Elsa slapped the menu closed. “I know I should resist, but that has to be one of the all-time great sandwiches in the history of the world.”
Deacon grinned.
“So you want the grinder?” the waitress asked.
“Yes. And tea, please, hot tea, with milk, not cream, on the side, and will you please make sure the water is very, very hot?”
The girl scribbled notes. “Sure. No problem. Be right back.”
Deacon had a smile in his eyes. “Wouldn’t have figured you for the picky type.”
“At least I don’t bring my own tea bags these days.” She leaned back easily and explained, “I spent a year in England when I was young, and you get used to really good tea.”
“I’ve heard that before. People pick up all kinds of things in foreign places, I guess. My ex had to have a particular kind of olives because she’d spent some time in Greece and said there was a big difference in good olives.”
Under other circumstances, she would have asked a little more about that ex-wife. How long ago, for instance, but it wasn’t appropriate in front of the children. “Have you picked up any exotic food tastes?”
“Not so much.” He shook his head. “Farthest I’ve traveled is Mississippi to California.”
Calvin looked up, excited. “My mom lived in California, too! Before I was born.”
“Is that right? Whereabouts?”
“I dunno.”
“How about you, Deacon? Where in California did you live?”
“L.A.” His gaze went to the sturdy white cup that held his coffee, and he turned the handle by quarters—to the south, to the west, to the north. “Landscape architect to the stars.” A rare bitterness gave the words a sour note.
“Movie stars?” Mario asked. “Like who?”
Deacon leaned forward, shame shuffled into the background. “Harrison Ford and Gladys Nones, which won’t mean anything to you. But here’s one you will know: Jack Black, who does the voices for the panda in those Kung Fu movies.”
“No way!” Mario cried. “Whoa! Does he sound just the same?”
Deacon shot Elsa a glance. “Not exactly. But he’s a funny guy.”
Their food came, steaming piles of it, along with Elsa’s tea. She helped Mario cut his burger in half, and passed the ketchup. Across the table, Deacon did the same for Calvin.
“You like that movie, Cal?” Mario asked.
“I never been to a movie,” Calvin said, his mouth full of burger.
“It came on TV, too.”
“We don’t have no cable, stupe!”
“No names,” Elsa said automatically, spreading a thick, loving layer of mustard over her bun, then smashing the bread onto the sandwich and cutting it in half. The smell of it made her stomach growl.
“You’ve never been to a movie theater, son?” Deacon asked gently.
The boy shook his head, swinging his feet hard. “I don’t care. I got books from the libary. We go almost every week. My mama reads to me at night, and she loves to read. She can read like ten books in a week!”
“That is a lot. What kind of stories do you like?” Elsa asked, thinking it would be something like Captain Underpants or dragon stories.
“We just got done with The Jungle Book, by Rhubarb Kipling,” he said, “and last night we started The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”
Elsa suppressed a laugh over “Rhubarb,” and noticed Deacon’s lips twitching. “Did you like them?”
“I ain’t heard too much of the new one, but I really, really loved The Jungle Book. It’s the story of this boy who lives in the jungle and he has all these animal friends and stuff. It’s kinda sad in places, but I liked it anyhow.”
“I seen that cartoon,” Mario said, and started singing a song from it, bouncing his head.
“You did?”
Deacon said, “They probably have it on DVD, kiddo. I’m sure we can find it.”
Calvin’s fork stabbed a French fry into a pool of ketchup, his face carefully neutral. “That’s okay. I don’t need to see the movie. I read the book already.”
“You don’t have a DVD player,” Mario said. “You could come watch at my house.”
Calvin shrugged, carefully not meeting anyone’s eyes. Had she been sitting next to him, Elsa would have slipped an arm around him, discreetly touched his back.
“Your mom is pretty special,” she said instead. “All that reading! She must be super smart.”
He brightened. “She is. And she says I’m so smart I can even be president if I want.”
“I believe that.”
Mario said, “I’m gonna be a medicine man. It’s in my blood, for many generations.”
