Susannah's Garden
Page 19

“My being here will cheer her up,” Chrissie stated with such confidence that Susannah believed her. “The thing is…”
“What?”
Chrissie sighed audibly. “I don’t think Dad’s going to be happy about the way I left.”
That was no doubt an accurate prediction of Joe’s feelings. Susannah suspected some of those messages were his. “Don’t worry. I’ll square it with him.” She turned to her daughter. “As for you, now that you’re here, I expect you to work.”
“Sure.” Chrissie gave her a tired smile. “Thanks, Mom, you’re the best.”
The sad part was that Susannah didn’t feel she was the best at anything. Certainly not at being a daughter or a wife. Not even being a mother…
CHAPTER 14
Vivian was delighted when her granddaughter showed up the next morning. She’d just finished her breakfast—the eggs were cold and the bacon greasy so she hadn’t taken more than a single bite of each.
She was getting ready to work outside in her garden when Susannah and Chrissie tapped at her door. Not her garden, she reminded herself. She didn’t live in her home anymore. For a moment, she was overwhelmed by a sense of loss.
“Hi, Grandma.”
With the way her memory had been acting up lately, she felt obliged to ask, “Did I know you were coming?”
“No, Grandma, this is a surprise.”
Vivian hugged the girl and was astonished at how tall Chrissie had become since her last visit. When was that? Three or four years ago? “Such a beautiful young woman,” she murmured, pressing her hands against Chrissie’s cheeks, studying this girl she loved. But her granddaughter wasn’t a girl anymore, she was a woman. The realization stunned her. “You look wonderful.”
“You look great, too.” Chrissie’s arms were gentle around Vivian, as if her granddaughter was afraid to crush her. Vivian didn’t remember being that fragile. She was, though. She’d changed, become feeble. Frail. What terrible words.
“I can’t find my gardening gloves.” Vivian was irritated. Her biggest worry about moving into this place was thievery. Hired help was not to be trusted; even Martha, who’d worked for her for years, had turned into a thief. Obviously, someone had walked off with her gardening gloves. They were her favorites and well used. Why anyone would take them was beyond her.
“Mother, what do you need gardening gloves for?” Susannah asked.
As much as she loved her daughter, Vivian swore Susannah could annoy her faster than anyone on earth. Ever since she’d arrived this morning, Susannah had tested Vivian’s patience. “So I can trim my roses,” she said slowly and deliberately.
Susannah’s response was just as slow and deliberate. “Mother, the roses are at the house.”
“I know that.” And she did. She remembered exactly where her roses were.
Susannah cast a look at Chrissie. “But you’re here.”
“My roses need trimming and I’m determined to do it.” Vivian wasn’t letting anyone near her roses, especially Rachel Henderson. Her neighbor was no more trustworthy than anyone else.
Another glance passed between Susannah and Chrissie, but it was too hard for Vivian to read the look they’d exchanged.
“I could take Grandma back to the house,” Chrissie suggested, “so she can work in her garden.”
“Would you like that, Mother?”
This was the most ridiculous question Susannah had asked her yet. “Yes, of course I would.”
“Okay, Grandma, then let’s get you a sweater.”
“What about my gloves?” Apparently both Susannah and Chrissie were willing to ignore the fact that someone in this abominable place had stolen her favorite gardening gloves.
“They’re at the house, Mom, on the back porch. The pruning shears are in the garage.”
“I know where those shears are.” She hated to sound so impatient, but at times Susannah treated her as if she didn’t have a brain in her head. Yes, she had a few problems with her memory now and then, but that didn’t mean she was incapacitated.
“I’ll get my jewels.”
Susannah and Chrissie exchanged glances again.
“You don’t expect me to leave this room when anyone could walk in and take my jewelry, do you?”
“Mom…” Susannah seemed about to argue with her but then she didn’t.
That was good, because Vivian had no intention of leaving her pearls behind, not when someone could easily steal them. She retrieved her brown purse, where she kept her favorite necklace, and looped the straps tightly over her arm. She put on a sweater—she was often cold these days—and reached for her red “everyday” purse.
“When I’m finished with the roses, I’ll take you both to lunch. My treat.” If she stayed here much longer she’d starve to death. In all her life, Vivian had never tasted blander food. These people obviously didn’t know the purpose of a salt shaker or a spice rack.
She locked her room, tested the knob three times, and then they headed for the front door. Susannah stopped to talk to Rose, who ran the desk. Fortunately the staff wore name tags. She wished everyone did. It would help her remember the residents’ names. Several had introduced themselves, but for the life of her she couldn’t recall the name of a single one. Yes, everyone here ought to wear a name tag.
