22. Weeds in the garden
WEEDS IN THE GARDEN
“ D amn it. Still doesn’t make sense,” she grumbled as she scanned the internet for the next random article on her cousin. Always an early riser, Spring was up before the sun.
The kitchen light hummed softly above her, coffee untouched while she scrolled through notes she’d been assembling for days. Dates. Names. Overlaps. Things that made sense individually and felt wrong together.
Her dad came in wearing house slippers and a T-shirt from a golf tournament she didn’t remember him ever attending.
“You’re up early,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Everything okay?”
She didn’t look up. “Why didn’t you tell me you represented Cameron?”
The energy in the room shifted. He paused at the counter, then shrugged. “I’m sorry I missed the part where we talked more than a Happy Birthday text. Besides, it wasn’t a big deal.”
Spring set her phone down slowly. “You were his lawyer,” she said. “That’s not a random fun fact you care to share?”
“He and I didn’t talk much either. It’s kind of a theme in this family,” her father replied. “It never came up. And it’s not like you were around?—”
She looked at him sharply. “Be careful, Dad.”
He sighed, already defensive. “Nai, I don’t get it. You come down here for a funeral, and suddenly everyone’s on trial.”
“No, that’s not true,” she said calmly.
He poured coffee, hands steady, voice gentler. “I didn’t think it mattered. Next thing I know, you’re here and we’re burying him.”
“That’s exactly my point,” she said. “You always decide what matters to other people rather than asking them instead.”
He bristled. “I’m not sure what one thing has to do with the other.”
“You never do, that’s the problem.”
“That’s not fair, Nai?—”
“You lie by omission,” she said. “You always have.”
He turned toward her then, hurt and irritated in equal measure. “Are we still talking about Cameron?”
Silence stretched between them as his words lingered in the air. After a spell, she folded her arms and said, “I want to see the contracts.”
His expression hardened. “You know legally I can’t do that, even for you, Nairobi.”
“Convenient,” she quipped.
“What do you want from me, Nai?”
“Transparency, for once in your life.”
He took a deep breath and tried to calm the moment. “Okay, let’s not do this right now. We’re both tired. We’ve lost someone. I don’t want to fight.”
She nodded once, processing his words. “Neither do I.” Then she smiled – small, professional, distant. “Have it your way, we’ll call this a truce,” she said. “But understand something.”
He waited.
“One thing about going to a HBCU,” she continued evenly, “is they don’t just demand excellence – they train you to expect it from yourself. So, when things don’t add up, I don’t ignore that. I investigate it.”
His eyes narrowed. “You think I did something wrong?”
“I think,” she said, picking up her notebook, “that everything with you is on a need-to-know basis, and if I don’t ask the questions, I’ll regret it.
The only thing I can rely on is this high-end education you paid for, which taught me to always do the best job you can do… and I’m very good at my job. Bye, Dad.”
She walked past him toward her bedroom. Behind her, the house felt heavier, exposed. And for the first time since she’d come back to Houston, Spring knew exactly what role she was stepping into. Not daughter. Not film director. Not grieving cousin.
Nairobi Noir had arrived.
She gathered her belongings and headed out. She needed to breathe without the air of tension that her father’s home provided.
Spring went where she’d always gone when she needed to think without being watched.
Mikki’s Café. A soul food restaurant on the outskirts of town. The food was so good there no one dared bothered you; they were too busy eating.
She slid into a booth near the back, vinyl cracked and familiar, the smell of grease and sugar and heat settling her nerves before she ordered. Sweet tea. Catfish. Greens. The kind of food that stuck to your ribs.
She dropped her bag on the seat beside her and reached for her laptop. Notes first. That was the plan.
But her fingers brushed paper instead of metal.
She froze.
The divorce papers.
She pulled them out slowly, like they might bite her if she moved too fast. The envelope was worn now, edges soft from being carried everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
She laid them flat on the table.
Her name. His name. Dates that meant less than they should have.
She stared at the signature line. She thought about how short a lifetime was, and how she’d been too busy to consider that she was derailing someone else’s.
Girl, how long have you been holding up this man’s life? And worse – why?
When the food came, she didn’t touch it. Instead, she slowly read through the papers. All fair and in order, only needing a signature.
“I knew I’d find you here.”
Spring jumped.
She looked up to see Preston standing at the edge of the booth, jacket slung over one shoulder, expression half-amused, half-concerned.
She pressed a hand to her chest. “Are you stalking me now?”
He smirked. “Nah. You forgot we were supposed to meet.”
“Dang it, I’m sorry, it’s just?—”
“Believe me, I get it. I went by your place. Your dad said you stormed out,” he said. “Which usually means soul food.”
She laughed despite herself. “Don’t presume to know me.”
He slid into her side of the booth, anyway. “And yet, here I am, and here you are.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.
He glanced at the papers. She beat him to the punch of asking. “Divorce papers.”
“Oh… so you’re?—”
She nodded. “I’ve been holding this man’s life up,” she said quietly. “And I don’t even know why.”
Preston leaned back, considering her. “It’s because you’re always focused,” he said. “Always moving. Always on the attack.”
She stiffened. “Attack?”
“Not malicious,” he clarified. “Just… your mode. You don’t stop long enough to feel. You move forward so the feeling can’t catch you.”
She stared at him.