“That’s a big responsibility,” Deacon said. “I reckon it takes a lot of time and study.”
“What’s a medicine man do?” Calvin asked.
Mario put his fork down and drank a little milk. He leaned over the table, gesturing with his hands like a little man. “A medicine man knows how to talk to the spirit world,” he said, “and he can see what’s wrong with somebody when doctors can’t.”
“Like what?”
“Like a bad spirit. My grandpa said he has to keep singing in the garden because there are so many ghosts there.”
Calvin gave an exaggerated jump. “No sir!”
Elsa put her hand on Mario’s back. “Maybe not ghosts like we’d think of them, though, right? Calvin doesn’t need to be afraid of the garden.”
“What? No way.” He picked up his fork. “You just have to know a medicine man if you get sick, ’cuz it might be a bad spirit.”
“Lucky we know your grandpa,” Deacon said. “Eat up, kids. We have a telescope waiting.”
“A telescope?” Elsa asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. Calvin struggled with the ketchup bottle, and Deacon took it, shook it hard, handed it back. “I’ve got a telescope I’ll set up in the garden, and we’re going to look for Jupiter and the Milky Way and whatever else we can find.” He looked at her across the table. “Want to come?”
“Maybe.”
“Will you bring Charlie?” Calvin asked.
Elsa laughed. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“He can play with Joe,” Mario said in his husky voice.
“Joe, the dog?” Elsa asked. “Where is he?”
“Out in the truck,” Deacon said, and raised a hand for the check. “Your moms and grandpa can come down, too, if you like.”
“My mom is working,” Mario said. “But my grandpa might if he’s not asleep. He’s kinda old, you know.”
“My mom likes to read at night,” Calvin said, shaking his head. “We shouldn’t bother her.”
Deacon studied Calvin’s face for a minute, and Elsa studied his, seeing the fleeting worry about what might be going on there. She felt it, too, but another part of her loved the young, lost mother who read her child The Jungle Book.
Watch and see, she thought. And found she was admiring Deacon’s tanned hands, long and elegant, with strong oval nails and flat, calloused palms.
Enough.
Elsa stopped by the house to add layers and pick up Charlie before heading back to the garden. Tamsin was fast asleep on the couch, in front of the television, an untouched glass of red wine sitting on the end table. She didn’t stir, and Elsa bent over her. “Go to bed, sweetie. You’ll get a crick in your neck.”
Tamsin lifted her head, blinking hard, and wiped drool from her mouth. “What time is it?”
“Not quite eight-thirty.”
Tamsin stood awkwardly, obviously aching. “I’m old,” she said, and toddled off to her bedroom. “Don’t forget we have to wake early to go get Alexa in the morning.”
“I won’t forget.”
It was a mild night, but Elsa pulled on a pink wool sweater from her Seattle days. When she picked up Charlie’s leash, he woofed once and wiggled over to her. “I know! I think it’s strange to go out at night, too, but you’ll like it.”
He did
n’t really need a leash, so she tucked it into her pocket and loaded him into the car to drive over to the church. It was a very dark night, the new moon. Perfect for stargazing.
Not so great for walking the length of the field. She had parked on the street east of it and as she made her way to the middle, it was very dark, the entirety of the gardens lit only by streetlights on adjoining corners. Two of those were shadowed by trees. Tucking her hands in her pockets, she let Charlie run ahead. “Go ahead, baby.” The voices of Deacon and the boys were clearly audible. She anchored herself on the path between two plots and took her time.
Overhead, the trees swayed in the wind. Little animals made rustling noises in the plants, and a white cat dashed across the path, freaking her out for a minute. A colony of feral white cats lived around the levee and the church, preying on mice and birds and snakes. They looked like ghosts, and Elsa was sure they had added to the field’s reputation as haunted.
