Chapter 8 Reed #2
“Unfortunately. Along with several of his company’s board members and what my mother describes as ‘serious investors who understand real business.’” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.
“Should be fun… explaining sustainable agriculture to people who think environmentalism is a hobby for trust fund kids.”
“Is that what they think you are?” she asks. “A trust fund kid playing with plants?”
The question hits harder than it should. “Sometimes I wonder if they’re right.” We stare at one another for a few beats before I sigh in resignation. “Anyway, thank you. For coming. For helping.”
“My pleasure.” She grins. “Though next time, maybe don’t wait until everything’s falling apart.”
“Noted.” I glance around the greenhouse, taking in the chaos of equipment and extension cords. I realize my friends have curled up on a pile of cardboard in the corner, sleeping. “I should clean this and head home. Tomorrow’s going to be…”
“Brutal,” she finishes. “But you’ll be amazing. Your trees are perfect, your presentation is solid, and anyone who doesn’t see the value in what you’re doing is an idiot.”
I want to believe her confidence in me is justified, and I’m a little taken aback by her pleasant attitude. Maybe she’s friendlier when she’s tired. “Will you… would you consider coming tomorrow—today, I guess? To the presentation?”
Eliza’s eyebrows shoot up. “Me? At a fancy investor thing?”
“It’s not that fancy. Well, it is, but…” I fumble for words, not entirely sure why I want her there. “You understand the trees, and I think I present better when I’m not just talking to spreadsheet people.”
“I don’t exactly fit in with the yacht club crowd.”
“Good,” I say firmly. “Maybe they need someone who doesn’t fit.”
She studies my face for a moment, then nods slowly. “Okay, but I’m not wearing a dress.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
I nudge my friends awake, and they blink at me, wave a hand, and roll over. I guess they’re staying the night. Eliza yawns and heads toward the door, so I trot after her, wanting to make sure she gets to her truck okay. Should it be this… titillating when a woman drives a pickup truck?
Something compels me to stand nearby, watching with my hands in my pockets as she waves, climbs into the driver’s seat, turns the key in the engine and …
“Is it supposed to sound that way?” I step closer to the groaning vehicle as Eliza smacks the steering wheel with a curse. “When’s the last time you had it serviced?”
“Serviced?” Eliza laughs, but it sounds forced. “Reed, I change the oil and pray to whatever elves tend rusty vehicles. That’s about the extent of my maintenance budget.”
The truck gives a final whine, and then there’s nothing but a clicking sound when she turns the key. “Shit,” she mutters, trying again with the same result.
“I’ll drive you home,” I offer.
“You don’t have to—”
“Eliza. It’s two-thirty in the morning, and your truck just died in an industrial park. I’m driving you home.”
She looks like she wants to argue, but practicality wins out. “Fine.”
The drive to her place is quieter than I expected.
Eliza stares out the passenger window as we enter the city, the lights of the downtown skyscrapers illuminated for the holiday season.
Each of the bridges seems to have a different theme, from Hanukkah blue and silver to a Kwanzaa kinara, and Eliza is noticeably charmed by all of it.
I find myself stealing glances at her profile in the dashboard light. She looks tired but alert, clearly processing the events of the evening.
I navigate the narrow streets of her neighborhood, noting the mix of renovated houses and ones that have seen better days. Eliza’s place sits on a hill with that spectacular view of the city, and she sighs, gazing at the glittering lights.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says when I pull over. “And for letting me help tonight. It was kind of fun, solving problems with duct tape.”
“Thank you for making it work,” I reply. “I was feeling pretty forlorn about the whole thing.”
She grins. “Sometimes good enough is better than perfect.”
“Don’t let that get around. My reputation as a control freak is all I have left.”
Eliza laughs, then grows serious. “You’re going to do great tomorrow, Reed. Trust your instincts.”
She gets out of the car and walks toward her house, fumbling for keys in the darkness.
I should leave now; she’s safely home, my obligation as a decent human being is fulfilled.
But I find myself sitting in the driveway, engine running, watching until she gets her front door open and disappears inside.
A light comes on in what I assume is her kitchen, then another in an upstairs window. Only then do I put the car in reverse and head home.
The whole drive to my apartment, I can’t shake the image of Eliza working beside me in the greenhouse, completely focused and utterly competent. She never once questioned whether we could fix the problem. She just started fixing it.
Later today, I’ll present my trees to a room full of investors and family members who may or may not understand what I’m trying to accomplish. But tonight, for the first time in months, I believe the presentation might succeed.
And it’s not just because of the trees.