Steady (Indigo)

by Robinson, Ruthie

  Just as he thought, her plan was to be difficult. Thomas assigned him the task of loading, delivering, and laying mulch at three homes. He was to use the truck that belonged to the garden; a donation, he was told. He was also given a beat up-old wheelbarrow, the front tire a little flat. Katrina’s doing, he imagined.

  The detail took him all morning. The first home went relatively fast, as it just needed mulch around the trees and the front flower beds. The second home had belonged to Ms. Stone, who was beyond persnickety about her yard. She’d been in his ear the whole time. He laughed about it now, at how she was standing by the curb waiting for him when he pulled up, decked out in what must have been the latest in horticulture wear in the 1950s: pants tucked into rubber boots, a pink twin sweater set, a safari hat on her head, and gloves on her hands. To what purpose he had yet to figure out, because all she did was talk.

  “It’s about time you got here,” she said upon his arrival, giving him the once-over. “You’re that new kid with the odd home that snuck into the garden competition, stealing it from under Katrina’s nose this year, I hear.”

  Yep, that would be me, he thought. He hadn’t anything to say to that, so he just asked her where she’d like her mulch. She spent the entire time giving him her thoughts on the competition and on Katrina. If he was so smart, she said, he would have gotten Katrina to help him. He had to agree with her there.

  The last home delivery hadn’t been easier, but at least it had been quiet. After Ms. Stone, his ears had needed the rest. He pulled the truck into the back entrance to the garden and parked.

  He spotted Katrina walking over to him, an insulated container in her hand. Lunch, he hoped, but who knew with Katrina? It could easily be a thin gruel and a crust of bread. He got out of the truck and walked toward her. He’d removed his outerwear, leaving him in that thin form-fitting shirt, which fit like a second skin. She walked halfway and stood waiting until he reached her. He lifted his baseball cap, and his hair was now plastered to his head. It was so unfair that he should look this good after a hard morning’s work. He looked her over, taking in her outfit in the light. Those overalls again. He smiled and winked at her.

  He was going to be the death of her; after all she’d given him, he still was smiling, his eyes roaming downward, stopping at the lunchbox he saw in her hands. His smile widened.

  “I hope that’s lunch, ‘cause I’m starving,” he said, reaching for the bag and pulling it from her hand. “Let’s see what you’ve packed for me,” he said, unzipping it and looking inside. She had packed herself a lunch and added enough for him, too.

  “It’s just a couple of sandwiches, some chips, and fruit I brought with me from home. I packed enough for two,” she said, reaching for the bag, which he smoothly moved out of her reach.

  “So where do you want to sit? I assume you’ve been waiting for me, to eat with me,” he said, smiling.

  “I hadn’t planned on eating with you.”

  “Sure, you didn’t,” he said smoothly, walking away from her.

  “Wait, where are you going?” she said, jogging to catch up to him.

  “I’m going to find the family section, near the playscape area, the one you designed last year. I like it,” he said when she caught up to him. “And maybe if you’re nice to me I’ll even let you lie down with me in that big hammock in the front. You’ve been wanting to do that for a while. It’ll be my treat for making my job today so easy.” He smiled at her.

  She was quiet. They walked to the front where the flower section was located. Katrina waved to a lot of her neighbors and spoke to more than a few children along the way.

  “You know a lot of your neighbors,” he said.

  “You would, too, if you wanted to. If you stayed put long enough to meet them,” she said, stopping next to a small, kid-size picnic table.

  “Is this okay?”

  “Yes.”

  They both sat down on the tabletop. Katrina took the bag from his hands, pulling out and handing over a sandwich, chips, apple, and a bottle of water.

  “Thanks,” he said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “So tell me, why all this gardening?” he asked in between bites.

  “I’m sure you know by now that I was adopted by two of the original founders of the gardens here. I came to live with them when I was ten. They introduced me to dirt, and we’ve been pals ever since,” she said. He smiled at that. “How about you? You don’t seem the gardening type.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. I see you a lot, and you seem to be busy doing all kinds of adventurous stuff. You seem too busy to settle down long enough to garden.”

  “I don’t know, I lost my dad when I was really young, too. I don’t really have any memories of him. My grandfather came to live with us, helping my mother in our family store, which was started by my mother and father before he died. Anyway, my grandfather built a small garden out back and I found myself there a lot, restless from having to work in the store.

  “He put me to work growing small vegetables and weeding, and he began to introduce me to the history of Japanese gardening. The notion that it was a sanctuary, a respite from the world, held an appeal, even as a kid. More so as I grew older and needed a break from being successful and smart. It’s a lot of work,” he said, smiling again.

  “You’re so full of it,” she said, watching him smile. “I don’t even try.” He looked at her in question. “Try to fit in. I used to, but it’s too much trouble. So how much do you know about composting?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “A little. Why?” he asked.

  “That’s where you’re going to be after lunch—after you finish your wood-chopping detail, that is,” she said. He laughed outright, loudly, and it took him a while to stop.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “You are,” he said, getting up from the table. “I’m ready,” he said. Apparently, that was to be the extent of his explanation.