She’d always loved being outside at night, especially in a town or city, when others were tucked into their homes, lamps shining through the windows. Looking over at the apartment buildings, she could see bedroom lights and living rooms, and on the corner models, kitchens. A woman washed dishes. A girl sat at a table in front of a computer screen. Another window had battered mini-blinds and red curtains.
Each house a life, she thought, thinking of the foods that were eaten for dinner, the music or television shows that might be playing. And this was just a trio of modest-sized apartment buildings in a small city. All over the city, all over the state, the nation, the globe, were little pockets of houses or rooms or tents where people carried out their lives.
Miraculous.
Like the stars. They were washed out a bit on the sides of the horizons tonight, but they shone more brightly toward the mountains. Far to the northwest a light shone on top of Pikes Peak.
As she reached her own garden plot, she suddenly smelled something rotten. Rotten apples.
Dread rushed over her skin, raising a trail of goose bumps, and she froze, so frightened she couldn’t move. One hand went reflexively to the St. Christopher medal Joaquin had given her. She clutched it in her palm as she turned her body in a slow, careful circle, peering hard into the murky dark. In the distance were porch lights, and the softly lit courtyard of the church, and some windows pouring light out of the basement. Cats yowled at one another.
The smell thinned, disappeared.
“There she is!” Deacon said.
Charlie, who had run ahead, leaned against him, letting his head be scratched. Deacon and the boys had put on warmer clothes, too. Desert nights could be cold, even in April. Calvin had a long scarf wrapped around his body, and he peered into the telescope with dedication, his hands on his knees. “I can see it!” he chortled, pulling back. “Come see, Miss Elsa! It’s Venus!”
Laughing softly, she went over and put her eye to the lens. It was a very good telescope, with powerful magnification and a sturdy tripod. When she looked through it, the stars popped vividly forward, with one glowing brightly in the middle. “I thought Venus was a planet.”
“It is, silly,” Calvin said. “But it’s so far away it looks like a giant star.”
“So pretty,” she murmured, then stepped away and looked straight up to the sky, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Go ahead, Mario,” Deacon said. “Your turn.” Then he came to stand close to Elsa. “Amazing, isn’t it? I never get over the night sky.”
“No, me, either.” Unbending her neck, she asked, “Do you know the names of the constellations?”
“Some. That’s Cassiopeia, right there, and the Big Dipper, of course, and Gemini.”
Elsa fell into the vastness of the darkness, the faraway-ness of the stars, the possibilities of so many stars lighting so many systems. “Do you think anyone lives up there?”
“God does,” Calvin said.
“The Great Spirit,” Mario said. “Or you could call him Father Sky.”
“Whatever. It’s all the same. Can we move it around, look at other stuff?”
“Sure,” Deacon replied. “Take your time and really look, though, don’t just spin it all around.”
Elsa chuckled.
“Back to your question,” he said. “I think there are all kinds of things living out there. How could there not be?”
“I wish we could travel to them and visit.”
He brushed the back of her hand with his own. “Me, too.” He let go of a sigh. “I used to look at the stars with my little girl.”
She waited, hearing the hunger in his voice.
“You ever been married, Elsa?” he asked.
“No.” She looked up at him.
“I was married for thirteen years, and I gotta tell you, my wife was as long-suffering as they come.”
“Don’t they call that co-dependent these days?”
He gave a rueful bark of a laugh. “They always have called it that, but in my opinion, she just loved me and thought she’d eventually see me turn my life around.”
“That’s a kind way of looking at it.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s true that it took me a long time to hit bottom because she covered so much for me, but it’s also true that she protected our daughter.”
“How old is she?”
“Sixteen. And wants nothing whatsoever to do with me. Which I don’t blame her for a bit. She’s got a nice stepdad, a good life.”
Elsa peered up at his face through the darkness. Poker face, which meant it wasn’t showing anything he really felt. “How does it really feel, Deacon?”
“You see what I’m doing, don’t you? Hanging out with two little boys who don’t have dads of their own.”
“Mario has Joseph.”
“Yep.” He lowered his voice, stepping a little closer so he wouldn’t be overheard. “He’s on again, off again, though.”
