The Unfinished Garden (32 page)
“Tilly?” Sebastian sounded concerned, or was that
irritated?
“Sorry. Isaac’s pointing at something. Probably a snake.”
Sebastian gave a verbal shiver. “How can you cope with all
those snakes?”
“They live here, so do I. I can’t throw a conniption every time
I see one.” One of the many things she’d learned from James. He wasn’t even
here, might never be, and yet he was embedded in her life.
They’d exhausted the conversation. It was time for Sebastian to
say goodbye and Tilly to return to her day. She winked at Isaac but he frowned
back, motioning her to join him. And that’s when she spotted the copperhead. But
what the hell was Isaac doing? He had spun around and was sprinting—as if
fleeing an army of ogres—in the opposite direction.
Her hand flew to her mouth, and she stifled a weak
omigod.
“Tilly?” Sebastian said. “Are you—”
She tossed the phone onto the mulch pile and ran after her
child.
A tall figure dressed in black and wearing red sneakers strode
down the driveway swinging a huge, black duffel. A black leather backpack hung
from one shoulder, a black suit carrier from the other. The black cord from his
earbuds flapped over his chest. His grizzled hair was brushed into a smooth
ponytail, exposing the raw beauty of his face—the sharp cheekbones, the sculpted
chin, the huge almond-shaped eyes.
Tilly halted at the edge of the driveway. She couldn’t move,
couldn’t speak. She had left a three-word message, “We should talk,” and he had
jumped on a plane—two, at least, given his route. He’d changed planes for her,
and he hated changing planes. That had to be good, right?
James pulled out his earbuds as Isaac slammed into him. “You’re
just in time!” Isaac squealed. “There’s a copperhead down there!”
“Go keep an eye on it.” Isaac tried to pull away, but James
gripped his shoulder. “From behind the well. Let me say hello to your mother,
and I’ll be right there.”
“Gotcha,” Isaac said, and skittered off the second James
released him.
Her child had disappeared to ogle a venomous snake, and she did
nothing. Squirrels chased up a tree, yammering as their claws scrabbled for
purchase on the bark, claws that excavated her plants, and she did nothing. Deer
padded through her woods, grazing on her shrubs, no doubt, and she did nothing.
Paralyzed by apprehension and desire, all Tilly could do was breathe.
“Your hair,” James said.
“Frightful, isn’t it?” She tugged the butterfly clip loose.
“Growing like a weed. Yours, too.” Oh crap, had she just insulted him? “Where’s
the Alfa?”
“In town. I took a taxi from the airport.” James walked up to
her and stopped.
He lined up his luggage, then extracted his iPod from his jeans
pocket and handed it to her. “You wanted to talk?”
“You couldn’t pick up the phone like most people?” Panic lodged
in her throat. She was ruining everything. He wasn’t like most people, and she
didn’t want him to be. She wanted him to be James. A dog howled through the
woods, and Tilly heard the beat of her heart.
James frowned. “Why? I told you I’d come if you called.”
“Hurry up, slowpokes!” Isaac yelled.
Spooked, the deer bounded away, snapping branches as they took
flight.
“When you didn’t call back I panicked. I…I was coming to find
you. Booked flights and everything.” Tilly reached out with her free hand and
laced her fingers through his. “I wanted to tell you that I’ve decided to take
on a garden design job. Just one. And only if you still want me. I mean it’s
okay, if you don’t feel the same anymore.” The first time they had touched, his
handshake had been so loose, so fleeting. Today his grasp was firm, but he
didn’t clutch at her. It was as if he were holding back. And then she
understood: whatever happened next was up to her.
In her right hand she felt his iPod, passed to her without
hesitation, and in her left hand his palm, surprisingly cool and slightly damp.
She imagined her hands balancing out her future, repeating what she already
knew.
“Actually, no. It’s not okay,” she said. “It’s far from okay,
because even though I’ve waited six weeks, and I’m sure you’ve met some buxom
beauty in that time, here’s the thing—I’m in love with you. And not just a
little oh-he’s-hot. Which you are. We’re talking crazy in love. Nuts for you,
really.” The sound of her words rushed in her ears. She darted at him, kissed
his cheek and jerked back, overwhelmed by the scent of him—so familiar, so
comforting. So predictable.
