"Great," said Gregory. "I'd love to talk to you all about permaculture sometime. It's the only way to save the planet."
"Oh, my," said Mary. "Is it in need of saving?" For someone who had lived through part of the Second World War, rationing, Vietnam, the threat of nuclear winter, and more, it probably seemed like a very mellow point in history, reflected Abe. How had she managed to keep her kindness and optimism in the face of all of that? he wondered. Had she simply been unaware, or did such things not affect her?
"Well," began Gregory with an excited smile that made him look younger and rather handsomer than usual. "I'd love to tell you all about it."
"Perhaps another time." Hannibal cleared his throat again, desperately attempting to attract the attention of the ladies back to his officious self. "About the expert judge..." He let the words hang in the air, momentous enough that they all turned back to him, and even Gregory looked at him alertly. "He'll be here Friday night. I expect he'll want to look around the gardens on his own that evening, and then make his final choices on Saturday morning. No one is to try to influence his decisions."
He looked sternly at Mrs. Henrietta Heaton, who looked outraged at the very idea. "I would never!" she protested.
"Au contraire, my dear," said Mr. Heaton, the reluctant spouse who was dragged along but never participated, unless it was to get in a dig at his wife. "Remember the blackberry wine incident?"
Her cheeks heated at being called out like that in front of everyone. "Henry, be quiet!"
Really, one's spouse ought to be loyal, thought Abe, taking her side wholeheartedly and immediately, despite his general dislike of Henrietta (and her far too potent wine). Disloyal spouses were such...such aphids.
"Ahem!" Hannibal fought desperately for control of the meeting. "As I was saying, we'll all go on the rounds with him during the Saturday morning revue, but he must be free to wander about the gardens at will...and unmolested...on Friday. If you could all agree with me on that."
There was a chorus of agreement from his followers. Even Fiona gave a short, sharp nod.
Hannibal turned his slightly desperate gaze on Gregory. "As for you, young fellow, there's no need to join the club to be in the competition. Plenty of people are in the competition without joining. No need at all."
Young fellow! I'm the young fellow! thought Abe.
"Oh, that's all right," said Gregory in a mellow voice as he found a seat and sat down—next to Abe. Abe, suddenly self-conscious in his faintly ruffled button-down shirt and baby blue slacks, wondered if he looked prissy and too clean to be a gardener. Gregory had the air of honest toil about him, even in his ancient tweed suit. Even if he was a strange sort of garden hippie.
One's enemies shouldn't be allowed to have such laughing eyes. Abe felt ridiculous, and he hated feeling ridiculous. He had never been "our sort of person" to most people, for most of his life. Silly though it might be sometimes, and with as little actual interest as he had in gardening, Abe quite liked being here. He liked being the young man, and listening to gossip and eating lemon cake, and rolling his eyes at the war on aphids. He did not want to be chased out of this place where he felt welcome by Gregory. It would be unbearable. He compressed his lips and faced forward, as if there was some very important aphid news to listen to.
Really, though, how dare Gregory join the garden club? Beyond the pale of him to intrude this way, encroaching on Abe's life like...like a bunch of weeds!
It was enough to make one weep over the state of the world. Why, they'd let anyone in, wouldn't they?
FRIDAY CAME AND WENT with a distinct lack of intrigue. Abe was disappointed to miss out on the gardening excitement, but he'd been in a teleconference with a client, and it had taken up all day. He'd meant to work on the zinnias, but there had been no time. It had been early enough of a call that the curtains were all still closed on his little rancher, and by the time it was done, there was no point opening them because it was dark again.
He sighed deeply, thinking with regret of the meals he'd missed. Though he was no gardener, Abe quite liked cooking with fresh, local ingredients, and he'd been planning to make something nice from one of Fiona's zucchinis. She'd finally had enough of a success to pass out a few after the meeting. She'd given most of them to Mary, with the gruff words, "Don't like them much myself," and had kept trying not to smile at Mary's exclamation of delight. It really didn't take much to please Mary, Abe had thought. Perhaps that was why everyone liked her.