  She picked up the remains of their lunch before delivering him to Thomas, who stood next to another guy, also African-American, but shorter and thinner.

  “Hey, Will. Back, are you?” he said, grinning now.

  “So far. I’m still here.”

  “I am going to put you with Rufus. You guys are clearing out that pile of trees and brush behind you.” Taking in the size of that pile, Will inwardly groaned, thinking, Not just the two of us.

  Thomas must have seen some of that reflected on his face because he smiled and said, “Just do what you can; it’s enough for more than a few people. The brush you can shred, using the shredder, and the wood you can saw and then chop into splits. There is a small chainsaw and some goggles in the shed over there,” he said, pointing. “You can use it instead of the ax Katrina left for you,” he added, getting a laugh from Will. Thomas laughed, too, and walked away.

  Will and Rufus started working, Rufus immediately going for the brush job and leaving the tree cutting to Will, who worked alone for a while before Thomas joined him. They worked together through most of the afternoon. During one of their breaks, Will walked over to grab some water and Rufus joined him.

  “What were you in for?” Rufus asked.

  “In for?” Will responded, not sure of the question.

  “You know, you are here working, getting your community service hours in, right? You know, part of your sentencing. What were you arrested for?”

  “Umm, interesting question. I was arrested for failure to show proper respect for the leader,” he said, causing Rufus to look at him strangely.

  “I’ve never heard of that, but, you know, they’re always changing the laws up on a brother,” he said, causing Will to laugh.

  They worked steadily for another two hours. It was close to 5 when Thomas called it quits.

  “Thanks for your help today,” he said, extending his hand to shake theirs. “Will, Katrina is waiting for you over in the compost section. You know where that is, right?” he said, teasing Will now.

/>   “Yes,” Will said, going in search of Katrina. He found her standing next to the neighborhood compost pile, pitchfork in hand.

  “You survived, I see,” she said, taking in the undershirt again plastered to his skin, watching as he pulled on his flannel shirt and began buttoning it. His head was bent over his task and she took this time to once again look her fill.

  “I am surviving in spite of your best efforts,” he said, looking up.

  “Hey, that was a normal workday,” she said.

  “Sure it was,” he said, looking down at the fork in her hand. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Turning the compost. I was waiting for you to finish with Thomas,” she said, handing him her pitchfork.

  “Are you just going to do your normal watching of me, or will you be helping this time?” he asked, all cocky.

  “I’ll help, as I’m sure you’re tired,” she said, picking up another pitchfork. “Composting is our latest gardening venture, new as of the beginning of last year. We decided to make our own for use here and for those in the neighborhood who need it,” she said, folding her arms and resting them on the top of her fork.

  “I’m sure you’re pleased with that. You can smell as much dirt as you’d like,” he said, chuckling.

  “Ha, ha. Neighbors contribute their yard waste, vegetable waste, coffee grounds, and grass clippings for those who like the idea of compost without the fuss of composting themselves. We also pick up the coffee grounds from the local coffee shops as well as vegetable waste from neighborhood restaurants.”

  “Waste taken and used for composting is waste not being sent to landfills,” he said. She looked at him with approval. “I have an interest in green; what can I say? You know that from the meeting.”

  “I know, I just thought it was targeted more toward building.”

  “It’s all connected, Katrina. You know that.”

  “I know, just didn’t think you did,” she said.

  “So are you pleased with the city’s approach to this neighborhood gardening idea? Is it the way to go?” he asked, moving his fork in and out of the pile, turning it over.

  “I do. I mean, some consider it a small effort, compared to the large-scale changes needed in the way we grow food in this world, but it’s a start, I think. As you said at the meeting, the changes we need should be larger in scale and scope. But we have to start somewhere, and the city’s efforts make it easier to live greener.”

  “You’re a teacher?”

  “School? Nope, no patience.”

  “Business owner?”

  “Nope, but it’s the question people ask me the most.”

  “Maybe they see something in you.”

  “Small business can be a big risk. Ninety-five percent fail within the first five years,” she said, obviously having given the possibility some thought.

  “It’s a dangerous business going out your door,” he said.

  “Bilbo Baggins,” she said and smiled.

  “I’m a fan,” he said.

  “So what do you do that makes you travel so?” she asked, back to watching him work, her arms resting on her pitchfork.

  “I’m director of what’s called Global Production Support—GPS for short. I work with customers on a global basis to improve the performance of the systems we produce and sell.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, not really understanding his explanation. “So that’s the reason for all your travel?” she asked, watching as he steadily worked his way down to the end of the composting area, turning it over with his fork, in his own rhythm now. She picked up her fork and moved closer to him, sticking it back into the ground.

  “Yes. We are an original equipment manufacturer for the semiconductor industry.

  Sometimes I spend a few weeks working, meeting with customers to discuss product-related technical and performance issues.” He straightened and stood, now at the end of the pile.

  “Okay,” she said, not understanding that, either, but moving on. “You’re fast,” she said, walking over and taking his fork from him, putting it with hers, and leaning them against a fence post.

  “Last thing we need to do today is to add manure to my worms,” she said, walking toward the first row of bins.

