“Poor old Arnold, trying to keep up his wife's garden. What a chore it must be for him."
“I think he might like it," Shelley said. "It's probably a way he keeps his wife's memory alive and growing."
“Somebody told me once that gardens should die with the gardener," Jane said. "I guess I don't like that view any more than Arnold does. It's sort of like tearing a house down just because the person who built and lived in it is gone."
“You're having such grim thoughts this evening. What's really wrong?" Shelley asked.
Jane shrugged. "I'm meeching. I'm just sick ofeverything I do being so much more difficult. I've lost my freedom to drive myself. I can't take a shower without trussing up my whole leg. And every time I turn over at night, I bang the cast on my other leg. I had no idea a cast could make such an impact on my daily life. And be so itchy. And just think of how hairy my leg is going to be when it's taken off."
“You'll just wear a long skirt that day, and fling it down to your ankle the moment the cast is gone. It won't be on for long," Shelley said. "It wasn't all that bad a break. I'll bet you get out of it in three or four weeks. And I'm willing to drive you wherever you need to go.”
Jane laughed at that. "That's one of the worst parts of the experience!"
“I'm not a bad driver. I've never had an accident that was my fault," Shelley said defensively.
“You're a terrifying driver. You know that. You take pride in taking over any road you're on. Give you an ignition key and you turn into Attila the Hun, conquering the highways of the Western world."
“What a sissy you are," Shelley said. "No sense of adventure at all.”
The back door opened. Mel said, "The girls said you two were hiding out here. Jane! What happened to your yard?"
“I broke down and followed Shelley's example and rented a semigarden."
“It looks great." He took the chair between them and patted Jane's arm. "You look glum."
“Thanks. I'm having a pity party about my foot."
“Too bad you didn't break it when you were a kid. Having a cast then is a mark of honor.”
Jane made a conscious decision to at least act happy. Nobody was taking her complaints seriously. "Shelley's trying to get me to plant a real garden when I'm out of the cast."
“Good idea. I could help.”
Jane turned and looked at him. "How? Why?"
“I'd love to have a weekend or two renting guy machines. High loaders, trenchers, stuff like that."
“It must really be a guy thing. I don't even know what those things are for," Jane said with a smile. "And they sound like something that would scare the cats out of their skins. How's Julie Jackson doing today?”
Mel said, "She's getting better physically. Still no memory of anything about the attack. Apparently the hospital is willing to send her home in a day or two, so long as her sister and brother-in-law can stay over to watch her closely for a few days."
“I'm glad she's getting better," Jane said, "but I really meant, how is the case going?"
“I was too busy with another case nearly all day. I made a couple of stabs at getting in touch with Dr. Eastman. He doesn't seem to ever be home. I'm afraid I might have upset the boy who answers the phone by calling three or four times. Now he's worried about where his boss has gone.”
“Aren't you?" Shelley asked.
“Not really. Why should I be?"
“Because the woman who was supposed to teach the class was seriously injured, and what if it had something to do with the class itself?"
“But, Jane, why would anyone try to stop her teaching what she writes about all the time?”
Jane hated it when Mel was so reasonable and she hadn't a good answer.
“I'll catch him later tonight," Mel said. "He might have just driven up for the day to the place he has up north. That's what the boy thought." He looked toward the house. "Were there any leftovers from your dinner? I didn't even get lunch today."
“One piece of leather chicken," Jane said.
“I think I'll stop for fast food," Mel said, getting up. He kissed Jane in a preoccupied manner and said, "Perk up, honey.”
When he'd gone, Shelley and Jane looked at each other for a long moment.
“Are you thinking what I am?" Shelley asked. "Yes. What's become of Dr. Eastman?”
Twenty
Jane was giving the cats fresh cat food about · eight o'clock that night when the doorbell rang. It was Arnie Waring again. This time with a crock-pot recipe of Darlene's three-beans, onion, and ham recipe in a heavy plastic container with a towel around it.
“I'm sorry I'm dropping by so late," he said, "but I started this after the garden tours and had to wait until it was done. I guess you've had your dinner already, but it heats up real good the next day." He set the container down and unwrapped it; it even contained homemade crackers in a well-sealed plastic bag.
Jane was touched. "Arnie, you're just trying to fatten me up. I don't need fattening. This is so sweet of you, though. And it smells fantastic."
“You could use some weight. I was always glad that Darlene was a bit plump. It made her even prettier."
“I guess that's true of some women," Jane said. Arnie went on, "This was my wife's favorite recipe, and mine, too. She made it every Wednesday night, which this is. I always cook it up on Wednesdays.”
Jane was torn. She wanted to say, Darlene is gone. Get your own life.
But that would only hurt his feelings. He was devoted to her memory, and duplicating their life before she died probably kept him alive and busy and made his days happier. Maybe this was the only life that could ever be his own.
“How long ago did your wife die?" she asked, hoping it wasn't a tactless question.
“Four years and three weeks ago. I wish you could have known her. She was the best woman in the world. Little, but strong. And so smart. She read all the time. And her gardens were beautiful. I've tried so hard to keep them just as she left them, but I'm not a good gardener. It's sad to see her plants looking so bad."
“I'm sure when we visit your yard tomorrow, somebody will make good suggestions. It won't be me, though. I'm not really a gardener, I'd just like to turn into one," Jane said.
“I don't want to be one," Arnie admitted. "I just owe it to Darlene.”
Jane thought for a moment. "Are you sure you owe her that?”
He frowned. "I'm sure."
“I'm sorry if I offended you," Jane said. "It's just that I'm a widow. My husband died in a car wreck, but I've gone on with my own life. So I guess I see it differently”
Jane didn't think she needed to give the whole truth, that Steve had died on an icy bridge while leaving her for another woman.
“But you're young," Arnie said. "I married Darlene when we were both seventeen and we lived together with joy for decades. These things are easier when you're young."
“I guess you're right. I didn't mean to pry or criticize. You're a good man. And I thank you for the beans. They'll be my lunch tomorrow and I'll be thinking of you and Darlene.”
Once again Arnie was about to get teary, so he very nearly ran out of the house without even saying good-bye.
Jane felt a bit teary, too. But she'd lied about waiting until tomorrow's lunch. She was already hungry after the mediocre meal the girls had cooked. She scooped out a ladle full of the beans and ham and warmed them up in the microwave. Katie must have smelled the aroma wafting up the stairs, and came down from her room to eat again as well.
“Mom, this is great stuff. Did you make it?" "No, an old man I know made it with his late wife's recipe.”
Katie nibbled a few of the crackers. "These are terrific, too." She finished munching and said, "Our dinner wasn't really very good, was it?”