“Buxom beauties? And I thought I was the one with the
overactive imagination.” His eyes glistened with humor, and the dimple in his
chin became more pronounced. “How long will this garden design job of yours
take?”
Her muscles had frozen. Nothing worked in her body except for
her sweat glands and her heart, both intent on pumping toward shutdown. She
stared into his eyes and saw herself.
“The English author H.E. Bates said that a finished garden is a
dead garden.” She held his gaze and sensed the ebb and flow of her breath
matching his. “It’ll take a lifetime. A garden’s a work in progress without
end.”
Reaching out with their linked hands, he ran a finger down her
cheek. “Are you sure about this? I’m high maintenance,” he said, with a hint of
sadness. Or was it honesty, pure and naked, handed to her out of trust?
“Are you buying Woodend?”
“Do you want me to?” His face transformed, his eyes wide with
terror.
“No. I don’t need Woodend anymore.”
“Thank God. Because your mother refused to sell it to me.”
Tilly gave a smile and James mirrored it.
“Ask me what I do need, just as you did on the day we met.” Her
voice grew more solid with each word.
“And what is it, Matilda Rose, that you need?”
“I need—” she savored his smile as it grew “—you.”
“Hurry up!” Isaac sounded more persistent.
“Be right there!” James shouted. Pinning Tilly’s arm behind
him, he nuzzled her ear. “You had until Thanksgiving,” he whispered, “and then
you were mine.”
Desire tore through her, and her heart swelled with adrenaline
and joy and an unexpected shot of fear.
James pulled back but tightened his grip on her hand. “Are you
scared?”
“A little.”
“Do you know why the taxi dropped me by the road?” he
asked.
Tilly shook her head.
“I thought walking down your driveway might stop my legs from
shaking.”
“Did it?”
“No. Seeing the woman I love did.” Then he blew her a kiss so
slight that his lips barely moved. Someone who didn’t know him as she did, who
hadn’t studied his face until every line had etched itself into her memory,
might have missed the gesture.
“Come see the snake with us,” James said, and led Tilly slowly
forward.
* * * * *
Acknowledgments
It took a transatlantic village to write this novel,
and I would like to extend thanks to people on both sides of the pond for
sharing stories and expertise: Caroline Crawford, Dee Crump, Coleen Miller,
Carol Sazone and Carol Young at
www.youngwidow.org
;
Deborah Smith, Rose Stone, Eileen Ingram and Sharon Ireson for information on
breast cancer treatment in England; Pam Baggett, Sharon Snider and Karen
Suberman for all things gardening; Aaron Burris at Piedmont Wildlife Services
(also thanks to the Piedmont Wildlife Center); Robert Cain and Charlotte Dunn
for help with English inheritance laws; Jonathan Boyarin for critiquing the
Brooklyn accent; Jeremy Packer for his expertise on mobility; Mike Edwards,
Teresa Parsley Edwards and Donna Gilleskie for helping me figure out careers I
don't understand; Daniel Hanbury Higgins for taking me through the workings of
an English estate; Stephen Piercy for explaining banking to someone who will
never get it; Patty Rich and Charles Rose for medical advice; Jennifer Leaf in
the planning department of Orange County; and Harry Rose, Jack Rose and Carolyn
Wilson (the original Petal) for answering miscellaneous, pesky questions.
Many readers and writers gave generously of their time to offer
feedback or advice. Special thanks to Joyce Allen, Elizabeth Brown, Bernie Bro
Brown, Marcy Cohen, Sheryl Cornett, Cathy Davidson, Therese Fowler, Ann Weibel
Jarvie, Sharon Rothspan Kurtzman, Martin Langfield, Joanne Rendell, Maureen
Sherbondy, Caroline Upcher, Densye Woods and Anne Gentry Woodman. Big hug to my
language guru, Dan Hill.
A world of thanks to Dr. Pat Gammon at the Duke Child and
Family Study Center and to Dr. Mike Gammon, who gave my family the tools we
needed to defeat the OCD monster.
Thank you to everyone at Spencerhill Associates and MIRA Books.