The instant they stepped into the house, Vivian felt distressed. Furniture had been moved and there were dishes stacked on the kitchen counter. Then when she walked outside, she was in for another shock. “Someone’s been in my garden,” she blurted. The roses were trimmed and there wasn’t a single weed in sight. Everything was tied up and clipped back. There was almost nothing left for her to do. Someone had been in her garden, and it could only have been Rachel, her neighbor.
“Mother,” Susannah said, placing an arm around her shoulders. “The garden is lovely.”
“Yes, it is,” Vivian muttered. She’d come to recognize her daughter’s tone and she didn’t like it one bit. Just the way she said mother told Vivian Susannah thought something was wrong with her.
After ten minutes or so, Susannah disappeared inside the house, probably to make more calls on that little phone of hers. Vivian shook her head hopelessly—Susannah seemed to be making a big mess of things. Frankly, she’d taught her daughter to be a better housekeeper than this. But wanting to maintain the peace, Vivian said nothing.
She wasn’t sure how long she and Chrissie worked outside, puttering about, moving a few annuals—when had she put those begonias in? She really couldn’t remember. Vivian noticed Rachel Henderson peering through the window a couple of times, but she tried to ignore her. The minute that busybody stuck her nose out the door, Vivian intended to tell Rachel to keep out of her garden, otherwise she was contacting the police.
“I’m hungry,” Vivian announced after a while. It was the first real hunger she’d experienced since her daughter had moved her to that godforsaken facility. It was a good feeling. She’d lost interest in food, although heaven knew the best television these days was on the Food Channel.
“I’m ready for lunch, too,” Chrissie told her, straightening.
All they had to do now was collect Susannah. Vivian knew where she wanted to go for lunch. Le Gourmand was new to Colville, and Vivian had heard that they served an incredibly good chicken salad. Her mouth watered just thinking about it. She missed going out for lunch; many an afternoon she’d lunched with her two best friends, Barbara and June, but they were both gone now, God rest their souls. George, too.
“They have outside seating,” Vivian said as Susannah held open the car door.
“Who does, Mother?”
“Le Gourmand.”
“Is that where you’d like to go for lunch?”
Silly girl. She’d already said so. Sometimes she swore Susannah simply didn’t listen. “Yes. It’s such a nice afternoon, let’s eat outside.”
“That sounds perfect,” Susannah said, helping Vivian into the front seat.
Vivian struggled with the seat belt. The car manufacturers made them so hard to reach these days. If not for Chrissie’s handing it to her, Vivian would’ve needed to be a contortionist.
“It’s new, but apparently their chicken salad is excellent. They add chopped walnuts.”
“Le Gourmand has been around for ten years,” Susannah said.
“Yes, I know.” They did a nice lunch business, but were closed for dinner.
Thankfully there were plenty of empty tables on the patio. Vivian watched as Susannah went inside to place their order. Vivian remembered that she wanted to buy their lunch, but all of a sudden she couldn’t seem to find her purse. She twisted around in her seat, and her heart started to pound hard. George would be so upset if she lost her pearls.
“What’s wrong, Grandma?” Chrissie asked.
“I don’t know what I did with my purse.”
Chrissie leaned close and whispered, “It’s on your lap, Grandma.”
Her relief was immediate. The red purse lay there, as peaceful as a sleeping kitten.
“Your brown purse with the jewelry is in the trunk of the car, remember?”
Actually, that little piece of information had slipped her mind. She was grateful for the reminder, although she wished Chrissie hadn’t shared it with the entire world.
“Here comes Mom now.”
Susannah took a seat at the small round table. Vivian appreciated the umbrella that had been tilted to shade her face from the sunlight.
“Our order should be ready in a few minutes.”
“Did you get my tea?” Vivian asked, but her question was drowned out by the roar of a truck engine as it pulled to a stop at the intersection. A long-haired young man turned to look at them. His window was rolled down and his dark hair fell into his face. He needed a shave, too. His tanned elbow rested on the window ledge, and he hadn’t bothered to put on a decent shirt that morning. Instead, he wore a sleeveless T-shirt. While Vivian assessed him, he was making eyes at Chrissie. Such flirting was inappropriate and she was about to warn Chrissie when she noticed that her granddaughter seemed to be enjoying it.
He nodded in Chrissie’s direction and to Vivian’s horror, Chrissie nodded back. Vivian pursed her lips. He started to say something, but his gaze slid to her and he changed his mind, as well he should.
She needed a few minutes to recognize the young man, but her brain provided the answer the second he looked at her. It was Troy Nance, a known troublemaker.
The light turned green and Troy drove off with a burst of noise and exhaust.
“Who was that, Grandma?” Chrissie asked.
She hesitated, wondering if she should tell Chrissie, and then decided she would. Susannah’s daughter was a sensible young woman and would see that Troy was completely unsuitable.
“He’s the son of that girl you went to school with,” Vivian told Susannah.
“I went to school with a lot of girls, Mom.”
“I can’t remember her name.”