Chapter 34
DEBBIE
Without my advice column to work on, I spend the morning in my garden.
I love gardening. I find the repetitive motions of planting, watering, and pruning to be very relaxing.
Almost meditative. I feel so much satisfaction after spending the day outside when I look out on my yard at the fruits of my labor.
Multiple studies have shown that gardening reduces stress, anxiety, and depression.
After working for a morning in my backyard, I feel so relaxed and zen.
Screw that Home Gardening magazine. They can go straight to hell.
Opium poppies are actually surprisingly easy to grow.
They are my favorite of all the flowers in my garden.
I’ve been doing it for years, so I’ve got it down to a science.
Unlike my children, who change every single year, leaving me fumbling to keep up, poppies follow a natural and predictable cycle.
My little poppy flowers are nearly at the end of their annual cycle.
In a month or so, I will shake the seeds all over the garden to begin the cycle anew.
I’m careful to strategically plan the distribution of seeds, and by spring, the flowers will bloom in bright bursts of color.
The color is so vivid that it almost seems to glow with a mystical intensity.
At the height of the season, my garden looks ethereal.
By the late fall, the petals will have fallen off the flowers, and the pods will start to bloom. I will then harvest them for seeds. And, of course, opium.
Today, I walk out into my yard barefoot.
I don’t do it all the time, but I love gardening in my bare feet.
I love the feel of the dirt between my toes, and it almost makes me feel like I’m part of the garden.
My task for the morning is to get rid of all the stray leaves that have fallen into the yard, and there are enough of them that it keeps me busy for nearly two hours.
By the end, there’s soil caked into my fingernails and in the creases of my palms, and of course, my feet are caked with it.
As I’m washing the dirt off my hands in the kitchen sink, I think about what I want to make for lunch.
I pull out my phone and idly check the website for the Hingham Household.
It’s the only local paper, so they might have a news update on Coach Robert Pike.
But nope, it’s still that video of Garrett and Sierra having sex on his desk.
Apparently, he hasn’t managed to get it down yet.
Oh, Garrett.
While I’ve got my phone out, another idea hits me. It might be nice to have some company. So I reach for my phone and shoot off a message to Harley:
Sorry for the late notice, but any chance you’d like to grab lunch?
Immediately, three bubbles appear on the screen. Harley doesn’t usually work on Thursday mornings, so she must be home.
Sure! But I don’t have a lot of time. I’m teaching a spin class at one.
No problem. What if I bring some food to your house? I can make sandwiches.
Before she can respond, I quickly add:
No avocados. I promise.
The response takes longer this time. She’s clearly thinking hard about what she wants to say. It probably doesn’t help that the last time I made sandwiches, three people got seriously ill with food poisoning. But I’m not going to give Harley food poisoning. I’m sure she realizes that.
Sure thing! See you soon!
She texts me her address, and I enter it in my GPS. She lives outside Hingham, over in Rockland, but it won’t take me too long to get there.
As for our lunch, I decide to go the healthy route and make the two of us a salad using the tomatoes, cucumbers, and lettuce in my fridge. No avocados, although I love avocados in a salad. I grab a bottle of miso ranch dressing and load everything into my car.
I pull out of my driveway, and as I’m rolling down the block, I notice there’s a bit of a commotion in front of Jo Dolan’s house.
A man is standing next to a tripod, holding an expensive-looking camera in his hand, and Jo is standing in front of him, yelling and waving her hands wildly.
The argument seems to be attracting some attention from our neighbors.
Even Bev who lives across from me has made the trek down the street and is standing on the sidelines and gawking.
Curious, I pull over on the side of the road and climb out of the car, leaving my salad and dressing in the passenger seat. I don’t want the salad to wilt, but I’m sure this won’t take long.
“Bev,” I whisper to my neighbor, “what’s going on?”
Bev giggles. “Looks like Jo has a little insect problem.”
I turn my attention to Jo and the man with the camera. Now that I’m closer, I can see the veins standing out in Jo’s scrawny neck. Her housedress is swaying in the wind.
“I have the best rose garden in all of Hingham!” Jo is ranting at him. “You won’t find better roses than mine. I guarantee it!”
The man flashes her an exasperated look. “I don’t care how nice your roses are. I’m not photographing a garden infested with bugs.”
“There are hardly any bugs!” Jo shouts.
The man gives her an “are you kidding me?” look. That’s when I swivel my head to take a look at Jo’s rose garden.
Wow, there are Japanese beetles everywhere.
Japanese beetles are shiny, metallic green with bronze wings.
The tiny insects are clinging to the blades of grass and the leaves and petals of Jo’s precious roses.
It almost looks like every Japanese beetle in the Hingham area—hell, maybe every beetle in Massachusetts—has congregated in Jo’s rose garden.
It’s practically a swarm. Soon, they will have devoured all the flowers and leaves, leaving behind a patchwork of holes and lacy remnants.
Those trap refills worked even better than I hoped.
“You!” she cries. “Did you do this to my garden?”
“Me?” I feign astonishment. “You really think I have the ability to bring a swarm of Japanese beetles to your garden? I’m not a beetle whisperer, Jo.”
“You were jealous yesterday!” she reminds me. “You were mad that I stole your photo shoot.”
“Yes.” I nod. “And I did mention something about karma, didn’t I? I guess I was right about that.”
Jo narrows her eyes at me, but there’s nothing she can do. She doesn’t know anything about the three traps buried in the mulch of her yard that are attracting every Japanese beetle in the area. And until she finds them, she’ll never get rid of the pests.
I hope she never finds them.