“Nelson by-laws are lame. Seriously, no dogs on Baker Street? What kind of town does that? And no hacky-sacking? It’s like we’re in a dictatorship.”
“They also smoke marijuana right on the sidewalk. I don’t want my kids exposed to that. First it’s pot and then it leads to hard drugs like cocaine.” Amy had her official social worker voice on again.
“Nah,” Swan said. “That’s what they want you to believe. It’s just not true.” She turned to me. “I think everything’s cooked now.”
I was gobsmacked. I was quite sure that Amy would have found Swan impossible to deal with, but there they were acting like the best of friends and talking calmly about a topic they each had very different views about. Not only that, Nicholas who usually paid me a lot of attention, was now cuddling up to Swan as if I didn’t exist.
Jason came out on the deck and he and Amy carefully ignored each other. What was their row about? That’s married life for you.
Everything tastes better outdoors, especially meat that has been cooked on charcoal. I could tell Julie, normally a picky eater, enjoyed the food—she let out a continuous yum-yum sound.
Nicholas spilled his juice and it was Swan who jumped up to get a cloth and sponge him down. “That silly juice,” she said gently. “Juice, you stay in that cup now and be more careful, okay?”
Amy, who had made a move to deal with the spill, sat back with a smile and took a large gulp of wine. She and Jason continued to look anywhere but at each other.
“You’re really good with kids,” I said to Swan as we stacked dishes.
“I’ve got a gazillion cousins,” she said. “I’ll do these dishes later. I promised Nicholas I’d show him cat’s cradle.”
Amy wandered in as I made tea and refilled her wine glass. “The house looks good,” she said. “I can see why you don’t want to leave it. I was looking over the balcony at your garden. I didn’t know you had a green thumb.”
“I don’t,” I answered. “It’s just that I’ve had time to garden now that I’m not working. I’ve wanted to grow my own vegetables for years.”
“Can I go down and take a closer look?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll show you ’round.”
Amy made for the basement door. “Not that way,” I said as I opened the front door, “come around the house.” My heart pounded for a moment but I managed to sound casual. After all, visitors don’t usually demand to see their host’s basement. My rehearsed line, if anyone asked, was that I rented the space out for storage so it was locked up.
My raised beds that I had built myself with railway ties looked green and lush. Amy was full of admiration. “I wish I could grow vegetables,” she said, “but we don’t have enough room where the sun is.” She took a slug of wine.
Yeah, I thought, and you don’t want to get your hands dirty. “I’ll give you a cauliflower when they’re a bit bigger,” I said.
“Great. I’m not used to fresh produce. Never have been.” She sighed. “I grew up in a house where the garden was always full of old cars and junk.”
I stooped to pull a weed.
“I couldn’t wait to get out of that place,” Amy continued. “It was a dump. And my mother was a slob. All she could cook was hamburger. Hamburger, day in, day out.” She tilted her head and threw the rest of the wine back. I half expected her to toss the glass over her shoulder, but she didn’t. “Yes, a slob. A big, fat slob. Smoked. Non-stop. Cigarette butts all over the house. Burn marks on the kitchen counters.” She shuddered and then nearly tripped, but saved herself by clutching on to me.
It must have been the wine—her esses were decidedly slushy. I had never heard her talk like that, but then I had to confess I had never asked her about her childhood. Nor had I seen her so relaxed. It must have been Swan’s influence.
Still holding on to my arm she said, “You’ve never liked me, have you?”
I didn’t know what to say. Tell her how right she was? Instead I managed, “What makes you think that?” I moved away from her and she nearly fell over.
“I’m not good enough for your son, am I?” She grabbed my arm again. “Am I? And I don’t bring up the children right, do I? I’m not ‘fraightfully jolly,’ not ‘stiff upper lip,’ not good enough. But I tell you what—your son loves me.”
She let go of my arm and, swaying slightly, made for the fence of runner beans.
