The First Gardener (34 page)

Kurt looked at the paper. “Newman is going to use anything he can. He is capitalizing on your ‘time off.’”

Gray shook his head. “Let him.” He raised his eyes to Kurt’s. “I’ve got to ask you a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why did you choose this time to listen to me?”

Kurt’s eyes narrowed beneath his tortoiseshell glasses. “What do you mean?”

“You never pay attention to anything I say. So why did you make this the one time you decided to listen to me and let yourself be fired?”

Kurt scratched his head. “Well, you’ve never actually punched me before.”

Gray walked over to his friend and wrapped his arms around him. “I’m sorry, Kurt. Please forgive me.”

Kurt’s arms tightened around him. “You’re forgiven.” They stood there for a few moments until Tyler made a joke about their embrace. Of course he did. He was thirteen now. They all laughed.

“Sit down.” Kurt motioned to a chair on the other side of the table. Gray sat, and the awkwardness immediately evaporated.

“I need you to come back,” Gray said.

“I know you do.”

“But not to run the campaign.”

“So you’re really not going to run?”

Gray placed his elbows on the table and rubbed his hands together. “I can’t, Kurt. It’s Mack. She’s bad. If something doesn’t happen, I don’t know what I’m going to do. The depression is deep. I just can’t reach her.”

Kurt leaned forward. “I’m so sorry.” He shook his head. “Not about the election. About Mack. And you. And all of this nightmare you’ve endured. You’re doing the right thing.”

“I have to.” Gray could hardly speak. “Mack’s all I have. I can’t lose her. The day I . . . well, the day I . . .”

Kurt helped him out. “Hit me?”

“Yeah, that. Again, I’m sor—”

“I heard you the first time. No more apologies.”

Gray rubbed his head. “Okay, well, the night before that, I was already starting to lose it, I guess. And I said these ugly, awful things to her.” His voice broke.

“Gray, Mack knows how much you love her.”

“But I told her basically that the only thing I cared about was this campaign. That she was going to have to pull it together. Sort of shape up or ship out. And after that—that was when it all fell apart. I just threw her away.”

“Gray, you didn’t. You just . . . lost yourself there for a minute. It could happen to anyone.”

Gray nodded. “I know. And I’m getting help. I am. But I still need you and Fletch. I can’t walk the rest of this without you.” He paused and looked at his friend. “And I don’t want to.”

“You know I’ll walk with you anywhere.”

“Do you think y’all could draft a statement for me so we could announce that I’m not going to seek reelection?”

“Absolutely. What specifics do you want in there?”

“I want it to say that my family is the most important thing to me. And right now that has to come first, so this isn’t the right time for me to be focused on anything else.”

Kurt nodded. “We’ll have it ready by the middle of next week—make the announcement together on Friday.”

“No,” Gray said. “It has to be sooner. Any way you could have it to me by tomorrow so I can announce on Saturday?”

Kurt considered. “It’s not usual to make a big announcement on Saturday, but these are special circumstances.” He nodded. “We’ll do it.”

“Thanks.” Gray rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “It’s like Mack’s gone even farther into that dark place she had retreated to. And I don’t have a clue what will pull her out of it.”

“All we can do is love her, Gray. We don’t have anything else. And we’ll trust the doctors will have wisdom to know the rest.”

“I don’t want her to be in a psych ward somewhere.” He didn’t even try to stop the tears that surged at the thought.

Kurt reached over and grabbed his wrist. “We won’t let that happen.”

Gray’s eyes never left his friend’s. “It might be too late.”

Gray pulled in to the garage and walked down the basement hallway. He saw light coming from Jeremiah’s workroom. “What you got there, Jeremiah?”

Jeremiah looked up slowly, his long fingers pressing down black dirt inside a green ceramic container in his familiar, unhurried manner. Everything Jeremiah did seemed slow. “Gettin’ me a flower ready for Miz Mackenzie.”

Gray studied the flower. “That’s not one of those white flowers you’ve been giving her.”

“Nope.”

“So you’re going to get adventurous again with your flower giving?”

Jeremiah chuckled. “Guess so. Sound crazy, don’t it? But Miz Eugenia gone and give me permission. And I figure she scarier than Miz Mackenzie.”

Gray had to laugh too. “No truer statement has ever been spoken.” He gazed around the workroom, taking in the long table, the flats of seedlings under their grow lights, the mini fridge and hot plate in the corner.

“Rosa still bring you bologna in here to fry?”

Jeremiah smiled. “Yep, love havin’ me fried bologna for lunch. One a my favorite things.”

Gray laughed, then nodded at the flower Jeremiah was working with. “What is that anyway? I’ve seen one before . . . at Christmas, right?”

“Yeah, mostly for Christmas. It be an amaryllis. But I had me a bulb ever since then, put it in some water back in January, right after y’all lost the baby. Took a while, but now it bloomin’ good, and the good Lord done tol’ me to give it to Miz Mackenzie.”

Gray watched as Jeremiah took some green moss from a box and placed it on the dirt. His hands worked with the delicacy of an artist. Every time he did something different—packed the dirt, covered it with moss, pulled out a ribbon and tied a bow. Each movement seemed to be a stroke that created a perfect picture. And there was something about the ease and grace with which he did it. Such simplicity made an impact.

“Jeremiah, can I ask you something?”

Jeremiah pushed the finished amaryllis aside. The thick stalk and three bright-red blooms held themselves proud and stately as if they knew the power of their presence. “Ax away, Gov’nor. I ain’t in all that much hurry to get home.”

Gray nodded. He understood. He had felt that way a lot lately. “I’ve decided I’m not going to run for reelection.”

Jeremiah dug his hands in his pockets and shifted back on his heels. “Hm.”

