The Hearts We Mend (19 page)

“I'll give him a call after supper.”

“And he was hoping you could put a washer and dryer in their apartment. Serena switched to cloth diapers to save money, and it's hard for her to run up and down three flights of stairs every day.”

“I'll see what I can do.” Jack added another plate to the stack on the counter.

“Won't happen,” Ron barked from the living room. “Landlord makes more money with the ones in the basement. They take more quarters than a slot machine, and half the time they don't work.”

“Can you heat up the sauce, Evie?” Jack shook a loaf of French bread roughly the size of a baseball bat out of a plastic bag and began sawing it into thick planks.

Evie wrestled the can onto the opener and tried to hold it in place as the blade sheered through aluminum, sending tiny pieces of the label drifting onto the countertop like confetti.

She poured it into another saucepan, turned on the burner, and opened the refrigerator.

“What are you looking for?” Jack opened the drawer beside the sink and pulled out a wooden spoon.

“Something . . . green.”

“I've got just the thing.” One of Bert's stockings pooled around her ankle as she strode toward the door. “Come with me.”

C
HAPTER
22

E
vie followed the woman up a narrow flight of stairs to the third floor. Until Bert had mentioned Andy's wife running up and down three flights of stairs, she hadn't realized there wasn't an elevator somewhere in the building. A wicker basket filled with silk roses hung on the door, the yellow-and-white blooms as faded as the wallpaper that lined the walls of the landing.

“I've lived here almost fifteen years.” Bert dipped her hand into the front of her housecoat and pulled out her necklace. A key and a gold ring, worn thin, dangled like charms on the end of it.

Her apartment was half the size of Jack's, but it reminded Evie of the thrift shop on Bird Street. Floor-to-ceiling shelves sagged under the weight of a collection of hardcover books and old encyclopedias. Porcelain figurines crowded every inch of space in an old curio cabinet. Two lace doilies embellished the red velvet sofa, pristine white cuffs against the smooth wooden arms. Another dozen or so hung from a satin cord stretched across the window.

“This way.” Bert led Evie through a doorway and into a room not much bigger than her bedroom closet at home. “The landlord had to bring the building up to code a few years ago in case there's a fire, so he added on a balcony.”

And what, Evie thought, was an elderly woman who suffered
from arthritis supposed to do with a balcony if there was a fire? Tie a sheet onto the railing and rappel down the side of the building?

“Go on.” Bert pressed her back against the wall, allowing Evie access to a narrow door that looked like it had been an afterthought. “Take a look.”

Evie took a tentative step onto the balcony because a step was all she
could
take. Terracotta pots filled with tomato plants, emerald-green lettuce, and living bouquets of fragrant herbs took up all the available space.

“Cut some of the lettuce.” Evie was handed a pair of sewing scissors. “And a few of those cherry tomatoes. They're as sweet as candy.”

Evie took another step onto the wooden platform. If the balcony was strong enough to hold all those pots, it would probably hold her too.

Bert hovered in the doorway, supervising the harvest
.
“Don't forget the basil and oregano. That canned spaghetti sauce Jack buys is as boring as a pair of orthopedic shoes. Don't dare tell him that though. Might hurt the boy's feelings.”

Evie choked back a laugh even while a thought ran through her mind. Even holding a mushroom-shaped chair covered in pink-and-lavender sequins, there was nothing remotely
boyish
about Jack Vale.

She snipped a fragrant sprig of oregano from the base of the plant. “I can't believe you grew all this in such a small space.”

“It's my husband Glen's fault. He had the heart of a farmer, but his father wanted him to sell insurance. Glen was a good son—came home from work that first day and tilled up our entire backyard to plant a vegetable garden.” The corners of Bert's lips curled in a smile. “I figured out early on that if I wanted to spend time with my husband, I'd have to pull weeds and pick beetles off tomato plants.

“Glen and I had some of our biggest fights between those rows of green beans, and some of our sweetest kisses too. After he passed away, our son and his wife asked me if they could move into
the house. They have three children, and little ones need room to stretch their legs, so I didn't mind. The house . . . it was too much space for one person . . . but I sure miss that garden.”

A lump the size of one of Bert's cherry tomatoes formed in Evie's throat.

“I know what you mean about the space. My husband died thirteen years ago, and our son got married last month. The house seems empty, but I don't know if I could ever sell it. It would feel like I was losing Max all over again.”

Evie had gotten used to a look of stunned surprise when people found out she was a widow. Bert simply nodded. “You must have been very young.”

“Twenty-five . . . we were only married for seven years.”

Evie hadn't realized she'd been turning her wedding band round and round on her finger until Bert's speckled hand closed over hers.

“You know what I discovered, Evie? The memories can comfort us . . . or we can hold onto them so close, so tight, there isn't room for anything else.”

Jack couldn't put his finger on it, but something had changed after Evie raided Bert's garden.

He still didn't know why she'd been studying the vacant lot across the street so intently. A steady stream of neighbors had made it impossible to talk. Andy's wife, Serena, had stopped by to ask about the washing machine and accepted his invitation to stay for supper. Josh had shown up a few minutes later with his geometry textbook.

There were times—like tonight—Jack was tempted to turn off the lights and pretend he wasn't home. Because Banister Falls
wasn't
home. He hadn't planned to stay more than a month, and it had already turned into three.

And depending on what happened, Jack would have to make a decision before school started. Take Lily back to Milwaukee or fill out the enrollment forms for Banister Falls Elementary.