He slipped on his gardening shoes and stepped outside, looking around cautiously. Had the expert already come and gone? Had he looked at the zinnias? Had he seen how perfectly in order they were? Not a petal out of place. He looked at them with the fondness of a parent whose child had come back from boarding school more obedient than ever. They knew their place, and they stayed in it.
Across the fence, he saw strong shoulders as Gregory bent and shoveled, bent and shoveled. What on earth was the man doing, still digging after it was dark? Did he really think he was saving the world?
Since he hadn't been noticed, Abe stood silently and watched for a few minutes, wishing that his shoulders were half as muscular.
"You can come over and help, you know," said Gregory in that amused voice of his.
Abe froze, half furious, half embarrassed.
"Or just watch. I don't mind."
Laughing at him. He was laughing at Abe! Incensed, too angry to think about whether it was a good idea or not, Abe marched over to the fence and opened the gate that previous, more friendly neighbors had built between their adjoining properties. "I don't mind if I do," he said loftily. "Someone ought to teach you how to actually garden."
"I'll be sure to call on you, if I put in any zinnias."
"You mean you don't plan to?" Every garden needed zinnias! They were such...such proper things. And they were very hard to kill.
Gregory snorted, accompanied by a spray of dirt as he hefted another shovelful of the muck he'd made of the backyard. Abe flinched back. "Careful with that thing!"
"That's what all the boys say," teased Gregory.
Abe blinked. He hadn't expected Gregory to make an actual joke, just to smirk and laugh at him silently. Now, he wasn't quite sure how to take it. He was silent a moment before his gaze fell on a basket of small cherry tomatoes and spring onions sitting on the back porch. "Oh, you actually grow food?"
"What did you think this was all about?" Gregory spread a hand out across the wild patchwork of dirt, strange plants, spindly-looking trees, and what was left of the grassy lawn.
"I thought it was about letting weeds take over," admitted Abe.
"So, do some research. Of course this is about growing food!" grumbled the man. "I've got lettuces too. And the spinach is starting to come in."
"You could almost make enough to eat out of those things. I've got Fiona's zucchini, as well," he mused aloud.
Gregory sent him a sharply alert blink. "Are you offering to cook for me?"
"No—no—I—" He tried to backpedal, waving his hands awkwardly as he took a step back towards the fence. "I'm quite—" He took a misstep and had to stop talking and pay attention so he didn't fall into the mud and ruin his nicest dove-gray trousers. "Oh, dear. It's so very mucky over here."
"I accept," said Gregory, pushing the basket into his hands. "You'll have to cook at your place, because I don't have my kitchen set up yet. Call me when it's ready."
"But—but—" Abe looked at him helplessly. He hadn't volunteered to cook, had he? He'd simply meant...
Gregory's eyes sparkled at him with delighted intent. He really was unwholesomely good-looking, for a garden nut. Sighing, Abe resigned himself to the inevitable. "Bring over some of the lettuce and whatever else you've got. I'll see what I can make of it."
"Good man," said Gregory, and turned back to his messy digging. Abe shuddered and slipped away, hoping he hadn't ruined his shoes by stepping in dirt.
Half an hour later, the two men sat down over a meal at Abe's
kitchen table. He'd tossed together a salad from the greens Gregory had brought over and the tiny tomatoes. Surprisingly, it hadn't needed anything added to it except a light dressing and a few dollops of cheese. He'd made a light veggie stir-fry utilizing the green onions, the zucchini, and some things from his fridge, and served it over rice noodles.
Gregory brought his appetite, and his gleaming eyes. The man acted like he hadn't eaten in a week. Abe was quite hungry as well, because he'd had only coffee and a piece of toast so far today. Between the two of them, they finished everything and wanted more.
Abe rose and fetched some Haagen Daz from the freezer, saying lightly, "I suppose you won't want any of this because it's not organic and free-range."
Gregory growled at him, and Abe laughed, feeling pleasant enough after the good meal to get along with anyone. They divided the ice cream equally and ate every bite.
