My passion for our own garden at home--small, but nonetheless stunning--had led us to become friends over the years, and Nathan often made a point of coming by in the hours after work. We had long conversations about acid in the soil and the role of shade for azaleas, differences in fertilizers, and even the watering requirements of pansies. It was something completely removed from the work I did at the office, which is perhaps the reason it gave me such joy.
As I surveyed the property, I visualized how I wanted it to look. In the midst of my earlier calls, I'd also contacted Nathan, and though it was Sunday, he'd agreed to swing by. He had three crews, most of whom spoke only Spanish, and the amount of work a single crew could accomplish in a day was staggering. Still, this was a large project, and I prayed they would be able to finish in time.
It was as I was making my mental notes that I saw Harvey Wellington, the pastor, in the distance. He was on his front porch, leaning against the post with his arms crossed. He didn't move when I spotted him. We seemed to be watching each other, and a moment later, I saw him grin. I thought it was an invitation to go see him, but when I glanced away and then back again, he'd vanished inside his home. Even though we'd spoken, even though I'd shaken his hand, I suddenly realized that I'd never set foot beyond his front door.
Nathan dropped by after lunch, and we spent an hour together. He nodded continuously as I spoke but kept his questions to a minimum. When I was finished, he shaded his eyes with his hand.
Only the rose garden will be troublesome, he finally said. It will be much work to make it look the way it should.
But it's possible?
He studied the rose garden for a long moment before nodding. Wednesday and Thursday, he finally said. The entire crew will come, he added. Thirty people.
Only two days? I asked. Even with the garden? He knew his business as I know my own, but this statement amazed me nonetheless.
He smiled and put a hand on my shoulder. "Do not worry, my friend," he said. "It will be magnificent."
By midafternoon, heat was rising from the ground in shimmering waves. The humidity had thickened the air, making the horizon seem out of focus. Feeling the perspiration beading on my brow, I removed a handkerchief from my pocket. After wiping my face, I sat on the porch to wait for Jane and Anna.
Though the home was boarded up, this hadn't been done for safety reasons. Rather, the boards were placed over the windows to prevent random vandalism and to keep people from exploring the rooms within. Noah had designed them himself before leaving for Creekside--while his sons had actually done most of the work--and they were attached to the house with hinges and internal hooks so they could be opened easily from the inside. The caretaker did that twice a year to air out the house. The electricity had been turned off, but there was a generator in the rear that the caretaker sometimes turned on to check that the outlets and switches were still in working order. The water had never been turned off because of the sprinkler system, and the caretaker had told me that he sometimes ran the faucets in the kitchen and baths to clean the pipes of any dust that had accumulated.
One day, I'm sure that someone will move back in. It won't be Jane and me, nor could I imagine any of the other siblings here, but it seemed inevitable. It was also inevitable that this would happen only long after Noah was gone.
A few minutes later, Anna and Jane arrived, dust billowing behind the car as they pulled up the drive. I met them in the shade of a giant oak tree. Both were looking around, and I could see the anxiety mounting on Jane's face. Anna was chewing gum, and she offered a brief smile.
"Hi, Daddy," she said.
"Hi, sweetheart. How did it go today?" I asked.
"It was fun. Mom was in a panic, but we finally got it worked out. The bouquet is ordered. and so are the corsages and boutonnieres."
Jane didn't seem to hear her; she was still glancing around frantically. I knew she was thinking there was no way the property would be ready in time. Because she visits less frequently than I, I think she had retained the image of how this place used to look, not how it looked today.
I brought a hand to her shoulder. "Do not worry, it will be magnificent," I reassured her, echoing the promise of the landscaper.
Later, Jane and I strolled the grounds together. Anna had wandered off to talk to Keith on her cell phone. As we walked, I related the ideas I had discussed with Nathan, but I could tell her mind was elsewhere.
When pressed, Jane shook her head. "It's Anna," she confessed with a sigh. "One minute she's into the plans, and the next minute she isn't. And she can't seem to make any decisions on her own. Even with the flowers. She didn't know what colors she wanted for the bouquets, she didn't know which varieties. But as soon as I say that I like something, she says that she does, too. It's driving me crazy. I mean, I know this whole thing is my idea, but still, it's her wedding."
"She's always been like that," I said. "Don't you remember when she was little? You used to tell me the same thing when the two of you went shopping for school clothes."
"I know," she said, but her tone suggested something else was bothering her.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I just wish we had more time." Jane sighed. "I know we've gotten a few things done, but if we had more time, I could arrange for a reception of some sort. As lovely as the ceremony will be, what about afterward? She'll never have another chance to experience something like this."
My wife, the hopeless romantic.
"Why don't we have a reception, then?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Why don't we have one here? We'll just open up the house."
She looked at me as if I'd lost my senses. "For what? We don't have a caterer, we don't have tables, we won't have any music. Those things take time to arrange. It's not as if you can snap your fingers and have everyone you need come running."
"That's what you said about the photographer, too."
"Receptions are different," she explained with an air of finality.
"Then we'll do it differently," I persisted. "Maybe we'll have some of the guests bring food."
She blinked. "Pot luck?" She didn't try to hide her dismay. "You want to have a pot luck dinner for the reception?"
I felt myself shrink a bit. "It was just an idea," I mumbled.
She shook her head and looked off into the distance. "It's okay," she said. "It's not a big deal, anyway. It's the ceremony that matters."
"Let me make some calls," I offered. "Maybe I can arrange something."
"There's not enough time," she repeated.
"I do know people who do things like this."
This was true. As one of only three estate lawyers in town--and for the early part of my career the only one--it seemed that I knew most of the business owners in the county.
She hesitated. "I know you do," she said, but the words sounded like an apology. Surprising myself, I reached for her hand.
"I'll make some calls," I said. "Trust me."
It might have been the seriousness with which I spoke, or the earnestness of my gaze, but as we stood together, she looked up and seemed to study me. Then, ever so slowly, she squeezed my hand to profess her confidence in me.
"Thank you," she said, and with her hand clutching mine, I felt a strange sensation of deja vu, as if our years together had suddenly been reversed. And for the briefest moment, I could see Jane standing under the trellis again--I'd just heard the story of her parents, and we were our youthful selves, the future bright and promising before us. Everything was new, as it was so long ago, and when I watched her leave with Anna a minute later, I was suddenly certain that this wedding was the most blessed thing to have happened to us in years.
Chapter Seven
Dinner was nearly ready when Jane walked in the door later that evening.
I set the oven on low--tonight was chicken cordon bleu--and I wiped my hands as I left the kitchen.
"Hey there," I said.
"Hey. How'd it go with the calls?"
she asked, setting her purse on the end table. "I forgot to ask you earlier."
"So far, so good," I said. "Everyone on the list said they could make it. At least the ones that I've heard from, anyway."
"Everyone? That's . . . amazing. People are usually on vacation this time of year."
"Like us?"
She gave a carefree laugh, and I was pleased to see that she seemed in a better mood. "Oh, sure," she said with a wave, "we're just sitting around and relaxing, aren't we?"
"It's not so bad."
She caught the aroma from the kitchen, and her face took on a puzzled expression. "Are you making dinner again?"
"I didn't think you'd be in the mood to cook tonight."