Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
I soon find the plant food in the barn in a plastic tub. The label has been peeled off, but it’s the only item on the bench. I find a trowel and am soon kneeling beside the rose bushes, digging it into the soil.
Without my phone, I have no idea how deep to dig or how much to use, but I figure I can’t go too far wrong.
It takes me an hour to dig the food into all the rose bushes in front of the house. My arms are covered in scratches, but I’m feeling quietly satisfied with my work. I’m on the final plant when I hear a voice behind me.
“What the hell are you doing to my roses?”
It’s Bradley. I turn around, grinning. “I’m feeding them.”
“Feeding them?” He finds the empty white tub on the ground. “With this?”
I’m thrown by his tone. “Grace told me to dig it into the roses.”
“With this?” He repeats, then tosses the tub onto the ground. “Jesus.”
“What?”
“Shit.” He swears some more, then mutters audibly. “What have you done?”
I’m starting to feel annoyed by his reaction. “What I was asked to do. By your wife.”
“That’s poison, Brie. You’ve just killed my mother’s roses.”
He sits on the ground, knees to his chest. I’m unsure of what to do. If he were still angry with me, I’d be able to defend myself. But this is closer to grief. It feels too personal.
I’m wondering if I should just leave when I hear Grace’s car return. She parks her Mercedes outside the garage and comes towards us, a coffee in hand.
“What’s going on?” When neither of us replies, she picks up the plastic tub from the ground. “What’s this doing here?”
“Brie dug it into the flowers,” Bradley says, after taking a deep breath. He stands and brushes his hands on his pants. “Apparently, on your instruction.”
“Nonsense.”
“You said to use whatever’s on the bench in the barn,” I say. “That was the only thing there.”
“That’s not at all what I said. I said to use plant food.”
I can’t believe it. She’s going to blame this on me. “You said—”
“Enough.” She raises her hand for us to follow. “I’ll show you.”
We walk across to the barn. I look forward to being vindicated, but when we get there, the bench is lined with a range of products, all clearly labeled, including a large bag of plant food.
“These weren’t—” I start to protest, but trail off when I see Bradley’s expression. It’s not anger so much as pity. I can already tell he won’t believe a word I say.
“We’ll need you to be much more careful, Brie,” Grace says. “We’re trusting you.”
Bradley nods in agreement, and they both leave me standing in the barn, astonished. I see it wasn’t enough for Grace to warn me off Bradley. She had to make him hate me. And from the look in his eyes just now, it seems like mission accomplished.