“I think you make a good wife for Jason,” I said. “Even though you’re not a Yorkshire woman. But you can’t help that. I don’t suppose Yorkshire maidens were plentiful in the interior of British Columbia.” I laughed, but Amy didn’t seem to find it funny. I had never seen Amy tiddly before. It was the most fun I’d ever had with her. I’d have to start bringing wine to Sunday dinners.
Amy reached for a bean and looked as if she were going to topple. I went over and began to pick beans too, but I didn’t have anything to put them in.
“I don’t really want you to live with us, you know.” Amy shook her head more than was necessary so that a lock of hair fell over her eyes. She brushed it to one side. “Are you surprised?”
“You were just being kind.”
“Not for you,” she said hastily. “For Jason’s sake. He’s worried about you.” She handed me her beans, examined her glass, and tipped it into her mouth even though it was empty. “We can’t afford to keep you, you know. Not when the children’s schooling is coming up.”
It was time to put a stop to her. “Look Amy, I don’t bloody well expect you to keep me or look after me, so get off my case. And we don’t have to be all lovey-dovey to get along, so you put up with me and I’ll put up with you, right?”
She swayed slightly and looked at my beans. “I’ll get you one of those flat baskets,” she said. “For produce. They have them in Kootenai Moon. I must remember next time I’m in town.”
As we wandered back inside, Amy said, “I’ve been thinking. Perhaps Nicholas could come here to play while I take Julie to the library.”
“That would be wonderful,” I said and meant it. “What days would that be?”
“Wednesday mornings from ten to eleven. I’ll drop him off.”
Fun. I must re-stock the play chest.
We reached the front door and Amy said, “Swan’s smart isn’t she?”
“Smart?”
“Bright. She’s very intelligent.”
Fortunately I had my back to her. Swan intelligent?
The amount of time I spent on the computer increased daily as I learned how to search, where to look things up, and organizations to join so that I received their newsletters. After I’d plucked up courage to put ‘marijuana growing’ in the Search box, I was amazed at the number of results there were. After the first time I saw the pictures of the varied and colorful plants, I went downstairs to water and stared at my buddies. Compared with the pictures, they presented a sorry sight. They should have been sturdy and upright with firm, large buds but they were straggly with drooping soft buds. The canes helped to hold them up a little, but next time I would use tomato cages.
Although I had been careful about snipping off the flowering shoots that seemed to spring up overnight, there were still too many that had escaped and turned into tiny buds. Growing pot needed more skill than I had. It wasn’t just a few plant pots in the basement, but what soil, type of food, the PPM of the food, how to prune, type of lighting, how much water. The list went on and on. The computer would be a great help and then, of course, there was my garden sage, Michael to help me master the art of growing.
Should I write to Lisa about my garden? She was a botanist and knew about plants, particularly tropical ones, but she might be shocked that her mother was a criminal. If she had been home it would be different because she would stay with me and I would have to come clean.
I never thought about looking for work anymore. I imagined applying for a jo
b.
“So you’ve been a nurse’s aide and a waitress. What are your ambitions?”
“To grow pot with magnificent buds. Big enough to knock your socks off.”
17
At long last harvest day arrived, and with it the prospect of some money. Swan had been round to check the plants. “Hmm,” she said, “the buds could be bigger but they’re nice and hard. Spider mites didn’t help.”
She told me what to get ready: chairs for two trimmers and one for me if I was going to trim, a good light, lines to hang the buds on to dry, snacks and lunch for everyone, heavy-duty garbage bags, a jar of rubbing alcohol to put the scissors in to take the gunk off, and some sort of tray for each trimmer to work on. I already knew I was to pay $20 an hour to each trimmer, but they could wait until I got paid if necessary. It was necessary.
“Me and Marcus will bring our own scissors,” Swan said.
“Will he be back in time?”
“He says he will. I’ll find someone else if he’s not around.”
“How long will it take?”
