The First Gardener

by Denise Hildreth Jones

  She secured a Band-Aid across the scratch on her arm. Gray opened the shower door. Steam poured into the bathroom and immediately attacked the mirror in front of her. He reached for a towel and dried himself off. When he looked up, he saw her.

  “Mack! I didn’t even know you were there.”

  She had obviously startled him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Where were you?”

  “I was in my chair when you came in. But I have a cut on my arm, so I was just getting a Band-Aid for it. A rosebush caught me,” she said before he asked.

  He rubbed his head wildly with the towel, then wrapped it around his waist and walked into the closet. She could hear drawers opening. The distance between them felt more like a canyon than the length of the bathroom. He came out dressed in his warm-ups and started past her.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  He stopped. “It’s seven o’clock at night, Mack. I’m going to eat some dinner and watch some television and do some work. I’m going to do what living, breathing humans do.”

  She stared at him. His eyes looked bloodshot and tired. She didn’t remark about that, just reached down to throw away the Band-Aid wrapper.

  “Mack,” he said, and she looked up. He leaned against the doorway. “You need to know a few things. I’ve decided to run for reelection. I think we’ve accomplished a great deal with the budget, and I really think that the people believe in what we’re doing.”

  His words fell against her, and as they did, she realized she hadn’t thought about his campaign once in the past month. The mere thought of it now made her want to throw up. “As long as you don’t plan on me campaigning with you.”

  She noticed his countenance change immediately. He stepped toward her. “You know what I expect, Mack? I expect you to get dressed in the morning—in real clothes. Then I expect you to meet with Jessica and set up appointments on your calendar. I also expect you to know that as of this coming Monday, this mansion is going to be open once again to public tours. And I expect you—” he stepped even closer—“to realize that life is moving on, and you and I are going to move on with it. Whether either of us wants to or not.”

  She stood there frozen as his words collided against her. In sixteen years of marriage, he had never used that tone. He didn’t say another word, simply stepped around her and strode out of the bedroom.

  The faint smell of alcohol lingered long after he passed.

  Chapter 35

  Soft, warm hair brushed against his face. He opened his eyes, feeling a spark of something inside, only to have it quickly extinguished when he realized it was Sophie. He nudged the puppy. “Get down, girl.”

  She obeyed, jumping off the end of the sofa. Gray pushed his blanket to one side and put his feet on the thick carpet. He raised his hands above his head and stretched . . . long . . . hard, then rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t slept on a sofa in years and had never slept in his office at the capitol. But after his conversation with Mack he just hadn’t wanted to be at home. He was tired of it all—tired of the tears, the heaviness, and the lack of intimacy.

  He had never spoken to Mack the way he had last night. They’d had fights, of course, because they were two passionate people, but he had never given her orders, never spoken harshly.

  But maybe he should have. Because it really was time for her to snap out of it.

  He folded the blanket and draped it over the end of the sofa. He fluffed the pillow and switched off the fan he’d brought from home to help him sleep. He and Sophie both had business to take care of. He put on his tennis shoes and took care of his before they headed out to take care of hers. He pulled on his warm-up jacket and walked into the main offices.

  Sarah was already at her desk. She looked up, her face showing her shock. “You’re here early.” Her eyes scanned his outfit.

  He looked down at his black Under Armour workout pants. In all the years Sarah had worked with him, he had never been to the office without a tie, much less looking like this. His hand reached up to rub his face and felt day-old stubble.

  He obviously hadn’t thought his entire plan through. He always kept an extra suit and toiletries in his bathroom at the office, but he’d never realized just how early Sarah got to work.

  “Um, yeah. Up pretty early.” He pointed awkwardly to the door. “I’m just going to take Sophie out to the bathroom.”

  Sarah eyed him, then walked over and scooped Sophie into her arms. “How about you let me do that for you? Me and Sophie are good buddies, aren’t we, girl?” Sophie’s tail wagged profusely, and her tongue licked Sarah’s fingertips. “Top right-hand drawer,” Sarah added. “Blueberry muffins. I made extra. Fresh coffee is in the coffeepot over there.”