Eternal gratitude to Nalini Akolekar and to Miranda Indrigo for believing in
Tilly and James and for making the final leg of a long journey to publication so
easy.
Thanks to my mother, Anne Claypole White, research assistant
extraordinaire and chief cheerleader, to my sister, Susan Rose (walking, talking
encyclopedia of the English countryside), and to the GrossbergsâAl, Mike, Linda,
Jeff, Sharon, Andy, David, Karen, Miriam and Edie.
To old pals Jocelyn Piercy and Carolyn Wilson, thank you for
never giving up hope despite the first manuscript. Thanks to Julie Smith,
Catherine Parker and Jill Sugg for becoming Team Barbara, to flag-wavers Hannah
and Hugo Piercy, and to Danlee Gildersleeve, Chuck Whitney and Ellen Wartella
for keeping my menfolk sane. Love and gratitude to all the friendsâold and
newâwho've been supportive along the way.
Tears of appreciation for beta reader Leslie Gildersleeve, who
has been behind me, alongside me and ahead of me from the beginning, who
listened to the first idea and the last idea and critiqued every draft in
between. What would I do without you and Friday afternoons?
A kiss to my husband, Lawrence Grossberg, without whom,
nothing. Thank you for encouraging me to chase dreams, for tolerating uncleaned
bathrooms, for not throttling me when I said, “Can you read this one more time?”
and for understanding that a woman needs her garden, even if she is kvetching
about deer, voles, whitefly and drought.
To my award-winning poet son, Zachariah Claypole White, you are
my hero. Thank you for keeping me in smiles and giggles, for knowing when to
blast U2 in the car, for showing me what it means to be loyal and brave, and for
reminding me constantly of the beauty of words.
Last, but never least, to my father, whose death inspired me to
write
Dogwood Days
, which became
The Unfinished Garden
: “Look what I did, Daddy.”
*James's comment about children and oxygen masks comes from
When Children Grieve
by John W. James, Russell
Friedman and Dr. Leslie Matthews.
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
- How is gardening used as a metaphor in this novel?
Do you believe in the healing power of gardening? - James is an unlikely hero. What do you think draws
Tilly to him? - Do you have a favorite moment, scene or line in the
book? - What roles do trust and mistrust play in the
characters’ relationships? - Why do you think issues of control appear repeatedly
throughout the novel? - Is it reasonable for Tilly to cling to guilt after
carrying out her husband’s final wishes? What role does Isaac play in
helping her navigate her feelings? - What are the parallels between Tilly’s guilt and
James’s fear? - How does the parent/child relationship impact other
relationships in the novel? - In what ways do you think Sebastian and David have
played important but different roles in Tilly’s life? - Finding the balance between closing yourself off and
opening your life to others is an important theme of the novel.
Discuss. - In the final chapter, Tilly says that she needs
James. In what ways do you think Tilly and James need each other? - How do you think Tilly’s relationship with James
will differ from her marriage to David? - How has Tilly changed from the beginning of the book
to the ending? What events have caused her to change? - What obstacles, if any, do you see for James and
Tilly in the future?
Interview with Barbara Claypole White
What was the inspiration for
The Unfinished Garden
?
The Unfinished Garden
is a personal story on many levels, and, like Tilly’s
flower beds, evolved over time. The original idea came from watching my
mother navigate life as a new widow and thinking, “What if that were me?” I
was a stay-at-home mom with no income of my own and no citizenship of the
country in which I lived. I’m English, but my husband is American—a renowned
academic who loves to joke that I killed him off in my novel. (He’s nothing
like David, except for his attitude to bugs and his philosophy of pizza
toppings.)
I always knew my heroine
would be a gardener, since gardening is my therapy, but I wanted to
understand why she made the decisions she did after her husband died. I read
a wonderful book called I’m
Grieving As Fast As I
Can
by Linda Feinberg and interviewed a group of
young widows. Before long, I found Tilly.
Finding James was a more difficult journey and took several
years. My original hero was a grieving dad, but as I sought escape from our
child’s obsessive-compulsive disorder, James appeared. I rewrote my hero,
and yet I held back, avoiding his dark corners. And it showed. I put the
manuscript aside, researched and wrote another story, and became involved
with a nonfiction project about parenting and OCD.
