Apart at the Seams (9 page)

Unless . . . Unless “new” is the plan.

That was it! I would spend my sabbatical trying new things—things I'd always wanted to try but had never had time for. Something new every day. Or maybe every couple of days? Or even once a week? After all, there were apartment buildings in Manhattan with larger populations than the village of New Bern. How many new things could there be to do in a town this size?

But I had already tried one new thing: rototilling. My edges weren't as straight as they could have been, but I hadn't cut off any toes or broken the machine. Not bad for a first try.

I flopped on my behind in the dirt to catch my breath, still feeling the vibration of the big motor running through my hands and forearms, and laughed out loud.

The patch of tilled soil that stretched out before me was about forty feet long and twenty-five feet wide, a footprint almost as big as our apartment in the city! Holy crap!

I'd been so focused on keeping the machine running in a straight line and so lost in my thoughts that I'd tilled under at least a third of the side yard. Thank heaven for that rock in my path. If it hadn't stopped me, I probably wouldn't have any yard left.

But I was going to have a garden all right. A
big
one.

“B
ut why can't he?” Bobby whined, stretching out the “why” and thumping the back of my seat with his shoe.

“I told you it's because he won't be here until the end of next month. Even when he does get here, you'll meet with him in Mrs. Fenton's office at first. It will take a while before the two of you can go off and do things on your own.”

“But why not? I don't—”

“Bobby! Quit kicking the seat!” I shouted.

The kicking stopped, but when I looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror, I saw his eyes filled with tears. I shouldn't have yelled, but I'd had about all I could take.

How could I explain to my barely seven-year-old son that if I had my way, Hodge would
never
see him without supervision? Bobby didn't understand why I was so on edge. It must be so confusing for him. It was confusing for me too.

“I'm sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean to yell. Just please don't kick the back of my seat anymore, okay?”

“Okay,” he said glumly. “But I wish he was coming home
now
. I want him to be my partner in the bowling tournament. The tournament is only a couple of months away. We have to start practicing now!”

“I can be your partner if you want.”

“It's Boys' Brigade! Only boys are allowed!”

I turned the car into the Kellehers' driveway. “Okay, okay! I was just trying to help,” I said, and then muttered under my breath, “I am
so
ready for a night without kids.”

I pulled up under a tree near the front of the house and put the car in park. Normally, Drew hears my car in the driveway and comes out of the house on his own. A minute passed with no sign of him. I was just about to get out of the car and go knock on the door when Drew's father, Dan, came outside.

“Drew's running a little bit late,” he said, leaning down and looking through the driver's side window. “But he should be back in a minute. Want to come inside and wait?”

“That's all right,” I said. “How long do you think he'll be?”

“Not long. I loaned my rototiller to the neighbor and he drove the truck over there to pick it up. Should be back any second. You sure you don't want to come in?”

I shook my head. “That's all right. We're fine out here.”

Dan seems like a nice enough guy, nice looking too. Good hair, a little long, but I like that. I say hello if I see him around town, and I give him a wave whenever I pick Drew up for babysitting, but we'd never had a real conversation. I'd feel awkward sitting in his living room, trying to think of things to say while I waited for Drew to show up. I'm lousy at small talk.

Having refused his invitation twice, I figured Dan would go back in the house. Instead, he stayed where he was, leaning down to my window but leaving one hand resting on the roof of the car, smiling at us. He had big arms. Not beefy, not like one of those guys who spent all their spare time working out, but he was muscular, wide at the shoulders, like somebody who spent his time working outside, doing physical labor, which was exactly what he did. He was one of the best landscapers in the county. Even if I hadn't known that already, I might have guessed it by looking at his yard. It was beautiful; the grass was green and lush. And even now when the leaves on the trees were slow to emerge and the flowers were only just beginning to bud, his planters looked beautiful, as if he'd worked out a plan so they would look good at any time of year, summer or winter. Maybe he had.

Anyway, it was awkward to have him standing there by my car, smiling through the open window but saying nothing. I wanted to tell him that he didn't have to entertain us and could go back inside, but I figured that might sound rude, so I just sat there trying to think of something I could say. He beat me to it.

“You must be Bobby,” he said after a moment and raised his hand in greeting. “I'm Dan. Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you.”

“Yeah,” Bobby said morosely, keeping his eyes on a red Matchbox car he was playing with, moving it back and forth across the seat without looking up.