Abe felt that he could afford to be generous. "Best of luck in the garden competition," he said before Gregory left to return to his honest sweat of the brow.
"You too," said Gregory, pausing in the doorway. He cast a glance towards where the zinnias lived in their bed. He pursed his lips for a moment and looked as if he would say something more. And then he did not.
Abe closed the door behind him feeling that it had been an unexpected success. He hadn't had anyone over to eat with him in ages. And he did like not being the hungriest one at a table—not to mention having his cooking appreciated.
Lenard had been a particularly picky eater, Abe recalled. Even the most carefully chosen ingredients and inoffensive dishes usually seemed to end up having something wrong with them.
He shook his head. Mustn't compare anyone with Lenard. He was quite his own subject—and Gregory was quite another. The neighbor sort of subject.
Perhaps not, after all, a complete enemy, though.
Chapter two
The day dawned with Abe feeling bright and invigorated, excited about the garden competition and determined to enjoy it, no matter who won. He would pretend to be awed by the local celebrity-made-good, Clarence Collin, and be civil to Gregory, and not even laugh at Hannibal and his aphids. In short, he would be a paragon of virtue, at least until judgment had been passed, and probably some of Henrietta Heaton's blackberry wine. It was quite good. The trouble was in remembering how strong it was. A little bit and he'd be fine. Too much, and he'd be roaring drunk, which simply would not do.
He put on his nicest pair of designer jeans, sneakers, and a sweater vest over a crisp button-down white shirt. It was all very respectable but just casual enough to look garden-worthy. He tried posing in front of the mirror wearing gardening gloves and a sun hat, but it was a bit too much. He wanted to look as manly as possible, and the sweater vest was a much better tack for that.
Still, he was zinnia-proud, and he knew it. He determined not to let it show, no matter how he was goaded.
He was early, but still the third one to arrive outside the community center, which was where the gardening club met. The door wasn't unlocked.
This area had an unusually high walkability score, for the suburbs, which Abe quite appreciated. It was nice to be able to stroll down to the center instead of driving there. Unfortunately, it didn't necessarily make the area particularly neighborly, but at least it was nice for walking.
Winnie was there, looking pink-cheeked and very young and alive in her soft sweater and youthfully cut blue jeans. She'd done something nice with her hair; he'd be certain to tell her later, when they were alone. Henrietta was there, carrying a big bag that Abe couldn't help hoping would contain some homemade wine. Her husband had outdone himself, having actually put on a suit. He looked uncomfortable and out of place as he muttered about people who couldn't show up in time to unlock the doors.
Where was Hannibal, anyway?
Fiona came hurrying up without her knitting or her neighbor. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked rather angry. She stopped before reaching them, with a look rather like despair. "Have you seen Mary? She's not at home."
Henry snorted softly, derisively. Abe cast him an angry look. It was all very well for him, wasn't it? He had a perfectly acceptable match, and one sanctioned readily by society—and he couldn't even appreciate his other half.
"She's not here," said Winnie. "I'm sure she's just late."
"No, no. She would have answered the door. She always does!" She pushed her hands together awkwardly. She had big, powerful hands, Abe noticed—not the sort that looked like they were used for knitting, but rather hard labor.
Mary was an elderly lady. Sometimes when the elderly didn't answer their doors, it was because they couldn't. She always seemed so hearty, but that didn't mean something couldn't have happened.
"Shall I go and look with you?" said Abe.
Fiona cast him a grateful look. They headed back, Abe hurrying to catch up with Fiona's long strides. She was a powerful woman despite her age, and he was certain she was much stronger than he. But he felt only sympathy for her terror. He was certain that Fiona had a kind heart underneath everything fierce about her, even if it mostly only showed up in the way she cared about Mary and the ragtag cats she adopted.
They strode up the path with lovely violets on both sides and knocked at Mary's door. Privately steeling himself to help break it down (or a window, at least) should it be necessary, Abe found he was holding his breath. He rather wished that Gregory was present. That man would have no problem knocking down a door, Abe thought. And someone calm might be welcome at just this moment. He could feel himself slowly reaching Fiona's level of panic without even trying to.
