Twenty-Two #2
I went about the task trying not to shake.
Instead of a walk in the forest, the display was a zoo, filled with nature pacing at the walls of its cage.
Holding the watering can close to me so it would not pull at my back muscles, I doled out their food.
Shuffling past pines, and evergreens, what once felt natural now was astroturf.
I had no idea what had changed. Part way through my watering and feeding of the defenseless plants my phone chimed – a text receipt.
Feeling like I was cheating, I glanced at Ulrich’s shadow in the green house before I pulled out my phone. It was Rilee.
RILEE: I said you could call me but thought it was my turn. Are you up for coffee this afternoon?
The last few days had been a hazy rush for me but I’d made it sound like I’d call her soon.
And I hadn’t. I’d tried but couldn’t put a coherent sentence to Lukas let alone the girl I’d hauled through the mud.
Silence was probably better than intoxicated gibberish.
But it had been days. Waiting for a phone call–after an interview or a date–that’s ulcer inducing anxiety.
Causing Rilee to deal with that was very unfair of me.
ME: I am free.
That was so lackadaisical, dismissive. I hurriedly added:
ME: I’d like that. Where and when?
RILEE: Same time, same place? 4:30 at First Avenue.
I probably should have sent a thumbs up or some emoji, but in the amount of time it would take me to figure out my thoughts in pictograph form I’d be late for coffee. Jackie would have laughed at my technological ineptitude. Instead, I settled for
ME: Great. See you there.
I got a thumbs up back in response. Definitely should have gone with the emoji.
I hurriedly watered the rest of the bonsai, refilling the can with fertilizer and water twice more before I was finished.
Ulrich looked me up and down when I returned the can to him.
He studied me, looking for something. I stared back. Who was he, ordering me around anyway?
“Thank you.” He tapped the tub of dirt. “I have stops in Coeur d’Alene and Moscow and need to repot some ficus. Now I don’t have to take time mixing soil. Very helpful.”
Ulrich’s blue-eyed stare was penetrating. I wished he would find what he was looking for or give up. “That’s a lot to fit in one day,” I said looking for somewhere to deflect him.
“Too much. I told a shop in Richland, no.” He must have found what he was looking for because he sniffed and turned away to shelve the watering can. “Spring is the busiest time. Lots of changes and growth.”
The snow was gone but despite the warming weather I didn’t expect real spring to be here soon. “This is just a temporary warm up. The false thaw fools a lot of people.”
“Weather like that makes it easy to lose early blossoms. Tough on fruit trees.”
Shifting to give my leg a break I glanced around the green house. The back shelf of deciduous bonsai were starting to get leaf buds and a pair of gray barked specimens had the telltale bulges of growing blossoms.
Ulrich followed my gaze, “Crab apples. Very pretty. But fragile.”
It was still hours until I’d meet Rilee but standing here was making me stiff. “Well, I have to go.”
“Any time,” Ulrich said, as if he had done me a favor instead of him asking me to be here. “Watch the weather, quick changes can catch you by surprise.”
Waving my goodbye, I shuffled back into the interior of the store. Had we been talking about trees the whole time? It felt like Ulrich was saying something else but I was too clueless to hear it.
When I got to First Avenue Coffee, Rilee was already there seated in the back where I’d been nervously waiting for her.
Her blond hair was pulled back in a half ponytail, and a pair of mugs sat on either side of the table in front of her.
A glint of gold in her ears caught the overhead light like a flash of sunshine.
“You clean up well,” I smiled before taking a seat.
She hid her smile behind her coffee cup, “I’m sorry about that. It took me two baths to get the mud out.”
For a few sips I thought about Rilee taking two baths. About her wet stray locks plastered to her shoulders, clinging to her collar bone and cheek. Floating free in the clear warm water. No bubble bath.
“You were pretty dirty yourself.” Her smile was soft but tense.
“And I feel bad about that.” Reaching under the table, Rilee pulled out a large brown paper gift bag with twine handles and set it on the side of the table.
“So I got you something.” Her warm eyes shimmered like the flickering afternoon sun on aspen leaves.
Still addled from the image of a bathing Rilee I took the bag without comment.
It was heavy. Calculating the bend of my back and whether to put the bag on the floor to inspect it or standing up to look inside, I settled for tipping it over.
When I did, a light-colored rough grained leather sleeve fell out.
Pulling out the rest, I held a sheepskin coat in my hands. The kind with the fleece on the inside.
Fingering the brass through hole buttons I murmured, “This is really expensive.” Hundreds of dollars.
I’d seen old guys wear these, the guys that spent the winters riding horses in the hills looking for strays, or tossing out hay bales to feed their starving cows.
True hard–working men. Someone who I wasn’t anymore.
“I can see from here that the mud didn’t come out of your coat. It’s ruined, and because of me. This is me saying thank you.” Then with a hungry exhale she said, “Put it on.”
I’d had my coat since my senior year of high school.
It survived the accident with me. It was also so dirty that mud was now pressed between the weave of the fabric.
Standing, I slipped the brown cloth off me and hung it on the back of the chair.
The new coat hung to the top of my thighs and the weight of it rested comfortably on my shoulders, with plenty of room.
The fleece on the inside collar was soft and warm, like the touch of Rilee’s hand.
“It looks nice on you,” Rilee said with an inhale.
The coat fit well. The shape of it was a smooth hug, the sleeves hung right to my wrists without bunching. And despite the thick fleece it wasn’t bulky. I’d never put anything on that felt as natural.
“I don’t know what to say.” This was too much, but too right to decline.
“Say you’ll have dinner with me on Friday. I’ll cook.” That hungry look was back in her eyes. Looking up at me, Rilee ran the edge of her finger along the rim of her coffee cup, where her lips had been, waiting for something. For me.
“I could eat,” I squeaked. This was too much. Right now, I hated my voice. Hated the ache in my bones. Hated the emptiness that was my future. But I loved this. I loved being in the same room as this woman.
“Great. Do you remember where I live?”
“Only generally. I just followed you.”
Pulling her phone out of her purse she texted me the address. Then sliding a hand around the back of my neck, she kissed me, her lips soft and lingering on mine. “Come by around five thirty,” she whispered, and then was gone, her absence a deep chill, the first winter breeze at the end of October.
A voice called out from the barista counter and I recognized I’d been standing for minutes. “Can I get you anything else?”
Looking at the dark liquid in my cup I shook my head, “No. I suppose not.”
“Quite a woman.”
“Yeah.” And what did I have to offer her.