“On what? He leaves?”
“He binge drinks. Sometimes he’s sober for six or eight months, and then he’ll fall off the wagon and disappear for a few weeks.”
“That breaks my heart. He’s such a great old man. I hate to think of him getting hurt or lost or something.”
“Me, too.”
Tucking her hands beneath her arms, she said, “I wish I’d thought to bring a thermos.”
“I did bring one. Want some hot chocolate?”
“Yes! That’s a great idea.”
“Come on over here. There’s a blanket.” He walked toward the telescope and picked up a big thermos and paper cups. “You boys want some hot chocolate?”
“Not right now,” Mario said, engrossed in the sky. “Lookit that, Calvin! It’s red!”
Calvin traded places with Mario. “Whoa!”
Elsa followed Deacon to the blanket and sat down. He passed her a cup fragrant with chocolate and cinnamon. “Mmm, smells good.”
“It’s the Mexican kind, the one you get in little tablets?”
She sipped it. “Perfect. What a good idea.”
“I have my uses.” He rubbed Joe’s back. “I am a Grade A dog rescuer, for one thing.”
“Do you have others?”
He flashed a grin. “Uses?”
“Dogs.”
“At the moment, also an incontinent terrier. And the most adorable little Shih Tzu you ever saw. I want another one … or two, depending.”
“On?”
“How much attention each one needs. How far gone they are, if they need a lot of medications or generate a lot of vet bills.” Joe lifted his chin and made a low, happy noise. “But there’s the love, right there.”
“I used to think that’s how God must love us, with blind devotion, and that he just put dogs down here to help us remember.”
“I believe that,” he said. “Did you stop thinking it was true?”
In the darkness, the weariness in his face was erased, and she saw only the kindness. A shepherd of children and dogs and lost old men. She wanted to touch his wrist, visible beneath the
sleeve of his coat, but it had been too long, and she might have misread him. She sipped her chocolate, vividly aware of her entire left side. “I have no idea what I think or believe right now, that’s the truth.”
As if he sensed her need for him, Charlie dashed out of the darkness and plopped down, panting. She chuckled and scrubbed his side. “All tuckered out, are you?”
He made a talking noise, looked into the darkness, and jumped up, bowed, and danced in a circle, giving a playful yip. He raced in a circle, dashed toward the edge of the clearing, danced back. “What is he doing?”
Deacon said, “He sure acts like he’s playing with somebody.” He looked at Joe. “What do you think?”
The old dog only panted in a smile, uninterested in anything but Deacon and getting his head scratched.
Charlie barked, and bowed again to the empty space, then ran in the peculiar racing way of a dog happily being chased. Elsa laughed.
So did Deacon. Charlie kept playing with his invisible friend, and the boys noticed and started laughing until all four of them had tears streaming down their faces.
At last, Charlie, worn out, came over and fell beside Elsa, panting hard and very pleased with himself. He leaned on her thigh and she rubbed him. “What were you playing with, you silly dog?”
Calvin and Mario came over and sat down. “We want hot chocolate now, please.”
“You got it. Then I think it’s time to head home, boys. It’s getting late.”
“Oh, not yet!” Calvin said. “I want to look at more stars!”
“They’re not going anywhere.”
“Maybe,” Elsa said, “you can ask your mom to help you find a book about the stars the next time you go to the library.”
He nodded, and only then did she see how sleepy he was. Tenderly, she ruffled his curls. “You’re a sleepyhead.”
To her surprise, he leaned into her, and she put her arm around him, pulling him close. His frame was slim and strong, and he smelled of the outdoors, of wind and sunshine and play.
I want this, she thought fiercely, surprising herself. A boy to read to, a girl to sing to, a child to tuck under her arm, to bake cookies with. To love. She thought of the day Kiki had painted her face, and the little girls played with her hair. She had breathed a prayer of longing as their hands patted her face. This, please.
The Garden of Happy Endings Page 24