“Bobby!” I hissed, turning around to glare at him.

“Nice to meet you too,” he mumbled, barely glancing at Dan.

I gave him “the look” and turned back toward the front.

“Sorry. We're having kind of a rough week. So . . . ,” I said, stretching out the word, searching for something to say. “You loaned your rototiller to a neighbor?”

What a stupid thing to say. Hadn't he just said that? I suck at small talk.

“Uh-huh. To Gayla Oliver.”

“Oh? The people who own the cottage? You mean they actually showed up?”

“Not them. Just the wife, Gayla.” He shook his head and made a puffing sound with his lips.

“I think she might be kind of a loon. Showed up here all on her own about a week and a half ago. Don't know where the husband is. Everything was fine at first. I probably wouldn't have known she was here if Drew hadn't told me about it. But a few days ago, at about three in the morning, I woke up and heard all this noise coming from over there, cursing and the sound of breaking dishes. At first, I thought maybe the husband had shown up and they were having a fight, but I only heard a woman's voice. After about ten minutes, it stopped.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah, right?”

He leaned closer, and I caught a whiff of verbena. Aftershave? Or maybe just soap. Whatever it was, it smelled good.

“It happened again the next night,” he said. “Twice: once just after midnight and again around four. And the next night too. Every time it happened, it took me at least half an hour to fall back asleep.”

“Did you ever find out what was going on?”

“Uh-huh. The night before last, I woke up around three-thirty. It was just like before, the sound of a woman cussing and dishes breaking, coming from that side of the property,” he said, tipping his head toward a line of trees on the northern edge of the lot. “I finally decided that enough was enough, so I got dressed and went over there. It was pouring rain, but there she was, wearing a coat over her pajamas, cussing like a sailor and throwing plates at a rock wall. Crazy.”

“In the rain? In her pajamas? Really?”

When Dan first called Gayla Oliver a loon, I felt a little uncomfortable. I don't like gossip to begin with, and this seemed kind of a harsh thing to say about somebody you'd barely met, but it seemed like he had a point. And really, given all that had been going on next door, how could you not want to tell somebody about it?

I propped my elbow up on the window ledge. By this time I was genuinely interested in the story—I couldn't help myself.

“I saw her through the trees. I was about to yell at her to knock it off,” he said, sounding a little apologetic. “I mean, people are entitled to do what they want on their own property, but I hadn't slept in four nights. Then, all of a sudden, she stopped throwing stuff and started to just sob, really sob, like somebody had died or something. Then she grabbed a shovel and disappeared around the side of the house—”

“A shovel?”

“Uh-huh. At that point, I was starting to worry about her, so I followed her. She started digging a hole—”

“In the middle of the night? Why?”

“No idea,” he said. “I stood there and watched her for a while. You know, just to make sure she was okay. I didn't know what else to do. Finally, I went home and went back to bed. The next morning I went over there to check on her—”

“And lend her your rototiller.”

He took his arm off the roof of the car, straightened up a bit, and hooked his thumb into his belt loops. “Well, I was just looking for some reason to go over there and check on her. I didn't want to embarrass her or anything, but . . . yeah . . .” He moved his head slowly from side to side, and made a sucking sound with his teeth. “Weird. I don't know exactly what's going on, but I'm guessing it has something to do with the husband. They aren't up here very often, but she's never come up without him before. And the way she's acting . . .

“I kind of lost it after my wife walked out,” he went on. “I mean, not completely. I couldn't; I had Drew to think about. Otherwise, who knows what would have happened? I started chopping down trees just to keep from going off the deep end, cleared this whole side by myself,” he said, making a sweeping motion with his arm. “Cut and stacked five cords of wood before I got a grip. Pretty rough. But I guess it's that way for everybody, right?” He shrugged. “Divorce makes you crazy. You probably know what I'm talking about.”

He gave me an expectant look, obviously expecting me to agree with him or share my life story or something. . . . The awkward feeling returned. Didn't he already know about me? New Bern being the way it is—a town where everybody knows everybody else's business and has no problem talking about it—I figured he would. On the other hand, what made me suppose I was so fascinating that other people spent their time talking about me?

“I'm not sure I'm a very good example. My husband and I . . .”

I faltered, not sure how to explain my marital history to a man I hardly knew.

