Steady (7 page)

“Absolutely.”

***

When Katrina saw John standing outside Will’s home again, she thought, okay, really, what’s up with those two? She’d gone from seeing Will from afar to always running into him, and it had left her in a state of confusion. She didn’t know what to make of this friendliness, this teasing; what to make of
him
, what to do. Was he interested in her now? She didn’t think so; she was still the same old Katrina. With the exception of that night, she wasn’t anywhere near the level of sophistication he seemed to require of his women. She was more than okay with distance; preferred it, actually. There was safety in distance. This new playful, friendly Will she didn’t know what to do with.

Shining Creek’s vegetable and flower gardens sat on five acres of land encompassing the neighborhood park, about four blocks over from Katrina’s street. She was headed to it now, pleased to have gotten home early enough from work. She found working at the gardens a great way to decompress and lose the stresses of her day. Working with her trust customers at the bank left her emotionally exhausted more days than not. She had come home from work today, changed into her usual garden-work attire, pulled on her baseball cap, stuck her work gloves into her pocket, and walked out her front door. Now it seemed she would have to pass them.

“Katrina,” John called out, waving her over as she approached Will’s home. She paused, sighed, pulled her cap down to meet her glasses, rearranged her face to what she hoped would pass for pleasant, pushed her glasses up, and turned in the direction of John and Will, walking midway up the sidewalk.

“Hello, Katrina,” Will said, glancing over her as she approached, a head-to-toe once-over. He was subtle, smooth about it. She admired his skill.

“Hi John, Will,” she said.

“I was telling Will that you held the record for the most wins in the gardening competition in the city. We were discussing this year’s competition. Did I tell you about Will’s backyard?”

“Yes,” she said, starting to get a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Did I tell you that he has designed a beautiful Japanese garden?”

“No, you didn’t,” she said, looking down at her watch.
Enough already with singing his praises.

“Look at the time. I’d better get going if I’m going to get any work in before it gets dark,” she said, starting to walk away. “See you around, Will, John.”

“Katrina, wait, I’ll walk over with you. I need to discuss the upcoming competition with you. Will and I were finished here,” John said.

“Okay.”

“Thanks for seeing me again, Will.”

“No problem. See ya around, Katrina,” Will said, watching her.

She waited for John to reach her and they started walking, making a right turn on to the main thoroughfare that would lead them to the gardens.

John was a pleasant enough guy and in charge of all things gardening in this neighborhood. He and Katrina had bumped heads before over previous competition designs, but he was totally committed to their neighborhood and she respected him for that.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the next competition. I’m sure you’ve heard the city has selected this year’s theme.”

“Yes, A World of Gardens,” Katrina confirmed. “I can’t begin to tell you how energized I am by this year’s theme. You’ll be happy to know that I’ve already drawn up the preliminary designs using an English cottage garden theme. You’ll also be happy to know that I should have them completed by the end of this week and ready for review by the committee. I’ve also been giving some consideration to the budget and the planting schedule.”

“About that, Katrina,” he said, stopping, as they had reached the entrance to the garden. “The garden committee met, and we’ve decided to go in a different direction this year. We won last year, but the margin between first and second was closer than the committee is comfortable with. So we have asked someone new to lead this year.”

“Oh?” she said. And there went the wind in her sails.

“I wanted to let you know firsthand who we’ve selected.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she’d been replaced. She’d never considered it happening, not really.

John paused, and then plunged ahead. “We’ve asked Will Nakane, your neighbor, to head the flower garden portion of the competition.”

“Will?” she asked, dumbfounded. Her Will? Traveling the globe Will, never at home or off to one adventure after another Will. Never worked at the gardens Will—surely not that Will. “Will? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. The committee is sure. I’ve told you about his backyard garden. It is impressive, and he designed and landscaped it alone. It would be so appropriate for this year’s theme, and it is really exceptional, Katrina. Did you ever go by to see it?” he asked her.

She shook her head.

“You should see it as soon as you can.” His face took on a rapt expression as he looked out into space, apparently remembering Will’s garden. “It’s beautiful, serene, calming, extraordinary, really. He’s combined so many aspects of the Japanese gardening styles.”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s all that and more,” she said curtly, taking a deep breath. “Has Will done anything remotely on the scale of the city competition before?” she asked, cutting into John’s moment of rapture.

“I believe he has some gardening experience. I’m not sure if it’s on this scale.”

“I see. And you’re okay with that, the committee is okay with that?” she asked, trying to remain calm. “I mean, I don’t need to remind you of my first attempt,” she said.

“No, you don’t, and yes, the committee is okay with that.”

“Okay, so you’re telling me that we are going to turn a major project over to someone who can design a great backyard, who will probably lose his first time out, just as I did, just as most people do, and the committee is okay with this?”

“Yes, but we’ve come up with an outstanding alternative. A surefire way of ensuring Will’s success,” John said, taking a deep breath. “The committee thought, had hoped, that you would be available to help him this year, to act as his assistant, show him the ropes, so to speak.”

“You want me to show him how to win?” she asked incredulously, her face reflecting her horror at the suggestion. “And to be his assistant? Me?”

“Not an assistant, at least not in the way you mean. Not in the traditional sense, of course not. You’re too knowledgeable to be anyone’s assistant. We had hoped that you would help him sort it all out, act as an advisor of sorts. You could probably enter this contest in your sleep,” he said, opting to go the flattery route in the face of Katrina’s rising anger.

