Chapter Eighteen #2
As I walk up the steps to the terrace at the end of the day, I’m still glowing from seeing the bashful pride in Louis’s face when he returned my phone to me and showed me the beautiful photographs he’d taken—photographs of quiet corners in the gardens, flowers spilling over paths, streams of light falling like ribbons through the lemon trees.
To my surprise, when I reach the terrace, I find Jill sitting alone at one of the tables.
She’s wearing large black sunglasses that cover much of her face, but even so I can tell that she is lost in thought and doesn’t notice me.
I’m debating whether or not to interrupt her to thank her for having the tables moved outside when Gully makes my decision for me and heads unhesitatingly straight for her.
Her face breaks into a smile at the sight of him, but when she pushes her sunglasses up into her hair, I’m startled to see that her eyes are red-rimmed. Has she been crying?
“Gully,” she says, taking his big face in her hands and looking deep into his eyes, “have you been a good boy today? Of course you have. What a silly question.”
Gully’s entire body shimmies in response. Jill looks over at me and nods. When her smile doesn’t entirely disappear at the sight of me, I walk toward her.
“The tables are wonderful,” I say, then hesitate. “I was worried that Donovan was going to insist you have that door lock fixed.”
With a quick motion, Jill lowers her sunglasses back down over her eyes and turns her face toward the view. “He did insist,” she says flatly. “Many, many times.”
“Oh.” I put my hands on the back of the chair across from hers and squeeze the wrought iron. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t listen to him. The residents have really been enjoying the gardens.”
“I’m aware of that,” Jill says coolly. “I’m aware of everything that happens here.
That’s my job. I know that Marjorie and Cynthia walk outside every day, and took their lunch out here on the terrace today.
I know that Fitz has been emerging from his apartment and visiting your dog—or you.
Both of you, I suppose. I know that Vikram and Adele have been baking a ridiculous amount of pastries and desserts, thanks to some sort of epiphany they had among the flowers with you.
And I know that just this afternoon, Louis wandered the grounds for several unaccompanied hours, taking photographs outside with your cell phone.
” She turns at last to face me, her expression unreadable.
“And all of this, despite the fact that I specifically asked you not to interact with the residents.”
I open my mouth to respond and then close it again. I can’t tell how she feels about any of this—is she upset? Happy? No, she’s definitely not happy. But I don’t think she’s upset, either. Her face behind those huge dark glasses seems impassive.
“I think spending time outside has been good for them,” I say carefully.
She studies me for a moment before responding. “Donovan is concerned about their safety. The gardens are a liability.”
“But he’s having me restore them! What did he expect to happen when the paths became clear for walking again?”
One of Jill’s perfect eyebrows arches over the rim of her glasses. “What did he expect? Well, for one thing, he expected that I would have asked Vince to fix that lock by now so that the residents wouldn’t be able to walk outside whenever they wanted.”
“But you haven’t. And now you’ve moved tables and chairs out here to make it even more inviting.”
I still can’t see Jill’s eyes, but I swear I see a little smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She turns away from me and looks out at the horizon. Eventually she sighs and says, “You might as well sit down.”
So I do. I sit and pet Gully until he grows tired of standing and stretches out on the terrace by my feet.
“It’s nice that you care so much about the people who live here,” Jill says slowly, as though it pains her to say it. “And the flowers are looking beautiful.” She turns to me. “I think—I think I won’t discourage you from interacting with the residents anymore.”
“Okay,” I say, surprised. We sit in silence for a moment. Then I ask the question that I realize has been flickering within my thoughts for days. “Once my contract is up,” I ask, “is there a plan to hire a permanent gardener?”
Jill’s face falls. She turns to face the view again and murmurs, “I can’t say.”
I squint at her. “You can’t say?”
“I can’t say.”
“Well, okay, but someone is going to need to take care of the gardens. It wouldn’t make any sense for Donovan to let them grow wild again as soon as I leave. He must intend to hire someone for the job.”
Jill sighs. “Let me guess, Lucy. You’d like it to be you.”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” My admission surprises me. “I mean, no. I don’t think so. I’m just curious.”