"Hello? Please answer the door, Mary, if you can hear us. We're really worried!" said Abe. Fiona pounded harder, but she had tears in her eyes and didn't seem able to speak.
At last! The door opened slowly, and Mary appeared in a bathrobe, looking faded and unhappy, her eyes red as if she'd been crying.
"Mary!" said Fiona, and rushed forward, then stopped suddenly, awkwardly. Abe's heart bled a little for her, even in that moment. It was such a little thing, to tell of unrequited love. It must hurt her so very much.
"Oh, Mary," said Fiona helplessly, remonstration and fear and resigned relief in her voice. "Why are you still in your nightgown? Did something happen?"
"No, I—I'm not feeling terribly well, I'm afraid. I'm not going to make it to the garden judging. I—I'll be in bed with tea," she added in a watery voice.
She did not look sick; she looked as if she'd been in tears for some time.
Abe and Fiona cast one another alarmed looks. "Did someone...did someone say something?" hazarded Fiona. "You know you have a lovely garden."
"Everyone loves your garden," agreed Abe. "I suspect you'll win." He smiled to show he meant it, and didn't mind.
Mary burst into tears and flung herself into Fiona's arms, weeping on her friend. Fiona looked desperately unhappy, uncertain how to fix things for Mary. "There, there," she said in an awkward voice. "Come inside, and I'll make your tea for you. You can tell me what's wrong."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly," said Mary, but Abe could tell she meant to agree after a token protest.
"I won't be at the judging," said Fiona to Abe, without taking her eyes off Mary. "Send our regards."
"Of course. I'm glad you're all right," he told Mary. Really, being upset was much better than a heart attack or something like that.
He walked back down the lovely path that smelled of violets and cast a longing glance at the herb garden and water feature layout. Mary really did have the touch. It felt like a bit of what peace must feel like, when applied to green things.
As he was walking along, thinking about herbs and unrequited love, he saw Gregory walking purposefully down the path towards him. He appeared to be heading in the direction of the community center. Seeing him so suddenly—bedecked in all his ancient tweed finery—surprised a laugh out of Abe.
"Oh, dear. Where did you get that suit?" he couldn't help asking as Gregory fell into st
ep with him and gave him a smile.
"I'll have you know, it's environmentally responsible to reuse clothing. It's unethical to constantly buy new clothing if you don't need it—in so many ways." Then, after a moment, he added, "My uncle. This was his best suit."
"And did they bury him in it? Did you dig it up later?"
Gregory cast him a narrow-eyed look. "You're hardly one to talk."
"Really? I would say I'm quite fashionable."
"You look like Mr. Rogers in that sweater vest."
Gregory was clearly out of practice. Abe had been called much worse in his day. "I'll take that as a compliment. Thank you."
"Well." Gregory looked as if he wanted to disagree but couldn't. "He was a fairly environmentally friendly person, and a role model."
Abe laughed again. He felt so much lighter now that the crisis was past, and he had nothing but a friendly day ahead, looking at plants, gossiping, and perhaps teasing Gregory a bit more.
"It was nice, eating at your place," began Gregory. "So, I was thinking, if I have some more produce, maybe I could bring it over again and you could make something?"
"I'm sure a stir-fry every night would get old quickly," said Abe. He was rather pleased to have his culinary efforts acknowledged.
"Well, it wouldn't have to be every night," said Gregory quickly. "And you could make something else. I wouldn't mind."
"Generous of you." Abe looked at him, really looked at him, and wondered for a moment, if... But, no. He simply wanted to have someone cook for him. Abe smiled anyway. "All right. Once in a while. Don't get used to it, though. I don't like being taken advantage of."
Gregory smiled. "I'll make sure it's just as good for you as it is for me."
Abe stumbled in surprise, his breath catching. Gregory took his elbow to steady him. "All right, there?"
Abe nodded. His face had gone very red, and he felt about twenty years younger—and quite shy all of a sudden. Of course he hadn't meant it that way—but what a thing to say!
The Body in the Backyard Page 2