Swan thought for a moment. “Four lights…we can probably finish in one day. Maybe two if there are a lot of small buds.”
We were in the basement when we made these plans. Lack of space became a problem when we discussed where we would sit. If we used the area near the water heater and furnace, the light was poor and we would be scattered; if we used the space at the foot of the stairs, we couldn’t move; the space next to the new wall meant we would be sitting in a row, so the only place was near the back door where I had stacked the garbage bags.
“I don’t know where to put these,” I had said to Swan, pointing at the garbage.
“No prob. We’ll move them into the grow room just before we start.”
She was so nonchalant, while I was gearing up for a fit of acute anxiety. Her hand-on-the-doorknob warning had been, “Don’t forget the whole house will stink. Burn incense.”
I took down three folding chairs, two angle-poise lamps, and two small tables, but I couldn’t set them up until the garbage bags were out of the way, so I just left them ready. I did manage to run string lines for the buds around the furnace area, but I had no idea how many or at what height. And three lids from storage boxes in the spare room could act as trays.
On the big day the house smelled like a Buddhist temple after I’d lit a whole package of Nag Champa incense, something I don’t normally use. I hoped no one I knew would visit, but that was unlikely at nine o’clock in the morning. So I froze when there was a knock at the door shortly before nine. Swan perhaps? But she was usually late. A delivery? I hadn’t ordered anything. Who could it be?
I opened the door a crack and peered out. Maggie stood on the doorstep.
I stared at her. Should I pretend I’m not home? Should I pretend I’m sick? No, she’d be worried about me. I’ll have to just try to get her away as fast as possible. I opened the door.
“Oh, hi Maggie. How nice to see you. But I’m afraid this isn’t a good time. I’m just rushing out.”
“I really need to talk to you. Can we have coffee?” Maggie stepped into the hall.
I didn’t know what to do. Swan would arrive any moment, but surely she would see I had a visitor and not expect to continue. We could always delay the business and mercifully, the only smell was of incense.
I hesitated then said, “Sure, I’ll put the kettle on.” I’d always thought that being a loyal friend is important no matter what the circumstances, but this time I just wanted Maggie to vanish.
“My god, it smells in here,” Maggie said. “Have you turned into a Buddhist?”
I shook my head. Was she going to stay long? How could I make her leave?
Maggie had a look of sheer delight on her face. “It’s okay, Jess. I’m here to trim.”
“What!” I nearly keeled over with surprise. Maggie. A trimmer. I stared at her with wide eyes.
“Marcus has been held up, so Swan asked me to come. I thought the address she gave me seemed familiar but it wasn’t until I got here that I realized it was you,” Maggie began to take off her shoes.
“Oh, leave your shoes on—we’re going into the basement,” I said.
Maggie straightened up. “Well, well, Jess. Who would have thought it?”
“I’m just as surprised to see you.”
We smiled at each other and then began to laugh. Then we hugged. “Partners in crime,” I said. “I wish I’d known sooner, I could have used a mate.”
“I brought a casserole for our lunch. I always do. It’s often young guys who can’t boil an egg, let alone make lunch.” Maggie said. “It needs to go in the oven an hour before we eat.”
“Bless your heart—you didn’t need to do that.”
Another knock on the door heralded Swan. “Oh you’ve met Maggie,” she said.
“Maggie and I are old friends. I wish I’d known she did this. How do you two know each other?”
“Trimming,” Swan said.
It turned out that Maggie had been growing for about five years and through Marcus, Swan started trimming for her shortly after her arrival in Nelson. Swan had never done it before, so she had learned the tricks of the trade from Maggie.
“I won’t be growing much longer,” Maggie said. “I’m saving up so I can take three years off to go to school. I’m nearly there.” She gripped her hands and raised them like a winning boxer.