“Yeah, at first I thought it would be the best thing for me. You know, keep my mind off everything we’ve been through.” He gazed at the old pine worktable that spanned almost the entire length of the room and fingered some of the loose dirt left from where the container had been.

“Be a ’straction, you mean?”

Gray pressed his lips together. “Yeah, probably. Anyway, Mack’s in bad shape, and I just think it’s best I don’t run. She needs me right now.” He paused, still feeling the pull of the decision. He loved his wife desperately. She mattered more to him than anything in this world. And yet the finality of closing this door was real and heavy. “I’m doing the right thing . . . right?”

Jeremiah turned. His tools from the day’s work were laid out on the other end of the table. He walked to the sink and took a towel from the shelf above his head. He ran some water over it, picked up his pruning shears from the table, and began to wipe the blades. His wrinkled hand was steady and strong as it ran hard across the blades.

“I ’member years ago when my daddy had his garden. One night he be out real late tryin’ to catch this rabbit that be wreakin’ havoc on his daisies. I ax him why he spend so much time tryin’ to catch that rabbit when there always be another rabbit after that. Know what he tol’ me? ‘It’s ’cause this be the rabbit that’s here now.’

“I know sometimes, when you gots one thing after ’nother, don’t feel like even botherin’ with what you goin’ through now ’cause you figure you gon’ be goin’ through sump’n else soon’s this one be over with. And you probably right. But this be the one here now. And the only way it gon’ quit eatin’ your daisies be if you take time to catch it.”

Gray heard him. And what he spoke was so true. If Gray was meant to be governor, the opportunity would come back. But what he needed to do now was be Mackenzie London’s husband. For better or for worse.

Jeremiah interrupted his thoughts. “Anythin’ else, Gov’nor?”

Gray looked into Jeremiah’s rich, dark eyes. They weren’t rushing him. They were searching him. “No. Just really appreciate you and your honesty. You know that, don’t you?”

Jeremiah’s eyes flickered with mischief. “You ’preciate me ’nough to take this here amaryllis up to Miz Mackenzie?”

Gray smiled. “You chicken?”

“Yep” was all he offered.

“Sure.”

Jeremiah placed the container in his hands.

“Want to tell me what this flower means?” Gray asked.

Jeremiah pushed his lips out as if he was thinking. He finally shook his head. “Nah. Figure you be findin’ out soon ’nough.”

Chapter 47

She heard the door open but didn’t turn to look. She heard Gray’s soft footfall on the carpet, the jingle of Sophie’s dog tags. Then he was next to her, setting a flower on the table beside her.

“Jeremiah sent this.”

She didn’t care.

“It’s different from what he has been sending you the last couple of weeks.” He smiled at her.

Her lips couldn’t even form one anymore.

“Do you think this flower has a meaning?”

She was certain it did. But she never asked what it was.

Chapter 48

Eugenia saw it before she saw Mackenzie on Friday morning. It wasn’t Christmas. What in the world was Jeremiah thinking, sending Mackenzie an amaryllis?

She looked at the flower sitting there so strong and proud and sucked in a breath. He was not saying . . . was he?

He was.

She took a few minutes to make a phone call. Then she marched down the veranda stairs and straight to the garden. She caught sight of the backside of his overalls with that ridiculous blue hankie sticking from his left pocket. He was bent over, his head in a patch of tulips.

She leaned over, spreading her legs for balance. Then she reached down, grabbed a pocket with each of her hands, and pulled as hard as she could. She jerked with such force that she landed on the ground with Jeremiah right on top of her.

“Get off me, Jeremiah!” she hollered as she struggled and squirmed.

Jeremiah shifted around, trying to stand up but having a hard time himself. He finally said, “Well, Lord amercy, woman, if you be still, I might be able to get me some traction.”

She finally quit flailing, and he managed to get to his feet. He reached a hand down to help her up only after he gave her a look that let her know he thought she had lost her mind. She slapped his hand aside and pushed herself up, wiping grass off her kelly-green cardigan and picking at blades that had adhered to her white tank.

“Now, I don’t know what in the tar hill this be ’bout, but you gone and tol’ me I could give Miz Mackenzie a flower. Any flower.”

She pulled at the hem of her sweater. “Yes, I did. So if you’re going to declare my daughter is prideful, you’re going to be part of the remedy.” She snatched his hand and yanked him through the gardens as they headed toward the house.

“Where you takin’ me?”

“We’re going on a field trip.”

“But I can’t be leavin’—”

“The governor is my son-in-law. We can do whatever I want.”

“You gon’ get me put away the rest a my life with no time off for good behavior.”

“You wouldn’t get time off for good behavior anyway because you make it your mission to drive me crazy.”

“Don’t hafta drive you. You done already arrived.”

She stopped at the back door and faced him. “I’m going to forget you said that.”

“Forgettin’ ain’t ever made sump’n less true.”

She grabbed his hand again and tugged him right through the main part of the mansion and out the front door. She had parked in front of the north entrance in the large circular drive.

Jeremiah dug in his heels. “I ain’t gettin’ in that.”

A black Cadillac sedan sat in front of them. She opened the passenger door. “Get in, Jeremiah.”

He didn’t budge. “I ain’t doin’ it.”

“You are.”

“I ain’t. I tol’ you—I can’t leave. ’Sides, that look like a funeral car, and for alls I know, you plan on killin’ me.”

She jerked his arm and pushed him into the front seat using all her force, and when the final piece of him wouldn’t budge, she used her backside. He couldn’t have fought that if he’d tried. She finally got him inside and slammed the door, beeping it locked. She ran around to the driver’s side and climbed in.

“We’re picking up some friends,” she said as she turned the key in the ignition and put her foot on the accelerator.

Sheer force pressed his head against the headrest. “Lord amercy, help us,” he muttered.

“He already has,” Eugenia said. “I think he already has.”