  She took such good care of him. Better care than he was taking of himself these days. He patted Sophie on the head, grateful that Sarah was the only one in the front office. “Thank you.”

  She winked at him and left with Sophie. He walked to her desk and pulled out a plastic container, still warm underneath. He carried it into his office and closed the door. As soon as he sat down on his sofa, he pulled the top off the container. The aroma of freshly baked sweets warmed him and took him immediately to Maddie’s blueberry pancakes. The choke hold on his throat came without warning.

  And that was the story of grief. It could give you a moment of reprieve, and then from nowhere, it would blindside you and take your breath away. He picked up a muffin, refusing to let the past take hold of the day.

  A knock sounded on the door as he took his first bite. “Come in,” he garbled, expecting Sophie to pounce at the smell of food.

  “Hey, you’re here early.” It wasn’t Sarah with Sophie. It was Kurt, carrying a newspaper under his arm and folders in his other hand.

  “Yep. Want a muffin?” Gray extended the container.

  Kurt never reached for a muffin. Instead, he just stood there staring, obviously caught off guard by Gray’s appearance.

  “Yes, I slept on the sofa last night.” Gray stood and crammed the rest of the muffin in his mouth.

  “You and Mackenzie have a fight?”

  Still chewing, Gray set the container and lid down on his desk and walked to the window. He could see Sophie picking through the snow, trying to find the perfect spot to do her business, while Sarah sat on a bench, giving her time to do what she needed to do. “You can’t fight with a corpse.”

  He felt Kurt come closer. “Is the counselor helping?”

  The rising anger was beginning to feel familiar. “The counselor would help if she’d actually talk to him.”

  Kurt placed a hand on his shoulder. “What about you, Gray? Why don’t you talk to him? Debbie and I saw a guy for years when we were having problems in our marriage—you remember that, right? Anyway, it really helped us. You’ve been through a lot more than I could even imagine. You need someone to help you come to terms with everything that’s happened.”

  Gray pulled away from Kurt’s hand. “Won’t that look great for a reelection campaign? Headline reads, ‘Governor Seeking Professional Help While Governing State Affairs.’”

  Kurt’s eyes widened. “First, there isn’t a person in this state who wouldn’t understand your getting counseling after what you’ve been through. Second, are you saying you’ve decided to run?”

  “Yes, and I’m going to win.”

  “Listen, buddy, I’ve thought all night about what you said yesterday. Maybe you were right then. Maybe you should think about whether this race is the best thing or not.”

  Gray’s head turned sharply in his direction. “Okay, let me get this straight. Just yesterday all you could think about was the election. The last words you left me with when you walked out of my office were about the election. And now today you don’t think I should run. What are you not saying?”

  Kurt held his hands up instinctively. “Calm down. I’m just being your friend, and your friend sees that you’re in pain. And I need to apologize. I’m
sorry I’ve been pushy. Right now, all I care about is seeing you and Mackenzie heal.”

  Gray pushed Kurt’s raised hands aside and moved past him. “You’re full of it, Kurt! There’s no way you would be desperate for me to run one day and not care the next. Did you find a more formidable candidate to work for?” Gray turned back, jerked the newspaper from beneath Kurt’s arm, and opened it. The killing of the convenience store worker and the fact that the suspect had been a released prisoner was splashed across the front page.

  Gray slammed the paper down on the desk. “The backlash from this murder too much for you? Well, you know what? I do death. It follows me like the plague. So get used to it or get out!”

  Kurt stepped back. “Listen to yourself. This is ridiculous. We’ve been friends for twenty-five years. I have always and will always have your back.”

  “Easier to turn the knife from there, isn’t it?” Gray saw the look on Kurt’s face as soon as the words came out, but he didn’t care.

  “I’m going to forget you said—” Kurt began.

  “Don’t.” Gray stepped closer. “I meant it.”

