by Nora Roberts
“I might be.” Hallie offered a smile. “I’m interested in this kind of work. I’ve got a résumé. There’s not much to it that applies, but I added in how I gardened with my grandmother every spring and summer since I could walk, and helped my daddy build some fencing. I can do some stonework, too. I built a walk for my parents a couple summers ago. I’m not afraid of physical work.”
“You couldn’t be in this line. Are you working now?”
“I’m working at the Lakeview Hotel, in the office. I went to school for business, but, well, I just hate it. Not the people,” she added quickly. “It’s a good place to work, and a fair place, but I don’t like being cooped up inside all day, every day. I gave it a year because I promised my daddy I would.”
“So, you keep your word.”
Hallie lifted her shoulders. The hair above them flowed in a cloud of curls. “Your word’s no good if you don’t. I saw what you did at the other bungalow, and now this one. It’s what I want to do, too. I think I’d be good at it.”
“Why don’t you give me your résumé?”
“I appreciate you giving me consideration.” She took it out of her bag.
“Before I do, why don’t we have a trial. Tell me what you think, and why.” Darby gestured to the bungalow.
“I’m going to say it looks beautiful. And I think you chose that turquoise blue for the porch chairs because you wanted them to pop along with that bright pink on the azaleas.”
When Darby gestured to keep going, Hallie took a breath, dived in.
“I think you wanted a happy kind of look, and went softer with that weeper, the white dogwood. You’re using native plantings, and they won’t need a lot of fuss. You wanted them to look like they just grew up here on their own. I sure do like the slate and the moss. I used chamomile at our house.”
“That’s a good choice, too. Here, take my gloves, I’ve still got the pots and planters to do. You do the two for the porch.”
“I’ll be glad to. Which plants do you want me to use?”
“You choose. I’ll read over your résumé.”
Hallie bit her lip. “I reckon that’s a kind of test.”
“See what works for you, then we’ll see.”
While Hallie worked, Darby sat in one of the turquoise chairs, read the résumé. Business courses, solid grades, part-time office work during the school year and summers. She added pictures of the walkway—nice job—the fencing, some gardens.
She walked inside, called a couple of the references.
When Darby came back, Hallie sat back on her heels with a look on her face Darby recognized. The sheer pleasure of planting.
“They look good. A really nice mix of textures, colors, heights. Good thing, too, as the cabin’s booked starting tomorrow. Why don’t you help me do the patio planters, then we can clean up and be done.”
“I’d be glad to.”
“Great.” Darby held out a hand. “Welcome aboard.”
“I—I got the job?”
“You got the job. We can talk the details while we plant.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Zane managed to push Darby’s settlement up a full week, but her time still overlapped. To make room for incoming guests, she moved from her bungalow to another until the deal could be sealed.
With Hallie giving her two days a week until her two-week notice ran its course, and Gabe pitching in on weekends and after school—after baseball games or practice—they finished three more bungalows before she had her house keys in her hand.
With Walker Lakeside Bungalows fully booked, she switched her crew—she had a crew!—to reception, where she wanted to go a little bigger, a little bolder. It required her new Bobcat mini excavator, a lot of heavy lifting, loads of dirt, but she created what she considered an excellent rock garden.
“That looks a picture, boss,” Hallie told her.
“And more of one after a few weeks. We should finish this tomorrow. Best plan is to shift to Bungalow Eight—no booking until next weekend. We can get the stonework done, so no stonecutter noise to disturb any guests. We’ll wait on the painting, but should be able to get some shrubs in before it’s occupied. Then we start on Emily’s place, but go back and forth as other bungalows open, even if it’s just a couple days.”
“The woman works us to death.” Roy shoveled dirt around the roots of a redbud. Wish I didn’t like her so much.”
“Maybe you wish you weren’t so good at the work,” Darby tossed back.