  “We?” he said, following her.

  “This area is just starting. Thomas built these bins for me last year,” Katrina said, lifting the cover and scooping out a handful of manure, compost, and worms to show him. “Know anything about vermicomposting?” she asked.

  “Cultivation of worm castings for use as organic fertilizer? Worms eat, poop, and have sex. Not a bad life,” he said, pleased that she seemed surprised that he knew. “I worked at a small community garden during graduate school. They were into vermicomposting, too. They were known for their organic vegetables. I helped, watched, and learned.” He took the shovel from her.

  “Graduate school?”

  “MBA,” he said, “Stanford. Where’s your manure?” he asked.

  “Over here. We get ours from a local farmer. We’re still working out the kinks in this whole worm poop process. We have to go take the truck over to his farm and load it up ourselves.”

  He laughed. “I’m surprised you didn’t save that chore for me.”

  “I wish. Pick-up is during the week or else I would have,” she said. He laughed.

  “Did you know that there’s this one restaurant in India, saw it on internet, that takes all of its vegetable waste and puts it out back, along the fence. Nothing elaborate, just feed for their worms who, as you know, produce great organic fertilizer, which in turn is used in the restaurant’s gardens. What a great use of resources.”

  “Yep,” he said, spreading manure into two of the bins.

  “We use both the compost from the pile you just turned and my worm fertilizer for the gardens here,” she said.

  “Your worms?” he said, dumping another shovelful of manure and spreading it over another bin. Katrina stood back and watched as he worked, muscles moving under his shirt, jeans stretched tightly over superb thighs. She sighed, large and loudly, he looked over at her and laughed. Ten minutes later, he was done.

  “What next, boss?’ he asked.

  “That’s it for me,” she said. “I’m sending you back to Thomas, to help with the end of the day cleaning, making sure the tools are put away. You aren’t too tired, are you?” she asked.

  “Why would I be tired?” he asked, a hint of sarcasm mixed in with his question.

  “You can find Thomas in the back where you met him this morning.”

  “Are you leaving now?” he asked.

  “Nope, come find me when you’re done,” she said, walking away.

  “Sure,” he said to her back, laughing inside at her determination to make him work until the bitter end. He found Thomas and helped him haul tools left behind by volunteers, clean out the wheelbarrows, and do general upkeep. It took them about an hour to finish.

  “Good luck on the gardening competition. Don’t let Katrina push you around too much,” Thomas said, laughing.

  “She hasn’t agreed to help me yet,” he said.

  “She will. Let me know if I can be of any help,” Thomas said, smiling and shaking Will’s hand.

  “Sure. Thanks,” Will said, heading back to the front.

  ***

  He found Katrina sitting atop the picnic tables near the kids’ area watching the children play. He sat down next to her. They sat in silence for a while. It was dark now; the solar lights were on, along with the lights surrounding the kids play area. It was nice out. He breathed deeply and looked over at Katrina, who had just done the same. They laughed.

  “You’re more knowledgeable than you let me believe,” she said.

  “You didn’t really try to find out how much I knew. You just assumed,” he said, bumping his shoulder into hers. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first. It’s hard for women to give me much credit sometimes, the downside to having such a pretty face,” he said, making her laug
h again. “I like this place,” he added, pointing to the playscape. “It feels easy, relaxed, and comfortable, like an old pair of jeans. I like the way you inserted the hammocks, especially hidden among the trees, they make this place feel like part of a whole neighborhood. But also, if you close your eyes, you can pretend that you’re in your own backyard and you’re all alone and that’s so cool,” he said, gently bumping her shoulder again.

  She turned and looked at him, appreciation in her eyes; not just for his looks, but for understanding what the outdoors meant to her, what she had tried to create.

  “Thanks for working today. You didn’t have to. It wasn’t necessary to have my approval,” she said.

  “But I wanted it, anyway, and I really would like for you to work with me.”

  “Why?”

  “You get what all this means, the need to take care of what has been given to us,” he said, then quiet for a few minutes before adding, “Plus you need me to improve your gardening education. You could learn a lot from me.”

  “Oh, I could, could I,” she said, hitting his knee with hers.

  “Yep, you must be open to all things, little one,” he said, all fortune cookie-like.

  She laughed. “I promise I’ll think about it, and today went a long way toward helping,” she said, smiling shyly.

  “I’ll take that as a start,” he said, standing up. “I better go. Taking the motorcycles out with Oscar tomorrow, and I need to be alert,” he said, standing there watching her.

  “Okay, thanks again,” she said, watching, but having no idea what he was thinking. He tugged at the brim of her hat before turning and walking away. She followed him with her eyes until he was no longer visible, giving a final sigh for all that he was.

  ***

  Sunday arrived sunny and clear, but a little cold—a perfect day for a bike ride, the motored kind this time. Oscar stood outside Will’s door and rang the bell for the second time. A few minutes later, the door opened. Will was standing there, hair standing in every direction, in need of a shave, and not dressed.

  “You still up to riding today? You look a little tired,” Oscar said teasingly. He knew about Will working with Katrina yesterday; he heard it from Lola.