Chapter Two #2
Greenhouse time was different from everyday life—everything moved slower in here, so Fern did too. She drifted to the front counter in time to greet the woman as she entered, gripping the hand of her small son.
“Hello.” Fern offered a pleasant smile. After leaving behind her old life, smiling had felt foreign to her, as if her face muscles forgot how to work. Now, her smiles came as easy as breathing.
“Hi. I’m just looking for a few plants for my pots outside.”
“By the new swimming pool!” the little boy piped up, brown eyes bright with excitement.
Fern circled the counter. “A swimming pool? Wow. Can you swim?”
“Not yet, but I’m learning! Aren’t I, Mom?” He bounced up and down like he was full of fizz and someone shook him up.
His mother patted his head. “You’re getting better every day. Come on, let’s find some plants. It’s almost closing time, and the nice lady wants to go home.”
Fern waved a hand. “Take your time. No rush.” She moved back behind the counter, busying herself with emptying the wastebasket and tidying up.
A sudden shrill scream echoed through the greenhouse, and Fern jumped. Whipping toward the sound, her head filled with images of the young boy tripping over a hose or finding some sharp object to cut himself on.
By the time she rushed toward the sound, she was already mentally preparing to grab the first-aid kit. But the customer was chasing her son through a row of salvia and lavender.
“Alex! Stop right now! You can’t run in here!” The woman spotted Fern and tossed a wince her direction.
Fern took the other path and stepped right in front of Alex, stopping him in his tracks.
He blinked up at her. In those big eyes, his intention to run again shone brightly.
“I bet you’re bored in here. Are you bored looking at plants?”
“Wanna go home and swim.” He pushed out his lip in a pout.
His mother stepped closer, and Fern saw her chance to help.
“Would you like to help me water some plants? I have a little watering can just your size. As long as your mom says it’s okay.”
The boy bobbed his head fast, and his mother gave Fern a grateful look. “Thank you.”
“No problem. C’mon, Alex. Let’s get that watering can.”
She spent the next few minutes showing him how to fill the can, and how full to make it. Then she let him carry it to a row of dry plants. While he happily watered each one, he chattered on and his mother had time to select a few plants.
When they all met up at the checkout, the mother offered her a big smile. “Thank you for that. I knew I was pushing my luck bringing him here after daycare. He was so excited to get home and swim.”
“Oh, it was no trouble. Alex is almost better at watering the plants than me.” She beamed at the boy, who beamed back.
“Do you have kids? You’re great with them.”
Fern stumbled over the question. “No, I don’t have kids.”
She didn’t think she ever wanted them…not with Chris.
To cover any awkwardness, she rushed to explain. “Before I moved to Willowbrook, I worked as a preschool aide.”
“That explains why you’re so good with kids.”
“I enjoyed working with them so much. All that energy. And the world is so fun for them to explore, it’s impossible not to get excited with them.” She smiled at Alex again. “I do miss it sometimes. But I love plants. They’re pretty exciting too.”
She was rambling. One of her faults that—
She sucked in a deep breath, silently correcting the man who wasn’t even in her life.
Her ex.
The man who’d told her she had so many faults that no one but him could ever tolerate her.
Brushing a stray hair that broke free of her ponytail off her face, she forced herself to recenter. She finished out the sale, thanked the woman and high-fived Alex. Then she closed up the greenhouse and left for the day.
When she got to her humble apartment on the second floor of a quaint little house, she let out a sigh of relief. She hated when she let Chris get in her head, especially after all this time.
Normally, she would shower and slip on sweats before settling down for leftovers. But maybe she should install her new towel hooks.
She checked on her new plants, the ones she picked up from the hardware store. Touching one curled little brown leaf, she frowned. “You’re going into the critical care unit, my friend.” She carried it to the bathroom.
Two big windows faced east and let in a lot of light during the day. She found that every plant she put here thrived.
She shifted a few pots to make room for her new baby. “Trust me, you’re going to like it here. Yes, the bedroom has great light too, but you can’t be in the bedroom. Plants steal the oxygen at night.”
Stepping back, she surveyed her little beauties. Chris never would have let her keep all these plants. In his mind, three was too many, and he complained if he ever saw a fallen leaf on a table or the floor.
Looking at the windowsill, she saw more than one dropped leaf, and her hand twitched to pick them up.
Then she balled her fist and forced herself to leave them where they lay.
She moved to the hall closet and rummaged around for her toolbox. It was small but exactly what an apartment owner needed. And it was pink.
With this in hand, she returned to the bathroom to hang the towel hooks. She opened the box and pulled out a device, dad jokes whirling through her mind as she pressed the stud finder to the wall.
The little light blinked red as she moved it along the drywall. When it lit up green, Chris’s voice flooded her head.
Ha-ha. Found the stud, he’d said once, and pressed the stud finder to his chest.
“Ugh. Get out of my head.” She tried to put force behind the words, but they wobbled on her tongue.
How many times had she thought of her ex today? Too many. She thought she was getting over him, healing. But today, she’d been triggered a handful of times and intrusive thoughts edged into places she’d worked so hard to calm.
She turned to her plants, little green and brown soldiers lined up like the most solid friends she could ask for. She had a lot to be thankful for—a terrific job she adored and so many new plants.
She hung the towel hooks and stood back to survey her handiwork. Just six months ago, she never would have said she could do anything handy. Another win.
By now, she was hungry enough to pull out the big pot of soup she made on Sundays to eat throughout the week. That too was a middle finger to Chris, who’d demanded hot meals of meat and potatoes on the table every night, even when she was exhausted from chasing preschoolers all day.
Go away, you gigantic ASS.
She was not letting him ruin her evening.
She settled on the flower-printed sofa with her legs tucked up and a bowl of warm soup cupped in a towel.
She had control of her life now, and her surroundings were testament to that.
The eclectic mix of thrift finds gave the place a charming, lived-in look she never had living in Chris’s big, stark, devoid-of-personality house.
What she found—no, what she created for herself—was a place where she could thrive, just like her plant babies.