“I am pretty damn good at it. Always liked flowers and such well enough, but now I dream about ’em. And what happened just last Sunday? My own mama asked why I didn’t plant her something pretty. Can’t get away from it.”
However he complained, Darby saw on his face that pleasure of planting time after time.
Hours later, after shoveling sand, laying stone, digging holes, she drove up her steep lane, parked her truck in front of her little house.
What she saw when she got out, stood, circled was potential. Land to clear, dirt to move, spaces to build, more to plant. A view of mountains going quiet with twilight, a stretch of woods swimming in shadows. And if she walked to where that land dropped off, hints of the lake below.
She imagined it, photographs in her mind, the retaining walls she’d build, the equipment sheds and greenhouse, the paved driveway, the color she’d add with shrubs, a cutting garden, a shade garden.
She had all the time in the world to plan, to make it happen.
Because she stood on her own land in front of her own house.
She danced her way back to the truck for the supplies she’d picked up.
Two trips later, she wandered the main floor. She could make the living room cozy—when she got some actual furniture. And the little powder room under the stairs could, with some work, transform from bare utilitarian to cute.
The kitchen … well, she’d never been much of a cook, so the ancient appliances would do. And she could paint the cabinets something cheerful or funky, find herself a fun table—or build one—a couple of chairs.
Stingy counter space, she admitted, and the dull yellow countertops needed serious help. Plus, the wallpaper—an explosion of yellow and orange daisies—had to go first chance.
But the windows throughout the house opened to the light, the views, and with no close-by neighbors, she intended to leave them undressed.
And she loved that the kitchen door led out to a good stretch of flat. She’d lay a pretty patio, plant a little kitchen garden. You didn’t have to be a good cook to enjoy a little kitchen garden. Since she got plenty of sun, maybe a cute solar water feature.
Her house, she thought, and gave herself a hug. She could do anything she wanted with it.
She went upstairs. Two small bedrooms, one bath. She’d taken the front-facing bedroom, delegated the second for her office.
The office already held her computer and station, a desk chair, two visitor-hopefully-client chairs, and a money tree in a pot boldly striped in reds and blues.
Happily, very happily, she hadn’t had to deal with wallpaper here, and had painted the walls a calm lake blue, and the trim a crisp white.
The bath? Well, wallpaper. This time fish, a whole lot of fish, bug-eyed and circling the walls. The sellers had left the shower curtain on the tub/shower combo. More fish.
It was downright creepy.
She’d take care of it, but for now she just had to live in the aquarium, and with the sad, peeling vanity and bucket-size sink, and the toilet that rocked just a little whenever she sat on it.
Better than camping, she told herself as she walked the few steps to her bedroom.
She had a bed, or at least a new mattress and box spring, and lovely new sheets and pillows. She had the view from the window, which was worth everything.
She just needed time to get to a furniture store and fill out the rest. And a decent chunk of time, more than decent effort, to rid herself of the wallpaper.
In here it ran red and gold
, in what she thought they called flocked. She supposed some tastes might have deemed it elegant, but she found it creepier than the fish.
She showered off the day, dressed in the cotton pants and T-shirt she’d sleep in. In the kitchen, she stuck a frozen pizza in the oven.
Darby considered frozen pizza and microwave popcorn staples of life.
She carried her pizza and a glass of wine up to her office, turned music on—loud. And spent a very contented evening working on plans for her house and headquarters.
* * *
While Darby ate her pizza, Zane sat at a high-top in the bar section of Grandy’s Grill. Ashley spoke truth about the selection of local brews, and plenty of locals, a good smattering of spring tourists kept the waitstaff hopping.
The place had the feel of a good Irish pub, a lot of dark, gleaming wood, quiet lighting, the long bar with an easy dozen or so draft beers on tap backed by a brick wall, shelves lined with bottles.
He hadn’t ventured into the dining area as yet, but from what he’d seen through the wide opening between the two sections, business looked brisk.
