“My hands?”
“Yes.”
“In the dirt?”
“Yes. Get down here.”
Tracey placed the pot on the grass beside her and kneeled next to Celeste, placing her fingers in the cool earth.
“We need to transplant this basil in the ground where it can continue to grow. Now here’s the spade and I’m going to show you how to dig out the earth and make a hole for the plant.” Celeste moved swiftly, her hands moving the crumbled black dirt to the side. “Take this and keep digging. Keep your hands with the earth as you move it.”
“And why am I doing this?”
Celeste stopped moving the dirt. She stared into Tracey’s eyes. “Because no one can stay angry with their hands in the earth. No one. Try it. You’ll see what I mean. Put your hands in here.”
Tracey wiggled her fingers in the earth and waited for some magical feeling to take over.
Nothing came.
Celeste moved further over to the left and gestured for Tracey to lean closer to the earth. “Dig your spade in and make the hole deep and wide enough to hold the plant’s roots well.”
Tracey shrugged. Make the right-sized hole in the earth. Take the plant from the pot and put it in the hole. No biggie. She grabbed the pot and turned it upside down.
Celeste grabbed Tracey’s arm. “Stop!”
“Why?”
“You can’t just dump a plant onto the ground. You have to move the plant carefully. Here, let me show you.”
Celeste pulled the plant from Tracey’s arms and set it back down on the earth. Then she started working with her hands in the earth again. “See, planting looks easy … but it requires a lot of care and consideration. Take this basil here. Weeks ago I planted the seeds in a small pot on my windowsill. Then they sprouted and I put the new plant in this pot here. I watered it and it grew more. But I needed to get it ready to live in the ground outdoors, so four days ago I started prepping this plant with fertilizer. Yesterday I mixed garden soil and fertilizer in this patch of earth we are right now kneeling in front of. I did all of that in order to grow a crop of fresh basil that will end up in a dish of lasagna.”
Tracey glanced at Celeste. The older lady returned a warm smile and started talking again.
“Planting can teach you a lot about life you know. You’ve read your Bible. You know about sowing seeds. You know about harvest. But when you get out in your garden every day, you gain experience about preparation and nurturing. If your seeds won’t grow, you’ll start to look at the soil and the plants around the area. If weeds appear and keep your plants from thriving, you know you need to get in there and dig those suckers out.”
Tracey snorted. “Even without a garden, I’ve definitely learned a lot about getting rid of weeds.”
Celeste pulled back from the herb patch and sat down on the grass. She took off her glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. “You had some weeds this year. I’ve heard.”
“Yeah,” Tracey conceded.
“You know … I called them weeds years ago …”
Tracey took her hands out of the earth and turned toward Celeste. “What are you saying?”
Celeste nodded her head toward the house. “With that man in there? You think I haven’t had to pull a few weeds out of our garden?”
Tracey shook her head. “Every woman I know,” she muttered under her breath.
“Pardon?”
“Seems like every married woman I’ve talked to has the same story. Well, not every woman. My sister-in-law—no weeds in her garden ever.”
“She keeps her husband close to her then.”
“Beyond close.”
“That’s why.”
“Oh,” Tracey sighed.
“Your marriage is a lot like a garden.”
“I’m getting that now.”
“Good. Now shut up and listen,” Celeste said.
“Sorry.”
“You’re no slave. If you feel like a potted plant, a garden, or even your marriage isn’t worth the effort to attend to it, get rid of it. You’re an adult. Get rid of a pot of basil and there’s no need to fertilize anything, but forget about enjoying fresh herbs. Let the weeds grow like crazy in your garden and forget about smelling flowers later on. Walk out on your marriage and you’ll get your freedom, but you’ll also never know if … ”
Tracey interrupted, “I understand.”
Gardens and weeds. Metaphors and wisdom. Tracey’s garden? In shambles for sure. Should she try to save it? Get on in there with some fertilizer and daily watering and tend to the soil and transplant some seeds and God knew what else? Or chuck the whole thing, find a tractor and demolish it? Have it paved and make it a parking lot?
“Celeste?” a male voice beckoned. Tracey stopped and looked up to see who the voice belonged to. Judge Addison was walking slowly into the side yard.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Celeste said, quickly rising to her feet.
Tracey watched as Celeste slowed her movements to match Judge Addison’s, linking her arm with his as they walked across the lawn toward the herb patch together. His slightly stooped gait made him appear a few inches shorter than his wife, though Tracey could remember when he stood taller than her. As they walked, Tracey noticed Celeste effortlessly helped him to keep his balance. He seemed to walk faster and with more confidence with her by his side. They reached the herb patch as one unit. Tracey stood to greet him.
“Hello, Judge Addison. Nice to see you.”
He nodded to her and offered a smile, though it seemed to strain his facial muscles. “Tracey. It’s been awhile.”
“That it has.” Tracey leaned up on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his shoulders for a quick hug. His frame felt rigid.
“Keeping my wife company today?” His voice wavered.