  Kurt stood face-to-face with him. His head looked freshly shaved. “You need help, Gray. And I’m not going to support your running for reelection when you’re like this. The people will understand if you don’t run.”

  “I don’t want anyone’s understanding! And don’t make this about something it’s not. You’re just ready to walk—and how convenient for you. Now you can go support whoever promises the easier path for your promotion. It’s always been about you anyway, hasn’t it? Riding my coattails because you don’t have any vision of your own.”

  Another knock sounded on the door. “Come in.” Gray’s words echoed through the office. The door opened, and Sophie bounded through. Sarah stood in the doorway, a cup of coffee in her hand.

  “Get out, Kurt.” Gray pointed toward the door. “The door’s already open for you.”

  Sarah shot them a bewildered look as she walked toward Gray’s desk to set down the coffee.

  “You too, Sarah. Get out.”

  Kurt started toward the door. “We’ll talk later when you’re more in control of yourself.”

  “I’m in perfect control, and we won’t talk later. Clean out your desk now. You’re fired.”

  “Gray, what are you doing?” Sarah asked.

  “Stay out of this, Sarah.”

  “It’s okay,” Kurt said. “He isn’t thinking clearly.”

  Gray got up in Kurt’s face. “I’m thinking perfectly. And I want you out. You are fired. Do you understand?”

  He saw emotion behind Kurt’s eyes but he didn’t care. “Do you understand?” he asked again.

  Kurt’s response was almost tender. “Yes, Gray. I understand.” But his calmness only caused a fresh wave of fury to boil up from deep inside Gray.

  “It’s ‘Governor’!” he shouted as his fist connected with Kurt’s right cheek.

  Kurt’s head flew back sharply. Sarah screamed and ran toward him. “What in the world is wrong with you?”

  Kurt’s hand instinctively reached for his mouth. Blood trickled from the corner.

  The quickness of it shocked even Gray, but he refused to give in to empathy. There had once been an endless supply of that in his soul, but now he felt as barren as Mack’s womb.

  Kurt swiped at the blood on his mouth and locked eyes with Gray. “I’ll have my desk cleaned out in thirty minutes, Governor.” The sadness in his eyes was all Gray could see as he walked out of the room.

  Sarah never said a word. Her tears were falling too hard for her to speak.

  Gray strode into the familiar corridor of the Green Hills Nursing Center, Sophie tucked under his arm. His nerves were still frayed. And his pulse felt as if he had just finished running sprints.

  “Good afternoon, Governor,” the elderly gentleman who sat at the front desk said as Gray passed by. But before Gray could answer, he heard a commotion from up the hall.

  “. . . can’t keep us down. We’ll fight to the death!” His father’s voice echoed through the halls straight at him. Gray followed the sound and found his father fighting hard against two nurses who were trying to hold him. Gray hurried into the room, deposited Sophie on the floor, and threw his weight across his father, being careful not to injure his frail body. Harriet Purvis quickly raised a sleeve of Gray Senior’s baby-blue pajama shirt and inserted a needle into the wrinkled and sallow, thin skin of his arm.

  Gray lifted his weight as his dad’s body succumbed to the sedative. He pulled Gray Senior’s sleeve down and raised the sheet up to his dad’s chin. He pulled the green coverlet up too, then folded the sheet over the edge and patted it down. As if straightening his father’s covers could straighten out the mess that had become his life.

  Harriet brought her round, sixty-year-old frame next to him. Her smooth dark hand patted Gray’s. “He’s getting a lot worse. We’re going to have to make some more changes.”

  He sat in a chair by the bed and shook his head. “I know. I’ll have a talk with his doctor this week and see what we need to do. We can’t have him hurting himself or either one of you.” Gray nodded to the nurse who had been helping Harriet. Tiffany—that was her name.

  She walked to Harriet. “He’s still pretty strong, you know, and we just can’t hold him down. He’s even difficult for the male nurses at times.”

  Gray’s eyes took her in. She was beautiful—he hadn’t realized quite how beautiful until now. Couldn’t have been more than thirty. Her body tight and her eyes soft. “Yeah,” he told her, “I’m really sorry.”

