25. SIENNA
SIENNA
Every time I put the gloves on I notice that they are really good gloves. The leather has worn soft over the past two days without losing its structure.
And every time I put them on I can't stop my thoughts going straight to Carter.
Does this gift mean something? He said he didn't regret what happened between us. Was he being honest about that? It has been two days since I last heard from him, and I've gotten good at not counting days since I was sixteen, so it means something that I'm counting.
I wrap the rope twice around the base of the root and tie it, testing the tension once and then again.
It holds. I thread the other end through the tow hitch from the truck and check that too.
Stand up, brush the dirt off my knees, and look at the job I've been building up to for the last forty minutes.
The garden is doing well. The raised beds are in, the path re-laid, three of the four old citrus trees cleared.
The seniors have their sections. Mrs. Hargrove is deadheading the roses at a pace that is more ceremonial than practical.
Two of the men are playing cards near the pergola, within eyeline of the beds they're supposed to be watering.
Leonor and Charlie are in the lawn chairs near the back fence, beers open, doing absolutely nothing useful.
"You know," I call out, "you could help."
Charlie points to her arm still in a sling. "Ah, excuse me… Injured in the line of duty."
Leonor doesn't look up from her beer. "You are doing great, sweety."
They turn toward each other and whisper something. They both laugh. I don’t catch it and it’s probably better that I don’t.
Emilio is crouched at the far border. He straightens when he notices me looking.
"Do you want me to trim the edges?" he asks with enthusiasm.
"Yeah. Not much, just make it look even. And be careful around the rosemary, don't take more than you need to."
He nods and starts over. I watch him for a second. It's good to have him here. Here at least he has a task and a way to stay out of trouble.
He stops halfway to the border and turns back.
"When do you think we'll be able to run another Green Guerrilla action? It's been a while."
"When things have cooled down."
"Right." He looks at a point past my shoulder. "No, yeah. For sure." He turns back and keeps going.
I get in the truck.
I ease it forward until the rope goes taut.
Nothing gives. I press the gas harder, feel the resistance traveling up through the chassis and then the tree root shifts, holds, shifts again.
There's a long grinding tear from somewhere deep in the earth before it pulls free in a single lurch that throws the truck forward half a foot.
Charlie and Leonor cheer with exaggerated enthusiasm from the lawn chairs.
I get out and look at what I've been working on all afternoon.
It's bigger than I expected. A tangle of pale and dark wood, maybe three feet across at its widest, root tendrils going in all directions. Cutting it into transportable pieces is going to take a while. I look at it and then I listen to my back, which has been making its case since noon.
I need a break. I can take twenty minutes.
There's no basket today. No water, no sandwiches wrapped in foil like at the Vale Hotel.
I cross the garden and drop down onto the grass beside Charlie and Leonor. I peel the gloves off and set them on my knee. My hands underneath are damp. The cool air against my palms is immediate and welcomed.
"Do you have water in the cooler?"
Charlie reaches in and hands me a bottle. I open it and drink half in one go.
"Have you heard anything about the arraignment?" Charlie asks.
The water slows in my throat. "Nothing yet."
"You should have called me."
"I didn't want you involved." I look at her. "It wouldn't reflect well on you. Having a criminal friend."
We both smile. But, there ‘s no real joy behind it.
"Good thing you had Adrian's contact," Charlie says. "And that he was available on a Friday night." She tilts her head, deliberately. "My brother says he's quite the ladies' man, if you know what I mean."
I take another sip. I focus on keeping my grip even on the bottle.
"Speaking of your brother," Leonor says, "how is William doing? He is such a clever, hardworking young man. Did he get news about the scholarship he was trying for?"
And just like that, Leonor is lost in her mind again. She's gone back to my father's house, the house she spent years cleaning before she came here. Back to when the Martin family still lived on the estate grounds. She knew both our families in a version of things that no longer exists.
"Not yet, but I'm sure he will," Charlie says. Easy, practiced. She has done this many times.
Charlie pats Leonor’s hand in a soothing way. Then, she turns and says to me mimicking Leonor, "Speaking of William, what happened between the two of you the other day?"
The heat is in my face before I can do anything about it. I lift the water bottle, tip it back and find it empty.
Charlie watches every second of it.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Hum, hum." She adjusts the sling, settling in. "He dragged you to the kitchen. You were in there for a while. You came out all blushed, like you are right now and left. And he came out grumpier than ever"
"It happened what always happens with us." I look at the grass. "We argued. He hates me."
Charlie is quiet long enough that I almost believe she's going to let it go.
"You know what I think?" and she narrows her eyes at me. "I think what he's doing is what boys do when they pull girls' pigtails in the school yard. It really means he likes you. Fighting is foreplay for him."
Leonor brings both hands to her cheeks. "Oh my!"
I scoff. Stand up. Dust my jeans. "I'm going to check on Emilio. He's probably butchering the edges."
"Sienna." Charlie catches my wrist.
I stop.
She waits until I look at her. "My brother is a good man. He gave up a lot to practically raise me alone. He has had a hard life, and that made him hard. He comes across cold and demanding, and sometimes he is both of those things." A pause. "But he's a good person."
Something moves in my chest. "I know that," I say. "I know how much he's sacrificed."
She lets go. She grins and starts singing in an annoying voice while clapping her hands for rhythm.
"Sienna and William, kissing in the kitchen. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes lo—"
I am already walking.
Leonor's laugh carries across the garden. I don't turn around.
The sun has shifted. The shadows from the citrus trees stretch long across the path. Emilio is at the far end, trimming a clean line. He learns fast.
I crouch down beside the tree root and look at the structure of it. There's a natural split point near the center. If I start there, the saw won't bind. I pick it up from the ground and find the angle.
There is no way William is attracted to me. Whatever happened in that kitchen, whatever came over him or me or both of us at once was a moment of insanity. He resents me.
But…There is this energy zapping between us everytime we are in the same room.
The specific tightness in my chest that starts before I've even registered him consciously.
And the kiss... His mouth on mine, not angry, not arguing, certain in a way I don't have a word for, like the decision had been made somewhere else before he ever came to find me.
I put my fingertips to my lips.
I almost still feel it.
I’m startled from my thoughts by my phone ringing on the back pocket of my jeans.
I pull it out and see Carter's name and something in my chest drops and tightens at the same time. Two days of nothing and now his name on my screen in the middle of a garden in the late afternoon. I don't know if I’m ready for what this phone call may bring.
I take a breath. I answer.
"Hello?"
"Sienna."
The way he says my name is not what I was braced for. There is tenderness there. I feel it travel through my body.
Silence. A beat past what a work call allows.
I fill it. "Is this about the site? Everything is on schedule. I was going to send you an update—"
"No."
One word. Pause.
"Next Friday is the Vanta anniversary. There's going to be a party." A breath. "I wanted to know if you'd come with me."
Another pause.
"As my date."
I pull the phone from my ear.
I look at the garden in the afternoon light. I do three small jumps on the spot, fast and silent, phone pressed to my sternum.
"Hello? Sienna?"
I bring the phone back. Clear my throat. "I would like that." My voice is steady. I'm quietly proud of that. "I would really like that."
"Good." A beat. "I'll text you the details."
"Okay," I manage.
Then, quieter: "Sienna?"
"Yes?"
"Can't wait."
The line goes dead.
I stand there with the phone in my hand. The light is the same. The garden is the same. Emilio is still trimming.
I pull the gloves back on, drop back down beside the tree root, and set the saw against the split point.
I'm still smiling at the dirt when I make the first cut.