“John, I have to say, I don’t feel this is fair. Not at all. I’ve worked with the committee going on four years now, and every design—and I do mean
every
design—I’ve submitted has been questioned or altered. It seems like I have to prove myself every year, even with the wins. Now along comes someone new, and he is given this chance with no prior experience. That’s so not fair, and you know it,” she spat out, fully angry now. “Here I am with four years of hard-earned competition experience and a master gardener training certification, and finally the city has introduced a theme that is appropriate for my ideal design and you give it away without even giving me a chance. And not to someone with more experience, but to the new, unproven guy.”

John sighed. “We discussed at the time why the committee felt modifications were necessary, Katrina.”

“That’s not even what this is about,” she said, her hands going to her hips. “I want to discuss it with the committee members, face to face, to state my case. I shouldn’t even have to make a case; my record should speak for itself. But apparently, winning is not what is required to keep your job around here,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I know that others deserve a chance to lead. I get that, but this year in particular is important to me.”

John raised his hands as if to deter further comments. Katrina kept talking.

“I know you and I have bumped heads before, and that you don’t care for my gardening style. I know I wasn’t always conservation-minded enough, but I’ve worked hard to change. You cannot give this to Will, not this year. This year was going to be my year,” she said quietly.

John sighed. He’d known that there was not going to be a good time for this, no matter who was chosen.

“The committee has made its decision. I had hoped that you would put your disappointment behind you and work toward what is in the best interest of the neighborhood. I know you love this community that your parents helped to build, and I know you well enough to know that you’ll do what’s best.”

“Nope, not buying it this year. I always do what is best for this community, and that won’t change. But I’m asking you all to let me have this year. It’s important to me,” she said.

“I’m sorry, Katrina.”

“I want to talk to the committee. I want to present my design,” she said.

“It won’t change the decision. It wasn’t just me who wanted Will to lead this year. All of the committee members voted for him, so talking to them won’t change things.”

“I want to talk to them, anyway. And after all I’ve done for this neighborhood, I deserve at least a chance to explain my design before you turn it down.”

John stood silent for a few minutes, looking into Katrina’s set face. “If I call a meeting for next weekend, give you a chance to present your design before the committee, will that satisfy you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Afterward you will accept the wishes of the committee? Do I have your word?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, suddenly fighting back tears.

“I’ll send you an e-mail with the meeting time and place. I’ll see you then,” he said.

“Fine!” she said, turning to walk into the garden entrance, anger in every step she took. She needed something physical to do, something to beat up, so she headed back to the compost pile, stopping by the tool and equipment shed to pick up a pitchfork first. She weakly smiled at her neighbors, at least the ones she could see through her red haze of anger. Gone was her desire to be close to Will. It was replaced by annoyance and anger. She stopped in front of the compost pile, where the soil needed to be turned often—fork in, anger out.

Katrina didn’t sleep well that night. She tossed and turned, angry. That’s what you get for working hard for other people. Nothing. They pull the rug from underneath you when you least expect it. The next morning, she got up early and drove over to Abernathy and Co., the largest locally-owned landscape and gardening store in Hampton Heights. It sat on about ten acres of land purchased a long time ago, a partnership between two single men without families, who’d survived the Vietnam War and had the scars to prove it.

About an acre held the store and the main plant, tree, and shrub sections. Near the middle of the land, with its own separate entrance, one could find any and all types of soil
,
compost, manure, and sand, along with rocks, bricks, and stones. If you needed anything plant-related for any size project, chances were you’d find it at Abernathy and Co. At the very back of the property, the owners’ home stood next to three industrial-sized greenhouses.

Katrina entered the main store and spotted Charles Abernathy, one of the owners, behind the register ringing up purchases for a customer. She walked over to him. “Hey, Uncle C,” she said, leaning in to give him a kiss.

“Hello, Kat. How’s my favorite goddaughter doing today?” he asked.

“I’m your only goddaughter. Where’s Colburn?” she asked, looking around for her other godfather. Henry Colburn was the Co. of Abernathy and Co. and the opposite in appearance and temperament from his partner. African-American, short, stocky, and sturdy—the three S’s, Katrina often called Colburn. He and Charles were partners, both in business and in life, had been partners at a time when it wasn’t a safe thing to be.

Charles was the easygoing one of the two, Caucasian, tall and whippet thin, friendly to Colburn’s intolerance for bullshit.

She knew they both loved her, had performed their own godfather ceremony after her adoption. Colburn and Charles had both served in the Vietnam War—Charles with her adopted father—and the three men had forged a bond that hadn’t been broken. They were in their late sixties, but you couldn’t tell it by the amount of work they did at the store each day.

They were, as her adoptive parents had been, avid gardeners. Her gardening education growing up had been supplemented by them. She was twenty-one when her parents were tragically killed in a car accident and she had been taken firmly under her godfathers’ wings. They’d helped her settle her parents’ estate, sell their home, and build a new one. They attended her graduation from college and looked on as she began working at the bank. They had always been there for her; without them, she would have been lost. She tried to stop by at least once a week, more when her day job was easy. She walked over and took a seat on the stool that sat next to the register, preparing to bring Charles up to date with the happenings of her life as he rang up customers.

“Why the long face?” Charles asked.