Celeste beamed as she wrapped an arm around her husband’s waist. “She’s been a big help to me today. And now I’m trying to show her some of the finer points of putting in an herb garden.”
“I’ve been getting tired and learning a lot today following your wife around. She’s kept me moving.”
Judge Addison chuckled. It was good to see the twinkle in his eye hadn’t been taken away by the effects of Parkinson’s. “Well, don’t let me stop you. I came out to see my darling here.” He grasped Celeste’s arm tighter.
Tracey moved back down on her hands and knees, becoming intimate with the loam again. When she turned to pick up the basil, she saw Celeste helping Judge Addison ease himself down on the black wrought iron garden bench. She continued watching them as they talked, their heads close together. There was something special about their relationship. Solid. Where he had visible tremors, she provided stability. The two completed each other, his slow deliberateness to her caring swiftness.
Tracey faced the dirt again, placing her fingers in the earth and moving piles to the side. Maybe there was something to all this. Digging through dirt. Transplanting from an area that was confining and small.
Moving a living thing to a place where it could grow bigger, stronger, and more fruitful.
28
Late that evening Tracey walked past the patio doors and spotted Kyle sitting alone on the deck. He held a glass loosely in his hands. His head hung down and his legs stretched open on the edge of his chair.
“Kyle?” Tracey called as she stepped out on deck. “You okay?”
He brought the glass to his lips and sipped slowly before answering. “No.”
“Want to talk?”
“No.”
“Fine.” She turned and slid the patio door open to go back inside, then she heard his voice.
“Wait, come here. Have a drink with me.”
“You know better—but I’ll sit here out with you.” She made her way out onto the deck and eased into the chair next to him.
&n
bsp; He reached over to the table with unsteady hands, poured more brown liquid into his glass then set the bottle down on the table so hard the wood rattled. He drank that down, poured another, then reclined back on the chair and sat with the glass in his hands.
Neither of them spoke. Tracey stared out over the pool. Twinkling lights surrounded its perimeter and tiny waves rippled atop the water. She shifted in her chair and looked over at Kyle, whose chest moved up and down with deep breaths.
“My Pops … he didn’t play sports. He loved to read. Loved to talk about law and current events. But he was right there at all my Little League games. Put me in Pee Wee football. When I told him I wanted to play basketball in junior high, he bought me three pairs of new sneakers. And he never missed a game.”
Kyle squeezed his eyes closed tight then. It didn’t seem like he needed Tracey to talk back him. He kept the conversation going as though she were some anonymous person on a bar stool. But this was no smoky bar. This was the deck leading out to Kyle’s stunning pool in the middle of his ultra-landscaped backyard which included a vegetable and herb garden his mother cultivated daily. And Tracey? Far from being a stranger.
“I hated school. But I had to keep my grades up. Didn’t want to disappoint my Pops, you know. He was a county judge. And my mom taught school and she loved reading. Me? I couldn’t read a sentence without getting bored and wanting to jump out of my seat and find out what the next kid was doing two rows down from me. Mom thought I needed help. Pop took the pressure off. Told me to do the best I could to get through. He stayed up on the phone all night with me when I thought about dropping out of Syracuse my sophomore year. Remember that?”
She nodded.
“Mom and Pop … two peas in a pod, you know. When he got out of the Navy and went to college, my mom was the first girl he saw. He never had eyes for another woman after they met. Did you know that?”
Tracey stayed silent. She remembered Ms. Celeste alluding to the contrary, but now was not the time to mention that very private conversation.
“Yeah. When I was growing up, they had this big map in the basement of the old house—map of the world. My Pop hung it up on the wall—put red tacks in it, you know, showing all the places where they were going to travel to once he retired. Rome. France. Peru. Even Australia and New Zealand. He wanted to take her everywhere.”
He sipped his drink, and rubbed a hand over his sweaty forehead. “And this is what it comes down to for him? A man who has given nothing but his best to his family and his community, imprisoned in his own body for the rest of his life?”
“Kyle.”
“This disease. It didn’t take him but it took him, you know? His walk, talk, writing, all his movements, everything is different. We thought the medication would help, but he’s getting worse each year. I have to watch old family videos just to remind myself how he took charge of everything, and all the corny jokes he made, and how much he used to grab my mom and hold her close to him …” Kyle’s voice trailed off.
“Kyle, he’s still here.”
“And trapped.”
Tracey reached over, grabbed Kyle’s sweaty hand, and grasped it tight. “And still your father. Hug him. Talk to him. Use your motor mouth to tell him corny jokes. He’s still here for you to make him proud, which you do every day, and you’ll keep doing that.”
Kyle pulled his head up and looked in Tracey’s eyes, gazing for a moment before he spoke. “You remember what he used to be like, right?”