Since the night’s highlighted beer was Hop, Drop ’n Roll, Zane went with it. Dave, who sat with him, drank a Dark Angel.
The man, one Zane firmly believed had helped save his life, looked good. Time had threaded gray through his hair, but it suited him. Always the health and fitness guy, he now wore a tracker watch. The cotton shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, fit broad shoulders, strong arms.
Clearly, he still made good use of his weight room.
They talked lifting awhile, home gym setups. Once Zane moved into the new house, he had a whole lower level, and intended to install a home gym.
With the ease of longtime friends, they segued to town talk.
“I guess you know Grandy,” Zane began.
“Yeah, sure. Nice guy. He and Ashley put a lot into this place.”
“It works.”
Dave cocked an eyebrow. “Not carrying a torch there, are you?”
“God, no. But I’m always going to have a soft spot for her, seeing as she was the first girl I thought I loved, and the first to break my teenage heart. It’s good knowing she’s married to a nice guy, and they’ve got a good place here.”
“How about your place?”
“Getting there.” Since they were in front of him he popped a couple of bar nuts. “On both fronts. I can’t believe Maureen’s working for me. I think of her running the car pool, making me and Micah Hot Pockets, telling us to wipe our feet, damn it. Now she’s basically running the office.”
“We’ve got ourselves an empty nest with Chloe married and living on the Outer Banks, and Micah with his own place.”
Like Zane, Dave glanced toward the bar screen when a few cheers ripped out. March Madness.
“She’d been looking to go back to work for a while, just couldn’t find anything that got her off the mark. Then, there it was. There you were. It’s good to have you back, Zane.”
“I wasn’t sure I’d be able to say it and mean it all the way, but it’s good to be back.”
“How about that big, fancy house of yours?”
“You know, when I’m down here in town, or over at Emily’s, at Britt’s, I think about it and wonder if I lost my damn mind.” Baffled at himself, Zane popped more nuts.
“Then I go up there? And it’s freaking great. Everything about it just clicks. When I’m moved in, organized, I’m having all y’all up. We’ll test out the killer grill that came with the place.”
“Name the day, we’re there.”
“You know, Micah came up, went over the system—music, lights, TVs, security. I can do it all from a tablet, or my phone, how it’s set up. Which meant I had to ask him to come back, run it through for me again. But I think I’ve got it now.”
“If you don’t, he’s the man.”
“Yeah, he really is.”
“Now.” Dave took another pull of his beer. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really on your mind?”
Zane studied his own beer, then studied Dave. The same strong face, Zane thought, the same eyes, both shrewd and kind.
“Graham’s coming up for parole next week. He’ll likely get it this time. I could go in, speak, and maybe hold it back, but it’s just postponing.”
“I’d go to the hearing again, Zane. So would Lee, Emily, Britt.”
“I know it, just like I know how the system works.”
After all, he’d been the system.
“He’s served eighteen years,” Zane continued, “stayed out of trouble, done the counseling, worked in the prison infirmary for six years now. The board’s going to consider him rehabilitated. He’s exactly the sort of inmate they want to move out, and I don’t want to put Britt through another hearing. Or any of you.”
“And what about you?”
He’d thought it over, hours of thinking, lying in bed, turning his baseball in his hand.
“It’s going to happen, so there’s no point. And sometimes you have to just close the book.”
“Is that why you resigned from the DA’s office, came back here?”
“Part of it,” Zane admitted. “I don’t have to forget, I sure as hell don’t have to forgive. But it was time to, you know, close the book, open another.”
“Okay. Okay then.”
“Parole’s not a cakewalk.” Zane lifted his beer. “He’ll never practice medicine again. He’ll have to report in, submit to drug testing. He won’t be able to leave the state. They may restrict him to Raleigh, slap him with mandatory anger management. He’ll have to get a job.” Zane shrugged. “He’ll move in with Eliza. She’s got a house, quiet neighborhood, works part-time in a fancy dress shop.”