When you don't know what to do, do the next thing is what Coop would say.

Now that Josh had figured out the difference between a polygon and an equilateral triangle, Jack's “next thing” was drying the dishes collecting on the towel that Evie had spread out over the counter.

Jack hadn't expected her to stay this long.

The rest of the guests had left right after he'd served dessert—ice cream sandwiches from the freezer case at Truitt's—and Lily was in her bedroom, unpacking the rest of her things.

He hunted for a dry towel and realized the one he'd been looking for was knotted around Evie's slender waist. The humidity in the room had put a glow in her cheeks, and a few strands of silver-blonde hair had escaped the confines of the yellow barrette she'd borrowed from Lily.

“I still can't believe Bert grew all this on a balcony about the size of a postage stamp.” Evie rinsed out the salad bowl and handed it to him.

“I have one too, but I haven't done anything with it.”

“Why not?” Evie flicked a glance at him. “You have so much free time on your hands.”

It took Jack a moment to realize she was teasing him. His heart broke loose from its moorings and bumped against his rib cage.

If Evie was starting to feel comfortable with him, Jack didn't want to do anything to ruin that. Like telling her that he enjoyed spending his not-so-free free time with her.

“I sit out there in the evening and have a cup of coffee.”

Not quite an invitation.

“That sounds nice.”

Not quite an acceptance.

Jack released a quiet breath. Took two mugs out of the dish drainer, his hand suddenly as unsteady as his pulse.

A door slammed, followed by the heavy tread of footsteps on the staircase. Jack glanced at the clock. “Josh's dad. He works third shift at the factory.”

“He was home this evening?” Evie frowned. “Why didn't he help Josh with his homework?”

“He was probably catching a few hours of sleep before he punched in.”

“What about his mom?”

“She doesn't live with them. I'm not sure why, but Josh never talks about her.”

“You mean he's
alone
all night?”

“Sometimes he stays with his older sister, but her new baby keeps him awake.” Jack reached for the carafe and filled both mugs. “Josh knows he can always knock on my door if he needs anything. Is milk okay? I don't have any cream.”

Evie nodded, but the troubled look remained in her eyes. She'd probably never been in a position where she'd had to leave her son alone at night.

Jack paused to check on Lily before they went out to the balcony. She'd already changed into her pajamas and was sprawled on the rug, sorting through a box of beads.

“I think Raine wore her out. I might have to pay her extra.” Jack opened the storm door and waited for Evie to go first.

She lowered herself onto the narrow platform of the balcony, her knees forming a table for the coffee cup. Jack dropped down next to her and his leg bumped against hers. The balcony suddenly seemed smaller. A lot smaller.

Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.

He shifted half an inch to the right and propped his feet on the bottom of the railing. The moon had already made its appearance, a perfect round pearl against an indigo sky.

Laughter drifted up from the sidewalk as a couple walked past. Someone—probably Zach—squealed his tires at the corner.

“It's not very quiet, is it?”

“It is compared to where I used to live.”

“Where was that?”

“Milwaukee.”

“A city boy.”

“Born and raised. What about you?”

“Born and raised in Banister Falls. My parents live in Uganda now. It was always their dream, to serve on the mission field, but they waited until I graduated from high school. It was one of the reasons Max and I got married right away. I wanted Dad to walk me down the aisle. They left the day after the wedding.”

Jack didn't want to talk about Evie's husband.

“Do they come back very often?”

“No. Africa is their home.” Evie didn't sound angry or bitter. “They try to visit every three or four years. We e-mail and Skype, so they don't seem so far away. What about your parents?”

“Mom died when I was sixteen.” And Jack didn't want to break the tenuous connection between them by talking about his dad. “You never told me what brought you to Fairview this afternoon.”

Call him a coward, but it was either reroute the conversation to safer ground or wade into the deep waters of his family's history. Not exactly something Jack wanted to do, especially after Evie had just told him that her parents were missionaries.

“I met a young woman—Maggie McClain—today. She wants to turn the vacant lot across the street into a community garden.”

If Jack had any lingering doubts that God was at work in the neighborhood, Evie's announcement settled them once and for all.

“You don't think it's a good idea?” She tipped her head to one side, and a wisp of hair slipped free from the barrette. Jack wrapped both hands around the coffee mug. Not because he was tempted to sweep it back into place—because he wanted to unclip that little piece of plastic and pitch it over the side of the balcony.

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn't say anything . . . but I can tell you were thinking something.”

“I think it's a good idea.” And so was the community garden.

“Really?”

“There are a lot of elderly people in the neighborhood,” Jack said slowly. “Their mortgages are paid off, but the property value has gone down so much they can't afford to move somewhere else. They're stuck on Fairview with roofs that need to be repaired. Siding that needs to be replaced. People like Ron and Bert . . . they're isolated. Lonely. They don't feel like they're contributing anything useful anymore.”

Evie was staring at him in astonishment. “You know a lot about the neighborhood for someone who hasn't been in Banister Falls very long.”

Jack shrugged. “I live here.”

And Evie lived in Rosewood Court. In a
castle.

“But you wouldn't have to make spaghetti for everyone in the building or help Josh with his geometry or let Andy take a nap on your couch when the baby gets colicky.”

“That's just life.” Jack thought about the gold plaque hanging on the wall at city hall, a tribute to Max Bennett. “I'm no hero.”