“Good,” Jill says, her face stony. “I wouldn’t want you to get your hopes up.”
I stare at her. “What does that mean?”
Jill suddenly leans toward me, jabbing her sunglasses up into her hair so that I have a full view of her bloodshot, watery eyes. “It means don’t get your hopes up!” she says, practically shouting. She glances over her shoulder and then turns back to me.
“I’m sorry, Lucy,” she says, dropping her voice to an urgent whisper. “I’m sorry. It’s just that there is no job. There aren’t any jobs! There isn’t even going to be an Oceanview Home.”
“Jill,” I say, my chest suddenly tight. “What are you talking about? What is going on?”
She studies me for a minute. Then she leans toward me.
“Donovan,” she says, “is selling the home.”
My heart plummets. “What? No. He can’t.”
“He can and he is. The cost of running the home is astronomical, and apparently his father made every bad financial decision he could possibly make before his death. And either way, Donovan doesn’t even believe that the home should be a residence for seniors anymore.
The liability of an old building, the sprawling grounds—he’ll go on and on with his reasons if you let him.
” She draws in a deep, steadying breath.
“A development group is purchasing the estate and turning it into a luxury golf resort—”
“A golf resort?” I repeat loudly.
“Shh!” Jill snaps. Then her shoulders sag. “Actually what do I care if everyone knows? I’m tired of keeping that man’s secret.”
I feel as though the wind has been knocked out of me. “But what about everyone who lives here? I thought Donovan was sprucing everything up for a spring party, the kind that Marjorie says they used to have here every year.”
Jill chokes out a laugh. “A spring party? Is that what he told you?”
Of course he didn’t tell me that. What he did tell me was that he was adept at streamlining businesses, laying people off, and finding ways to make companies profitable.
How had I ever convinced myself that he was going to throw a party here?
That a party could possibly be what a man like Donovan Pike had his sights set on?
“No. I guess I just hoped…” I trail off, too embarrassed to list everything for which I’d hoped—that the home would grow ever more cheerful, that there would be a spring party, and, apparently, that I might possibly, maybe, stay on as the home’s gardener on a permanent basis.
Jill looks as though she feels sorry for me. “I know, Lucy,” she says. “Believe me, I know. I’ve fought Donovan tooth and nail on this, and he hates me for it. If it wouldn’t make things at the home deteriorate even further, he would have fired me months ago.”
I think about the tension that sparks between them, the way she seems to seethe with resentment whenever he is mentioned. I wondered if there were romantic feelings involved, but this is so much more complicated, so much worse.
“The home and the gardens will become a luxury boutique hotel, but it’s the ocean view that the developers want, more than anything,” Jill says, sounding exhausted, all emotion wrung from her voice.
“Well, the views and the ocean-side acreage beyond the walls. They have some fancy golf course designer lined up for the project. Donovan is sure it will be the next Pebble Beach.”
I can’t stop thinking of the residents—Fitz first, inexplicably, and then Marjorie and Cynthia and Adele and Vikram and Louis and everyone else. And everyone who works at the home—Jill and Mario and Isobel and Eva and Noreen and Vince. What will happen to them all?
“And everyone who lives here…?” I ask.
Jill sighs. “They’ll be given notice in enough time to make other arrangements.
Donovan has promised that much. But the truth is that there is nowhere around here that compares to the Oceanview Home.
That’s a massive understatement, of course.
There’s nowhere like this anywhere, and some of the residents have paid relatively little to live here, just as Agatha Pike wanted all those years ago.
” Her shoulders slump. “That sliding scale is just one of the reasons that Donovan feels he’s been pushed into a corner and must close the home. ”
Something snags in my thoughts. “Didn’t you say that Agatha Pike had a clause in her will about the home always remaining a place for seniors?”
Jill shakes her head. “She requested that her friends be permitted to go on living here, but all of her contemporaries died long ago. It was her son and grandson who decided the property should continue on as a home for seniors. Donovan’s the owner now, and he can do with it what he pleases.”
“But can someone really just swoop in and tear this all down to make way for a golf course? Doesn’t the home have historical significance?” I hear the desperate pitch of my voice.