Winter Garden

Nothing she’d done had ever been right in her mother’s eyes, and for a girl who desperately wanted to please, this failure had left scars. The worst of them—besides the night of the Christmas play—had come on a sunny spring day.

Meredith didn’t recall how old she was exactly, but Nina had just started her swimming lessons, so maybe ten, and Dad had taken her sister to the pool, so Meredith was alone with Mom in that big, rambling house. She’d snuck out after lunch, with tools in her hand and a packet of seeds in her pocket. Alone in the winter garden, humming with excitement, she’d pulled out all the ivy that grew over everything and dragged away the old verdigris copper column that gave the garden a jumbled, messy look. Attacking the muddy black earth with her trowel, she’d carefully planted flower seeds in neat and tidy rows. She could picture how they would grow and bloom, how they’d give a bright and pretty order to the messy green and white so-called garden.

She’d been pleased with herself for coming up with the idea and executing it so well. As she worked the dirt and divided up the seeds and carefully placed them in the ground, she imagined her mother coming out here, seeing this gift, and—finally—hugging her.

So intent was she on the dream that she didn’t hear the house door slam shut or footsteps on the stepping-stones. The first notice she’d had that she wasn’t alone was when Mom yanked her to her feet so hard and fast that Meredith stumbled and fell sideways.

What have you done to my garden?

I wanted to make it pretty for you. I—

Meredith would never forget the look on her mother’s face as she dragged her across the yard and up the porch steps. All the way into the house, Meredith was crying, saying she was sorry, asking what she’d done that was so bad, but her mother said nothing, just pushed her into the house and slammed the door shut.

Meredith stood at the dining room window after that, crying, watching her mother attack the dirt, throwing the seeds away as if they held some kind of poison. Mom worked like a mad person, in a frenzy; she brought all the ivy back, cradling it in her hands with a gentleness she’d never shown her children, and when that was all returned to its place, she went for the column, dragging it back, muscling it into its place. When the winter garden looked as it had, she dropped to her knees in front of the column and stayed there all afternoon, with her head bowed as if in prayer. She was still there when night fell and rain started.

When she finally came back into the house, her hands black with dirt, her fingers bleeding, her face streaked by mud and rain, she didn’t even look at Meredith, just walked up the stairs and closed her bedroom door.

They never spoke of that day again. And when Dad came home, Meredith threw herself into his arms and cried until he said, What is it, Meredoodle?

Maybe if she’d said something, told him the truth, it would have changed things, changed her, but she couldn’t do it. I just love you, Daddy, she’d said, and his booming laugh had grounded her once again.

And I love you, he’d said. She wanted that to be enough, prayed for it to be enough, but it wasn’t, and she felt her own sense of failure blossom, take over, until all she could do was try to stop loving her mother.

She closed her eyes, rocking just a little. Nina was wrong. Dad would understand. . . .

A thump sounded nearby, and she looked up, expecting to see Luke or Leia in the room, tail thumping a quiet greeting, begging for a little attention.

Jeff stood in the doorway, still dressed in the worn Levi’s and blue crew-neck sweater he’d put on yesterday morning.

“Oh. You’re home. ”

“I’m going,” he said quietly.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that they wouldn’t be together tonight. “Do you want me to hold dinner?”

He took a deep breath and said, “I’m leaving. ”

“I heard you. I don’t—” It sunk in suddenly and she looked up. “Leaving? Me? Because of last night? I’m sorry about that. Really. I shouldn’t have—”

“We need some time apart, Mere. ”

“Don’t do this,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Not now. ”

“There’s never a good time. I waited because of your father, and then because of your mother. I told myself you still loved me, that you were just busy and overwhelmed, but . . . I just don’t believe it anymore. There’s a wall around you, Mere, and I’m tired of trying to climb it. ”

“It’ll be better now. In June—”

“No more waiting,” he said. “We only have a few weeks before the girls come home. Let’s use the time to figure out what the hell we want. ”

She felt herself falling apart but the thought of giving in to that scared her to death. For months now she’d been burying her emotions and God knew what would happen if she ever stopped. If she let herself cry she might wail like a banshee and turn to stone like one of her mother’s fairy-tale characters. So she held it together and nodded, said in as even a voice as she could muster, “Okay. ”

She saw the way he looked at her then, the disappointment, the resignation. His gaze said, Of course that’s what you’d say. It hurt her almost more than she could stand, letting him go, but she didn’t know how to stop him, what to say, so she stood up and walked past him, past the suitcase at the front door (the thump she’d heard) and went into the kitchen.

Her heart was actually missing beats as she stood at the sink, staring at nothing. It was hard to catch her breath. Never in all their years of marriage had it occurred to her that Jeff would leave her. Not even last night when he’d let her sleep alone. She’d known he wasn’t happy—and neither was she, really—but that seemed separate somehow, an ordinary bad patch.

But this . . .

He came up behind her. “Do you still love me, Mere?” he asked quietly, turning her by the shoulders until they were facing each other.