33. SIENNA
SIENNA
The wheelbarrow is heavier on the second trip. Mulch holds water and the irrigation ran this morning, which means the last load is the worst one. I've been telling myself it's the last one since the second-to-last one.
This one actually is.
I tip it forward at the base of the bird of paradise hedge and spread it with the rake until it sits flush.
Step back. The late afternoon light coming through the canyon is turning everything gold.
It catches the retaining wall tiles on the property below, the pale stone of the terrace edge, the dust on the road.
I look at the full run of planting beds going down the east terrace. Three weeks ago this was compacted dirt and overgrown oleander. Now you are starting to see what will be.
I pull off the left glove first. I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. My hair is half out of its braid. There's a streak of dark mulch across the front of my shirt. My lower back has been making itself noticed.
I pull off the other glove. Press my palms together once, feel the raw spot forming at the base of my right thumb where the rake handle sits.
This is a good house. The daughter of one of the residents at Leonor's nursing home called three months after I finished the sensory garden there. Said her mother hadn't stopped talking about me. That's how work comes. Not through ads.
I start loading tools. Spade first, then trowels, then the pruning shears still gritty with dried bark from the canopy work on the south wall. I load them slowly, my arms tired in a way that sits in the muscles rather than on the surface.
I think about Carter, William and Adrian. After the party at Vanta and the conversation we all had, I haven’t seen any of them. It has been 2 days.
William and Carter needed to go to New York the morning after.
Carter texted from JFK: Raining here. Meetings start at seven tomorrow morning. Two sentences. Very Carter.
William sent a photo later that night. Just the view from the hotel window, grey sky and towers, no caption.
Then nothing until yesterday afternoon, when he and Carter found a street cart somewhere in midtown.
The photo came in at four-thirty. Both of them standing on the sidewalk holding hot dogs.
Carter has his sunglasses on and is almost smiling.
William is looking at the camera with an annoyed expression.
And just like that I know Carter forced him both to the hot dog and to take the picture. The caption said: When in New York.
I saved it.
Adrian has been in Los Angeles but harder to reach. Brief texts, longer gaps. When I asked if everything was okay I got one suspiciously mysterious text. Fine. Just busy.
I reach for the truck door. I can’t wait to get home and take one long hot bath.
A horn sounds behind me.
I turn around.
Carter's Range Rover is pulling up at the roadside. I stand there with my hand still on the truck and watch it park. The doors open and all three of them get out.
"What are you—" I stop.
Adrian gets to me first. He cups my face in both hands and kisses me. Hard and deep with nothing shy about it.
He pulls back. His thumbs are still at my jaw. "Are you surprised?"
I open my mouth to answer yes.
William is already there.
He doesn't wait. He just pulls me in for a kiss. Hot and heavy. Like he's communicating something I can feel but can't fully read.
Carter steps forward. He doesn't hurry. He gets to me, tips my chin up with one finger, unhurried, and then he kisses me slowly. His other hand settling at my waist.
I can’t believe that they are here. And that they all kissed me. In front of each other, like it wasn’t a big deal.
I look at him. At Adrian, who has mischief all over his face. At William, with his hands in his pockets watching me with patient intensity.
"You two were supposed to be back tomorrow," I say.
"Charlotte told us where you were. So we came to get you." Adrian says.
Right. Eight months ago, late at night, Charlie called me from a parking garage where she'd walked to her car alone and I didn't like the sound of her voice. We set up location sharing. I forgot it still ran both ways.
"Get me," I say. "For what?"
He grins. He glances at William, then at me. "We've been planning a surprise. If you're finished here, we can go now. If you're not—" he tilts his head, "William volunteers for any remaining manual labor."
William flips him off without breaking eye contact with me, but then he looks at the truck bed and says, genuinely, "I'll do anything that gets you into the car sooner."
I look at myself. Mud at the knees. Boots well past the point of apologizing for. The shirt.
"I'm almost done. I just need to load the last of the tools." I hold one arm out slightly so they can see the full picture. "But I can't go anywhere like this."
Adrian says, "It's been handled. Come on?"
I look at the truck. Gated road, private property. The truck will be safe here tonight.
I look back at the three of them. They are all leaning slightly forward, a collective barely-suppressed impatience, like they have been waiting for this specific moment and cannot quite keep it fully contained.
"Let's go," I say.
Inside Carter’s car, the back door barely closes before William reaches for my hand, fingers threading through mine. His thumb makes one slow pass over my knuckles. Then it stills.
Adrian has taken the front passenger seat and is turned just slightly sideways, so he can talk to me.
The canyon opens as we come down toward the valley. The light is going golden and the city is visible below through the afternoon haze, the flat grid of it, the tall buildings downtown going pale in the distance. I have no idea where we're heading.
William's thumb moves again. Once.
We talk about this and that during the drive. Carter and William about their trip to New York.
I tell them about my day. It’s easy. Natural.
After a while the hills outside start to look familiar. "Are we going to the Vale Hotel?"
Adrian glances back over his shoulder. "Maybe."
William squeezes my hand once, firm. "Enough mystery. Yes. We're going to the Vale."
I wonder why we are going there. It hasn’t opened yet. The inauguration party is in three weeks.
I guess I’m going to find out soon enough because Carter just parked in front of the hotel entrance.
I look at William questioningly but he just shrugs and says “Let’s go.”
Carter comes around and opens my door. He takes my hand to help me step down.
Inside the hotel, the lobby seems ready, only waiting for the guests. The ceiling is high, pale stone floor, wood paneling with a deep grain that the last of the evening light is moving across in long warm lines. Everywhere there is a touch of understated luxury.
I am standing in the middle of it in dirty boots with dried mulch on my shirt. I am aware, very specifically, of what I look like right now. But, when I turn, the men are not looking at the room. They're all looking at me and I can feel myself blush.
I hear someone clear their throat and when I turn I see a woman in spa whites is waiting near the corridor entrance. She comes forward.
"Hi. My name is Monica. I'll be your spa therapist this evening."
Adrian steps forward and says, "We want you to have a moment for yourself and be pampered." He says. "For the next two hours we want you to indulge."
I’m at a loss for words. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture. I do. And I would like a massage. A lot. But I also want to spend time with them.
My lack of enthusiasm must reflect on my face because William asks "You don't like—"
"No." I interrupt. "I do. Thank you. It's just—" and then I lower my voice so only they can hear me, "I was hoping to spend some time with you."
Carter comes closer and kisses me. Slow, certain. His palms are warm against my jaw.
He keeps his forehead against mine after, not letting go yet.
"You will," he says. "The spa is just the beginning."