  Harriet’s voice wrestled his brain back from where it had landed. “The only way to control him now is to keep him sedated all the time. It’s gotten to that point. Anytime he’s lucid, it’s not pretty.”

  He shook his head again. “Maybe you’re right, Harriet. Why don’t you and Tiffany take a break and let me spend some time with him. Let the doctor know I’m here if he has time to talk.”

  Harriet moved to the sofa by the bay window and picked up an orange tray that held Gray Senior’s uneaten dinner. “We may have to go to tube feeding too. I know you don’t want to hear it, but he hasn’t eaten anything much the last week.”

  She patted Gray’s arm. “But we’ll get the doctor in here. Maybe he can take a quick look at you too—you don’t look so great.”

  Gray smiled weakly. “I’m sure the doc doesn’t have time for that.”

  Harriet gave him a sharp glance and shrugged. “Well, call me if you need me.” She picked Sophie up and plopped her in Gray’s lap. “You know I’m not going to let anything happen to the ornery cuss. When he remembers me, he likes me, whether he admits it or not.”

  Tiffany caught Gray’s eye as she cleaned up the nightstand. Her blue uniform couldn’t conceal the soft curve of her hips. She walked toward the bed and her eyes settled on him. He could feel it. Something churned inside him.

  She leaned over his father and straightened the coverlet, then approached Gray and touched his shoulder softly. “Yes, please let us know if you need anything else, Governor.” She let her hand fall away.

  His insides shook as she left the room. He hadn’t been touched like that by a woman, a beautiful woman, since—well, since the day Mack lost their baby. And he hadn’t looked at a woman that way since he met Mack.

  The frightening thing about it all was . . . Tiffany had noticed too.

  Chapter 36

  If hell had steps, Eugenia Quinn would march right down them just like she was marching down these veranda steps into the garden. Because if anyone bugged her more than Satan himself, it had to be that man with the pruning shears and dingy old blue handkerchiefs. She didn’t know what it was about him that drove her so crazy. But something about him rubbed her the wrong way. She just didn’t trust him, especially with that history of his. She knew people, and she was convinced that under that aw-shucks exterior was somebody calculating and mean. Besides, his blasted garden wasn’t all th
at, in spite of the fact that it had won the most beautiful garden contest among governor’s mansions.

  Her black pumps stopped when she reached a line of holly trees. “Ahem.”

  Jeremiah’s head turned toward her. “Well, good afternoon, Miz Eugenia.” He nodded as he slowly got to his feet. “You sure lookin’ lovely in that blue coat a yours.”

  “Don’t try to butter me up, Jeremiah,” she shot back. “How dare you?”

  “Now, Miz Eugenia—”

  “Don’t Miz Eugenia me. I don’t know what you’re trying to do. As if Mackenzie wasn’t hurting enough, you have to go make it worse by sending her that orchid.”

  “Well, I didn’t—” he began. But she wasn’t having any of it.

  “I’m telling you right now, mister—you’d better not send her anything else. Not a pansy, not a marigold, not a weed! Do you understand me?”

  She saw the change in his face. She hadn’t bargained for pain, and that bothered her a little. She shook it off. This man wasn’t going to manipulate her.

  “Yes’m,” he said quietly. “Didn’t mean no harm.”

  “Give me a break,” she huffed and turned to go.

  “Miz Eugenia, what is it ’bout me you can’t like?”

  His question startled her. Her friends were as forthright as they came, but she’d had a relationship with them for all her days. Most other people knew better than to try and go a round with her.

  Her anger rose. “You ought not be here,” she spat. “I don’t know who thought letting you keep the lawn of the governor was a good idea. You don’t know what you’re doing anyway.”

  The look of hurt was gone now, replaced by an expression she couldn’t read. “Well, you might be right about that, ma’am. Probably ain’t gots no business bein’ here. And I sure ’nough ain’t gots no business interferin’ with your family. Guess all these years workin’ here in this beautiful place made me lose track a my place.”