why would I be angry?” she interrupted, lifting her hands. “You’ve been asked to lead a competition that you probably aren’t even qualified for. Nothing to be angry about there. Oh, and I don’t think you can win, did I tell you that?” She was desperate to elicit some other response from him besides cool, but he remained silent, annoying her even further. “And why is that, Katrina?” she said, talking to herself as he didn’t seem inclined to take her bait.

  She seemed to be on a roll, so he just continued to watch.

  “Well, reason number one is that it’s a Japanese garden. Nothing special about that, is there? Two, you’ve only worked on a small scale, one backyard to be exact,” she said, ticking the reasons off on her hand as she talked. “Isn’t that correct?” she asked.

  “This is your story,” he said, calmly.

  “And if those reasons aren’t enough, there’s the issue of your availability and commitment. You would have to be willing to commit to a year, to being here working. The competition can’t work around or come second to bike road trips, jeep rides to Kalamazoo, or hiking the Amazon, or whatever it is you do in your spare time.”

  He gave a short laugh at that.

  “It’s not funny. But back to that garden of yours. The
final limitation, and it’s a major one, I think, is that I don’t see the committee getting hyped about or being impressed with a Japanese garden,” she said, irritated that she couldn’t pierce his cloak of calm. Or maybe she had; he dropped his arms and straightened, looking down into her face now.

  “And why is that?” he said, all traces of patience gone.

  “It’s my experience from having worked with them, that’s all,” she said, looking up into his eyes.

  “You’re a sore loser, Katrina, and a bit of a snob when it comes to gardening,” he said calmly. His voice had dropped in volume, though. Katrina stepped closer to him, close enough to see the hairs on his chin, a day’s growth.

  “Bet you don’t have the nerve to say that to me again,” she said, too angry now to appreciate being this close to him again. If she wasn’t so mad, she would have been turning cartwheels over his body’s proximity to hers, maybe even trying to test his interest in her again.

  John opened the door and looked at them standing inches apart, shock and surprise registering on his face. “The committee is ready for you. You can come in now,” he said, standing back to let them enter. Katrina turned abruptly and entered. Will followed, and John closed the door behind him.

  Mrs. Washington sat up. Will guessed she’d been designated the spokesperson, and she was a good choice, he thought, as he watched Katrina resume her place standing in front of the committee. He remained standing off to the side.

  “Katrina,” Mrs. Washington said, “the committee would like to first say thank you for all of your hard work and dedication to this neighborhood, past and present. I’m not sure we’ve told you that as often as we should have. To most of us, you’ve been like a daughter. We knew your parents and watched you grow up trailing along behind them in all things gardening. After their deaths, we’ve watched you grow into a lovely woman and exceptional gardener. This year, we have decided to go in a different direction, and I’m sorry to say that your presentation today did not sway us from that decision.” Will could tell she was trying to be gentle with Katrina, who stood there listening, her face blank.