“Take this investigation of yours,” he continued gently. “I’m sure you were up before the sun taking notes, connecting dots where no one even bothered to look. You jumped into it like a mission. That’s how you process grief.”
The words landed heavier than she expected.
“How do you do that?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Say how you feel,” she said. “Like that. Without flinching.”
He shrugged. “Therapy.”
She chuckled until his straight face indicated he wasn’t joking.
He continued. “As you well know, I didn’t always talk about my feelings. I just got tired of pretending I wasn’t drowning. So while I wasn’t in an actual rehab, I did need a place to get my head together.”
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then she picked up the pen. No ceremony. No speech.
She signed. Once. Then again. Folded the papers carefully. Slid them back into the envelope.
“I’ll drop these off later,” she said.
He nodded. No judgment. Just presence.
Spring slid the divorce papers back into her bag and didn’t look at them again.
She pushed the plate aside and pulled her laptop toward her instead. “Okay,” she said, eyes already sharpening. “There’s something else,” she said, stirring her sweet tea even though the ice had already melted. “My dad wouldn’t give me Cameron’s files.”
Preston frowned. “The contracts?”
“Everything.”
He thought about it for a second, then shook his head. “That tracks.”
She shot him a look. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m serious,” he said. “Your dad’s as by-the-book as they come. Always has been. That’s where you get it from.”
She didn’t like hearing that. He could see it in her jaw. But she exhaled anyway, conceding the point without giving him the satisfaction of saying it out loud. “I need another angle.” She pulled her phone out. “I’m calling Rae.”
Preston smiled. “God help me.”
She FaceTimed her. Rae answered immediately – and froze.
“Oh my—” Rae leaned closer to the screen. “Is that – no. No way.”
Spring sighed. “Rae.”
“Is that Preston Cole?” Rae shrieked. “THE Preston Cole?”
Preston leaned into frame, amused. “Hey... Rae, is it?”
“He knows my name.” Rae put a hand over her mouth. She giggled nervously then said, “I just want you to know I’m your biggest fan. Like – biggest. Oh my God, you are so fine .”
“Rae,” Spring warned.
“I’m sorry,” Rae said, not sorry at all. “But you can’t put all that man in front of me and expect me to be normal. I just know he smells like shea butter and Black excellence.”
Preston laughed, full and easy. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me today.”
Spring snapped her fingers, bringing them back to attention. “Focus.”
Rae straightened. “Right. Business. Sorry. Still recovering.”
Spring leaned closer to the phone. “We might need your help.”
Rae blinked. “With what?”
“We’re just doing a soft inquiry,” Spring said. “On Cameron.”
There was silence on the other end of the call.
“Rae?” Spring asked.
“…Sorry,” Rae said slowly. “My brain just left my body for a second. You really are a handsome man. This 4k really brings out your jawline.”
Preston chuckled. “Understandable.”
Spring didn’t smile. “Start with everything you can find on Cameron,” she said. “Contracts. Deals. Anything tied to Mack. Anything that looks clean but feels off.”
Rae nodded, already switching modes. “Say less. I’ll dig.”
Spring lowered the phone and glanced at Preston. “Welcome to the team,” she said.
He lifted her tea in a mock toast. “This feels like the beginning of trouble.”
She smirked. “Only the good kind.”
She was just about to start eating when it happened.
A guy hovered near the table, mid-twenties maybe, nervous smile, phone already half-raised like he wasn’t sure whether to commit. “Uh – excuse me,” he said. “You Preston Cole?”
Preston looked up, surprised but polite. He smiled. “Yeah.”
The man’s face lit up. “Bro, my moms loves you. Like… heavy. Can I get an autograph?”
Preston laughed under his breath. “For your moms?”
“Yeah. For my moms,” the guy confirmed, grinning.
Preston took the napkin, signed it quick, and handed it back. “Tell her I said ‘what’s up’.”
The guy thanked him twice, shook his hand, and disappeared back toward the counter.
Spring watched the whole thing, amused. “I bet that never gets old.”
Preston leaned back, reaching for the tea again. “Been old.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Liar.”
“I’m serious,” he said. “That part stopped feeling special a long time ago.”
She studied him. “Then why you never leave Houston? You could be anywhere.”
He shrugged. “’Cause this the only place folks treat me normal.”
She laughed. “That’s cap.”
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “For real. You can see Scarface or Bun B in the mall, and nobody losing they mind. Houston don’t press like that. It’s always the out-of-towners.”
Spring looked around then. There were no whispers, no phones pointed at either of them. No second glances. Just people eating.
“…Damn,” she said slowly. “You right.”
He smirked. “You just now noticing? Mrs. Spring Greene? I’m sure you can’t move this freely everywhere.”
She thought about his words then nodded. “In Atlanta?” she mused. “I can’t breathe without somebody clocking me. Here?” She gestured around the room. “Not once.”
“Well to be fair, you’re a star, but I’m a superstar” he said jokingly.
She snorted. “Preston Cole. Self-absorbed superstar.”
He grinned. “Put that in your next documentary.”
She pointed her fork at him. “Don’t tempt me.”
They ate for a moment, the easy rhythm settling back in.
“So,” he said casually. “What’s the plan,”
“No plans just yet… but hella notes. For now, we’ll just have to see how this dog hunts.”
It was a long shot, sure. But one thing she’d learned over the years was to notice the quiet whisper of her instincts, and they were whispering, There’s more here.