I made everyone coffee and we headed downstairs. My heart sang. Maggie, whom I really liked, was a companion in my adventure. All my anxieties dissipated as I prepared to enjoy the day. Swan and Maggie took over; they moved the full garbage bags, set up the chairs and the lamps, opened a new garbage bag, and arranged a table for their scissors and water glass. My job, I was told, was to cut the plants and bring them in a few at a time, hang up the trimmed buds, and tidy up as we went along. If I wanted to learn how to trim, that would be fine, but they could do it all.
I silently thanked each buddy as I cut her off at her base with a pair of garden clippers and carried each bushy plant in to Swan and Maggie. I needed another container to put the untrimmed plants in so I dashed out to the garage to get a cardboard box.
I was closing the side door of the garage when Kate, the woman who lived across the lane, came over. Why then? I hardly ever spoke to her. I tried to look pleasant as she said, “Good morning, Jess. I hope you are well.”
“Yes, I’m fine. You?” I tried not to look impatient.
“I’m looking for volunteers for a fund-raising effort to raise money to provide water wells in one part of rural Africa. Would you be interested?” Kate had one of those kind, open faces that emit sympathy and I hated to refuse her.
I put the box down and the movement produced a pungent smell from the over shirt I wore in the grow room and that I hadn’t thought of removing before rushing out. “I don’t have much money, I’m sorry,” I said.
“I’m looking for your time. Would you man a stall for four hours at the bazaar we’re holding next month? In the church hall.”
“I can do that,” I said. “I’d like to know more about the organization.” Why I said that I’ll never know as Kate then told me all about WaterCan, a charity that funds projects to create sustainable clean water in four East African countries. “I’ll drop off some flyers,” she said finally.
It must have been at least twenty minutes before I returned to the basement.
“We thought you’d got lost,” Maggie said.
“I bumped into a neighbor I hardly ever see. I’m sure she could smell me.”
Maggie and Swan sat under a light with a bin lid on their laps either pulling at leaves or trimming buds. With comparative darkness around them and with a spotlight illuminating them as they hunched intently over a plant, they reminded me of an oil painting I’d seen somewhere—Guy Fawkes plotting perhaps?
&n
bsp; They were both remarkably quick: buds turned, scissors flashed, and before long there was quite a collection of trimmed buds ready for me to hang on the lines I had strung.
“So Marcus introduced Swan to you, Maggie? How do you know Marcus?”
“Oh I’ve known him since he was a baby. Watched him grow up.” She frowned. “These buds are too small and there shouldn’t be so many of them on one branch. Your pruning needs work.”
“I know. I didn’t learn how to prune until it was too late. I thought Marcus would show me.”
“Marcus is not the greatest indoor grower. It’s outdoors he knows.”
“Right. That’s why he’s away most of the summer isn’t it?” I stood there like a bump on a log. “What was he like as a kid?”
“Average student. Energetic. Played soccer. Outdoorsy. Loved mountains.” Maggie peered at the bud she had just trimmed before tossing it into a box and picking up another plant.
I wanted to sit down with them and help. “Please show me how to trim.”
Swan handed me an extra pair of scissors she had brought. They showed me how to cut off a branch, strip off the leaves, and then cut all around the bud until it was smooth but not shaved. “You leave a bit of branch so you can hang them up,” Swan told me.
“How did you meet Marcus, Swan?” I asked.
“Mutual friend. It’s too bad about his accident. What happened, Maggie?”
“He took up rock climbing in a big way. He became really good. I watched him once at a demo. He looked like Spiderman. He’d just started electrician training at Selkirk when they went down to Joshua Tree and he had a fall. He broke a wrist. At first no one figured he’d hit his head.” Maggie shook her head and picked up another plant.
“What happened?” Swan asked.
“They fixed his wrist of course, and examined him. The doctor asked about his head but he didn’t remember hitting it. He seemed okay, but then his parents noticed he couldn’t concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time. He went back to school but he couldn’t handle the school work.” Maggie pushed hair out of her eyes with her wrist.
Gone to Pot Page 12