“For me it was a kind of relief,” I said. “It was ugly. And complicated. And he . . . he left town right after the divorce.”

“He's in jail. That's kind of like time-out for grown-ups.” Bobby's high-pitched voice took me by surprise. He'd been so quiet for so long that I'd almost forgotten he was sitting within earshot.

I blushed and shifted my eyes from Dan's. Hodge is the one convicted of fraud. He's the one doing time. The only crime I'm guilty of is being stupid enough to marry him. Even so, every time someone finds out that my ex-husband is a felon, I'm overcome with shame.

I guess that's why I never sat down and told Bobby where his dad had gone. I guess that's why Bethany invented that story about Hodge being away at sea—because she feels the same way. Both of us wanted to spare him that embarrassment, the indignity of guilt by association with a father he doesn't even remember.

“He's coming back pretty soon. But,” Bobby grumbled, giving the back of my seat a kick, “
not
in time to help me practice for the bowling tournament.”

“Stop it, Bobby! I told you before.”

I turned back to Dan. “There's this bowling tournament near the end of August,” I said, trying to explain things to him, though I wasn't sure why. It wasn't like it concerned him. I guess I just was trying to fill the silence. Or maybe I didn't want him to think I'd raised a rude child. “I offered to be his partner, but it's sponsored by Boys' Brigade and . . . Oh, look! Drew is back!”

Saved by the bell. What a relief.

Drew hopped out of the truck and came loping across the lawn. “Sorry I'm late. We were loading the tiller into the truck, and Mrs. Oliver cut her hand on the blade.”

Dan frowned. “Why'd she grab it by the blade? Is she all right?”

“It wasn't that deep. I helped her bandage it up.”

“Why'd you let her help you anyway?” Dan asked. “It isn't that heavy.”

Maybe not for Dan,
I thought, glancing at the rototiller before sneaking another glance at those muscled arms, but I wouldn't be able to lift it on my own.

“I know,” Drew said, sounding just slightly annoyed. “I told her that, but she wouldn't listen.”

He turned his face to me. “I'm really sorry. I hope I haven't made you late for your date. Hey, where's Bethany?”

“She's at a sleepover,” I said. “Don't worry about it. I'm meeting a few of my girlfriends for dinner and some quilting. It doesn't matter what time I show up.”

“Well, sorry anyway,” he said as he opened the passenger door and climbed in. “Hey, Bobby. Looks like we're going to have a boys' night, right? Want to play Candy Land?”

Bobby made a face. “Candy Land is boring,” he said. “Can we watch
Star Wars
instead?”

“Absolutely. That's my favorite.”

“Mine too!”

It was true. Bobby has watched that movie about ten thousand times.

“Hey, Drew,” Dan said, stooping down so he could see his son's face. “Bobby joined Boys' Brigade and he needs a partner for the bowling tournament. Think you might be up for the job?”

“No!” Bobby shouted before Drew could even answer. “Drew can't be my partner. It's a father-son bowling tournament. Only fathers and sons can be in it.”

My cheeks had felt warm at several points in the last few minutes, but now they were flaming. I was so embarrassed. Dan must think my son was a total brat. At that moment, I was inclined to agree with him. Next time I came to pick Drew up for babysitting, I was going to wait for him out on the road.

“I'm a father,” Dan said without missing a beat. “And you're a son. What if I was your partner?”

Bobby squashed his lips together and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Are you any good?”

Was he any good? Did he actually just ask him that? I was mortified. I wished the earth would open up and swallow me right then and there.

“He's very good,” Drew assured him. “He can wipe up the floor with me.”

“You don't have to do that,” I said, gripping the window ledge and looking up at Dan. “Really. I'm sure you've got better things to do with your time.”

Dan shifted his shoulders and took a step back from the car. “Not really. And it'll be fun. I love to bowl, and Drew here,” he said, jerking his chin in his son's direction, “he's too busy to go bowling with his old man. So whaddaya say, Bobby? Can I be your bowling partner?”

“I guess so. Okay. But maybe just for practice. When my dad comes home, I want him to be my partner.”

“Fine with me. Hey! This'll be great!” Dan thumped the car door with his hand twice, as if he was truly excited about going bowling with a seven-year-old boy. “Tell you what, on Sunday afternoon, Drew and I will take you to the alley, and we'll get in a little practice.”