But James, being a good obsessive-compulsive, got stuck in my
head and refused to leave. Finally, I caved. As I rewrote the manuscript to
give James his true voice, I wanted to show the side of OCD I saw every day.
Popular culture often portrays obsessive-compulsives as victims, serial
killers or people to ridicule, but I see only compassion, empathy and the
courage it takes to fight unwanted thoughts. James really is the bravest
person Tilly knows.
Many teenage girls
have scoliosis. Is there an autobiographical element to Tilly’s curved
spine?
Yes. My spine is gloriously
S-shaped, and serious gardening can wreck my back! (Does it stop me? No.)
Like Tilly, I’m always lying on the bedroom floor with my legs in the air. I
was diagnosed when I was twelve or thirteen and wore a spinal brace as a
teenager. Nasty instrument of torture it was, too. But it did start my
lifelong love affair with scarves. (I wore a scarf every day to conceal the
metal frame around my neck.) I may, actually, be a little obsessive about
scarves….
Are there any resources you
would recommend for individuals and families living with
OCD?
I urge anyone battling
obsessive-compulsive disorder to contact the IOCDF at
www.ocfoundation.org
for a list
of support groups and psychologists versed in the language of CBT and
exposure therapy. Not all psychologists are created equal, and OCD is highly
individualized. Connecting with the right specialist is vital. I also found
useful information through the English group OCD-UK.
I joined a support group for parents of obsessive-compulsive
kids about a year ago and have no idea why I waited so long. My son is an
OCD success story, but stress and exhaustion can always trigger an episode.
I love being able to share with people who understand the simple phrase, “He
was checking.” Our group starts each meeting with tears but finishes with
laughter. Find a tribe. It’s a blessing.
As for reading material, I recommend anything by Dr. John
March and the following memoirs:
Devil in the
Details
by Jennifer Traig;
Rewind, Replay, Repeat
by Jeff
Bell; and
Nowhere Near Normal
by Traci Foust.
Do you
have a favorite scene in
The Unfinished
Garden
?
The scene in The Chase has always been my favorite. The setting is loosely
based on Badby Woods in Northamptonshire, which dates back at least seven
hundred years. The woods are carpeted with bluebells in spring and magical
year-round. My sister lives nearby, and every time I step into that forest,
I’m transported into another world. As James and Tilly head deeper into The
Chase, everything strips away until we see just the two of them. They’ve
already begun to trust each other, but this is where their relationship
truly begins.
If I had a second favorite scene, it might be when
Rowena and James are sitting on the floor at Bramwell Hall, after Rowena
quotes Sir Winston Churchill’s “Keep buggering on.” I wrote the whole scene
around that phrase.
Did anything in
the manuscript surprise you?
Once I
unleashed James, he surprised me constantly. For example, it was a shock to
discover everything went back to his father, not his mother. I had been so
convinced his mother was the root of everything. And the scene where he
takes off running through The Chase came from nowhere—with a sound track.
(“I Wanna” by All-American Rejects.)
Why did you choose to set the novel in both England and
America?
I needed to see Tilly in
both environments to figure out which garden she would ultimately choose—the
one that belonged to her childhood or the one she had crafted out of grief.
A garden can become such an important part of someone’s history and
emotional well-being. (Did I mention I’m a gardening addict?) The question
is, can grief be transformed into love?
The Unfinished Garden
is your
first published novel. Have you written any other novels?
The
Unfinished Garden
was the second novel I wrote.
The first is hidden in the closet where it belongs. However, a fascination
with mental illness keeps drawing me back to messed-up characters, so my
current manuscript is another love story with damaged people. The romantic
in me always wants to believe those who need each other will find each
other.
What is your writing
process?
I start with a “what if”
question, lose myself in research and follow my instincts. This part of the
process includes interviews, reading autobiographies, photographing
settings, building character profiles, etc. I have way too much fun with
research and have to wrench myself away. I love to connect the dots between
ideas, and I love to people-watch to steal quirks.