When Dave lifted his eyebrows, Zane shrugged again. “I felt better knowing where both of them were. Anyway, I’m closing the book, but I wanted to say something to you, something that’ll move right from one book to the next. You’ve been more of a father to me than he ever was. You and Lee, but you as far back as I can remember. You’re the one who showed me by who and what you were, how to be a man.”
Dave took a moment, another sip of beer until he could speak. “That’s a hell of a thing to hear. It’s a hell of a thing to hear from a grown man I’m proud of.”
“What you did for me—”
“Don’t start on that.”
“No, not just that night, Dave, and not just the days after.”
And he needed to say it. Like writing it in a notebook, saying it made it real.
“Not just being there for me when I had nobody, fighting for me. Not just that. For all the time I spent at your house, or around you. You showed me what was real. Real family, real parents, even real husband and wife. Without that, without you … Abuse is a cycle. Without you, I might have become like him.”
“Not in a million years, champ.”
“Can’t know. But the thing is, you, Maureen, Micah, Chloe, you added the weight to the other side of the scale. I’ll never be like him, and that’s the most important thing you’ve done for me.”
“I’ll tell you something back. You were never anything like him, or her. It used to puzzle me a little, how you and Britt seemed so different from them. I knew things weren’t right at home for you, but I never saw what it was. I wish I had, but I didn’t. What I did see? Graham was an arrogant prick, and Eliza, kind of a polished-up void.”
“Jesus, that’s good.” After a breath, Zane took a pull on his beer. “That’s good. ‘Polished-up void’ is exactly right.”
“You and Britt? Just nothing like that, not the way I could see little bits of me and Maureen in our kids. Just little bits. Not even little bits of them in the two of you. What I saw in you? Heart. Neither of them had any.”
Those clear, kind eyes held Zane’s. “I don’t forget either. I don’t forgive.”
“Then it looks like we’re on the same page of the new book.”
Dave smiled at him. “Looks that way. How about we order ourselves som
e of those loaded nachos and another beer?”
“Sounds good.”
* * *
On a morning of April showers, Zane met Nathan Grandy at nine sharp when Maureen escorted him and Ashley into his office for their consult.
They looked, to Zane’s eye, like a really upscale toothpaste commercial. Both of them blond, blue-eyed, and seriously attractive, Nathan stood gym fit next to Ashley’s blooming pregnancy.
As soon as Nathan settled Ashley in the chair facing the desk, he stuck out his hand. “It’s really nice to meet you. I’m going to say I’m also really glad things didn’t work out between you and Ashley.”
“Nathan Grandy!” came Ashley’s laughing protest.
“Can’t blame him.”
“I heard you were in our place a couple nights back. Sorry I missed you. I think I must’ve headed home right before you came in. Ashley’s getting close, so I try to get home in time to help put Fiona to bed.”
“I like your place. Really like the loaded nachos.”
“Can’t go wrong with them. So, how do we do this?” Nathan asked. “It’s the first time either of us made up a will.”
“Why don’t we talk about what you want?” As he spoke, Zane took out a fresh legal pad, started his notes.
“Simple, I guess. Right?” Ashley looked at Nathan. “We have the house, the cars, the business. It’s all jointly owned. So if—you know—that would just go to the other.”
“A good place to start. Let me get the information on all of that.”
He asked questions, standard and simple, got their rhythm and a picture of their life, their holdings. Joint bank accounts, some investments. He gave answers and options, felt them both relax into it.
“Okay, now, if both of you went down in a zombie apocalypse, how would you want your assets handled?”
“Everything should go to the kids.” By the way Nathan answered, Zane knew they’d talked about just this. “But our daughter’s just a baby, and this one’s still cooking.”
“We can do a trust, then you decide who you want in charge of it, how you want it paid out. For their needs, their education, at what ages you’d want it turned over to them. Or if you’d want that spread out.”
