Chapter Four
Geranium: A flowering plant with powerfully fragrant leaves whose sweet, citrusy scent extends a message of hospitality
That afternoon, I put together a bid for the “very special gardening project” and send it to Donovan.
I quote a price that is fair but not exorbitant—I’m generally well compensated for my work, I have a decent nest egg saved in my bank account, and I will not have much by way of living expenses while I am staying with my father, so I see no reason to risk Donovan accepting a competing bid.
Besides, the fact is that I really want this job.
When Donovan accepts my proposal a couple of hours later, I feel a flutter of excitement that I realize I haven’t felt in some time.
Five gardens. It will be my biggest project to date.
To celebrate, I decide to pick up dinner for my dad and myself from the Shark Bite Café.
I can’t convince my dad to come along for the ride, but Gully happily clambers up into my truck.
I drive into town, careful, this time, to keep my eyes ahead as I pass the music store that used to be the Seadrift Gallery.
I park and walk toward the door of the Shark Bite Café, pausing at the café’s window boxes.
Briskly but fondly, familiarly, I deadhead a few old blooms from the red geraniums that I planted years ago.
Gully sits beside me, swishing his tail hopefully over the sidewalk every time someone passes.
Flowers cared for, I open the café door and walk straight into a wave of nostalgia—sugar, vanilla, the scent of warm, rising dough, and the nutty, toasted fragrance of coffee.
“Lucy!” booms Roger, the café’s owner, from behind the counter. “And Gully boy! What a nice surprise!”
I smile. “Hi, Roger. How are you?”
“Can’t complain. Croissants are on the house for my favorite gardener.
” He drops two enormous pastries into a brown bag and hands them across the counter to me.
Unlike my father, Roger—with his downy white hair forming a horseshoe around his bald crown and his ever-present pale blue apron tied around his stout belly—looks exactly as he always has.
“Did you see how your flowers are thriving? I haven’t forgotten to water them. ”
“I can tell. They’re very happy.”
“I’m the happy one. Those flowers bring in big business.
It’s all about the curb appeal. I already had the curb, but you gave it the appeal.
” He plucks one of the dog treats from the jar he keeps on the counter and tosses it into the air.
Gully catches it and as he chomps it, I swear that he winks at Roger.
Roger laughs his big laugh. “There you go: bad jokes, a Gully treat, and croissants, all free of charge. What else can I get you?”
I scan the pastries, quiches, and variety of salads and vegetable dishes behind the glass of the display case. “What do you recommend? I’m hoping to find something for dinner tonight.”
“Today’s special: white bean minestrone. Hearty, comforting… pair it with a fresh-from-the-oven sourdough baguette. And for dessert…” He thinks for a moment, peering into the case. “Ah! The citrus-glazed olive oil cake.”
I catch each scent in the air as he speaks—the soft notes of sage and thyme in the stew, the salty, yeasty smell of the sourdough, the richness of the olive oil mingling with the cheery burst of orange zest. I can’t help but hope that having all of these aromas in our kitchen will breathe a bit of life back into the house and give my father’s spirits a boost.
“Sounds delicious,” I say. “Sold.”
Roger ladles the stew into a takeout container from an enormous pot. “How long are you in town?”
I tell him that I’m starting a monthlong gardening job at the Oceanview Home on Monday.
“Aren’t they lucky to have you?” he replies. “And a month! You haven’t stuck around that long since…” His eyes widen then and he pauses, fishing around for how to finish the sentence. “High school,” he finally says, nearly swallowing the words.
I can’t bear the sympathy that I see in Roger’s eyes. I don’t deserve it, and he wouldn’t look at me that way if he knew the truth.
“I’m staying to be with my dad,” I say quickly. “He could use some company.”
Now Roger’s expression shifts to concern. “How is your dad? He never comes in anymore.”
I take in this news with a fresh twinge of worry. My father used to stop into the Shark Bite every morning on his way to his office in San Francisco. And not just because he loved Roger’s coffee—or at least I hadn’t thought so. I’d always thought he and Roger were friends.
“He doesn’t seem to go out much these days,” I say. “He’s retired now, and without my mom…” I trail off, sighing.
Roger nods sadly. “You know, I called him a few times after your mother’s funeral to check on him.
He never picked up, never responded to my messages.
Naomi Lawson told me that lots of people have been trying to get him out of the house, inviting him to dinner and things like that, but he always declines.
I guess Naomi showed up on his doorstep and really pressed him, and he promised her that he’d start getting out and about again soon, but that he needed more time. ”
“I didn’t have any idea how isolated he’d become,” I admit quietly. “I should have come home sooner.”
“You’re here now,” Roger says firmly, generous as always. “That’s what matters.” He packs all of the various containers into a large paper bag and slides it toward me. “Tell your dad that there is always a cup of coffee waiting for him here, on the house, okay?”
I smile and nod. I’ve paid the bill and nearly made it to the door when Roger’s voice makes me turn.
“I’m really glad you’re back, Lucy,” he says, his face flooded once again with sympathy. “I know how awful all of that was for you… what happened to Jack…”
What happened to Jackr…
The fact is that Roger has no idea what really happened.
No one does.