At some point
I start writing, and when I do, I have the first and last scenes in my head,
but everything in the middle is a journey and can change many times. I
believe in the Anne Lamott theory of shitty first drafts, and I rewrite
endlessly. I also use stream of consciousness writing as a tool to go deeper
and deeper into the same scene.
I’m not a great plotter—wish I
were—but after the first draft, I create a working outline and force myself
to be somewhat analytical, even though my brain doesn’t function that way.
As I type this, I’m staring at character goal/motivation/conflict charts and
lots of colored sticky notes plastered over my office wall. That’s the
closest I come to being logical.
I write every morning between
two fifty-mile round trips to school and back. (My son is gifted, and we
were fortunate to find the perfect school for him. It is, however, quite a
trek!) On the weekends, I work in my jammies before breakfast, while the
house is quiet. If I’ve fallen behind on my schedule, I work at night, but
that’s never a great option for me or for my family. If I’m not heading to
bed with a novel by 10:00 p.m., I’m just plain
nasty.
How did you become a writer and
what was your road to publication?
As
a child, I wrote stories and poems and dreamed of becoming a novelist, but
as a teenager, I gravitated to fashion journalism. After a detour through
history at York University—I studied mainly women’s and medieval history—I
ended up as a public relations person in the London fashion industry. I was
fortunate to work for some of the world’s premier designers, including the
amazing Vivienne Westwood, and wrote as many press releases as I could.
(Writing is still writing!) Everything changed after I met my husband at JFK
Airport and moved to a small Midwest college town, with a resume no one
understood.
I started a fashion page on the local newspaper, and
I dabbled in fiction writing. Then I landed a soul-sucking marketing job,
which practically killed my ability to function outside the office. I didn’t
return to my manuscript until I was a stay-at-home mom in rural North
Carolina with a son in preschool. I soon developed a dirty little
secret—writing when I was meant to be cleaning the house. But it wasn’t
until I stumbled into an evening class at the local arts center that I found
the courage to say, “Hi, my name’s Barbara, and I’m a
writer.”
I lost some years to my
son’s OCD but eventually learned to cut out time each day to write. I
finished my first novel and started what would become
The Unfinished Garden.
As my son grew and OCD no longer held our family hostage, I
went to conferences, networked, entered writing competitions and read
authors I admired. Like most writers, I started querying too early, so lots
of rejection followed. But I refused to give up and kept adapting and
rewriting. I queried more selectively, the rejections improved, and I
started getting requests for pages. One Friday morning, after two weeks of
polishing my query letter, I sent a submission to Nalini Akolekar. The
following Friday, a day I will never forget, she called. And was completely
unfazed by my lack of intelligent remarks. (I think I said
wow
over and over.) Nalini made
everything so easy from the get-go. Three months later, I had a publishing
deal.
Who are your favorite
authors?
I tend to have favorite
books, not authors, and my reading goes all over the place—from nonfiction
and memoir to psychological murder mysteries, women’s fiction, historical
fiction, YA, Victorian classics…and thanks to my son, who has won national
awards for his poems, I am rediscovering the pleasure of poetry. My favorite
novel is
Jane Eyre,
and authors I consistently enjoy are Kate Atkinson, Eoin Colfer, Dave
Eggers, Therese Fowler, Tana French, Jennifer Haigh, Kristin Hannah, Angela
Huth, Marian Keyes, Barbara Kingsolver, Carole Matthews, Kate Morton, Jodi
Picoult, Karen White and Denyse Devlin/Denyse Woods. And I think Terry
Pratchett is a genius.
What do you
like to do when you’re not writing?
Other than avoiding housework, I love to be home alone with my family, to
potter in my woodland gardens and to read. My favorite thing in the world is
to clamber into bed at 9:00 p.m. and read until I can’t stay awake. I have a
weakness for hanging out with girlfriends (cocktails, heart-to-hearts,
shopping…I’m not that fussy), and I live for our annual beach holiday with
dear friends Chuck and Ellen, and Ken and Cathy. My husband would add, with
a sigh, that I have a weakness for plant and book sales and indulge in too
much retail therapy at my favorite boutique in Chapel Hill,
LARK.
If you have any other questions, feel free to contact me at
[email protected]
.