Maybe she should let go of his hand? No. Not now. “Remember? I can’t forget. I was in the hospital room with Tyler sleeping in my arms. My face was a mess. My hair was a mess. All by myself looking at The Price Is Right trying to figure out what in the world I was going to do with a newborn baby, no home of my own, an unfinished degree, and no man to help with the load. I looked up and your Pops walks into the room and he takes the baby from me and sits down on the bed and kisses Tyler’s face. Then he took my hand and told me it was going to be all right. Told me you were stuck on stupid for the moment, but he and Ms. Celeste would always be there for Tyler. He wrote me a check and I used the money to get that apartment in Abington. I even had enough for nursery furniture. Your dad was my miracle.”
“Miracle?”
“He came through for me. In a big way.”
“Great man.”
“Absolutely a great man.”
“Did he actually say ‘stuck on stupid’?”
“Oh, yeah. No way would I forget that.”
Kyle’s squeezed Tracey’s fingers. She squeezed back. He squeezed again, tighter this time. She grasped his hand tighter, letting herself stare back in his eyes. His eyes held wonder and surprise. Something like an electrical current jolted her and she jerked upright. She dropped his hand and moved her own back into the zone called that was then and this is now and don’t even think about it.
He picked up his drink again. “I talked to his doctor … the news about his condition …”
“Not good?”
“Terrible.”
“I know you probably don’t want to hear this but God does have a plan for his life.”
Kyle grunted before taking a sip from his glass. “Whatever. It’s dumb to believe in a God who allows this.”
Tracey looked away. Small ripples on the pool water. A backyard oasis.
He reached out and tapped her on the shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re mad?”
“Listen, you’re entitled to your opinion, but I would think you’d have more faith considering how your parents raised you.”
“All right then, you tell me—why didn’t you have faith God would work everything out for you?”
Tracey pressed her lips together until her face no longer felt warm. “We are not talking about me right now.”
“You messed up your own marriage.”
“I what?”
“I’m not buying for one minute you didn’t figure out you had something to do with your husband stepping out there like he did.”
“Whatever.” She shivered. Not from the wind, but from the last comment.
He stared her up and down. “Have you looked at yourself lately?”
“Of course.”
“You’re okay with the fact that you’re so thin you look like you’ve taken up crack smoking as a hobby?”
“I’m going through a rough time right now,” Tracey justified, biting her bottom lip.
“You looked better before?”
She shrugged. Kyle was drunk and liable to say anything. Fighting with him wouldn’t help. She doubted he’d remember anything in the morning. After four glasses of brown liquor he’d most likely forget he even came out to the pool.
Kyle pushed himself all the way back into his chair until he was reclining again. “Now that’s why I’m not married. Probably never will be. No man wants a wife that forgets she needs to look good for him regularly. Running around taking care of the kids and the house and forgetting all about the person who put the diamond ring on her finger. When was the last time you sent the kids to a babysitter then showed up in heels and a teddy and surprised your man with dinner and dessert in the bedroom?”
“You don’t know what my husband likes.”
“Forget about what he does or doesn’t like for a second. How much do you know about him?”
“More than anyone else.”
“Okay, so when dude shaves, what side of his face does he start with? The right or the left?”
Tracey’s face burned. She should leave Kyle right there with his liquor until he passed out. But she couldn’t find the strength to get up out of the chair.
“What jeans does he wear most when he’s not working?” Kyle asked.
“Those are small things.”
He sat up and leaned in. “You do
n’t know, do you?”
Tracey’s stomach twisted. “You don’t know anything about living day in and day out with a spouse. You have a lot of nerve to sitting there telling me I caused my own husband to cheat.”
“Not the cause.” Kyle said as he wiped sweat away from his brow. “But you played a part.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because of Tyler. He’d call me on the phone late at night and we’d talk. He let me know how strained things were in your house.”
Tracey stood up. The conversation was over. No point in trying to console a drunk male chauvinist. “I don’t care what the two of you have been chatting about, there’s no point in you going off on me about my life.” She narrowed her eyes and frowned. “I came out here to make sure you were okay. I’m going inside. Sober up. Come talk to me about marriage after you get hitched.”
Kyle stood up, shaking, but he made it onto his feet. “One of my business partners has been battling his wife in divorce proceedings for two years now. His wife had twin girls five years ago and she gained more than a hundred pounds. He can’t stand to look at her, let alone touch her. Find a wife? No thanks. Unless I can have what my parents have, marriage isn’t in the cards for me.”
“Then how come Tyler told me he met two different women last summer, coming over here, cooking dinner with you?”
Kyle fished his phone out of his pocket. “I’ve got needs.” His phone lit up as he speed-dialed someone. “Every man has them.”
“Apparently,” Tracey muttered.
29
“Mommy!”
“How’s my girl?”
“Where are you? Are you coming home today?”
Tracey swallowed hard. “Honey, how was camp this week?”
“When are you coming home?”
“Soon.”
“Can you pick me up from camp today? Can we watch Doc McStuffins? I can help you make pizza.”
How was Tracey going to handle this? She didn’t have the words to tell Brianna everything going on inside her head. “I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be away, so we’ll have to save TV and pizza for another time.”
Broken Together Page 20
