I stopped chewing and swallowed a too-large lump of sandwich. “Therapy?”
Kathy didn’t hear me. Or chose not to answer, I couldn’t tell which.
“So is she back here visiting, or…?”
“She’s been living at her brother’s for a few months. She told me she’ll be looking for her own place when she gets on her feet.”
“She moved back—for good? L.A. wasn’t her cup of tea after all?” For some reason this news brought hot resentment burning up from my stomach. My empty fist clenched but I forced it to relax.
Kathy dried her hands on a dishcloth and turned to look at me for a minute. I feigned sudden intense interest in the quartered newspaper left on the table.
“She had a nervous breakdown, Mark.”
“Hmm.” I grunted without looking up so Kathy wouldn’t be able to see how my heart lurched at the news. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Kathy stared at me for a long time but I refused to look up. “What did you think, when you saw her?”
“I almost didn’t recognize her.”
I almost didn’t recognize her. Those words echoed to me in the present as I contemplated the horror of them again. She had a nervous breakdown, Mark. I rubbed my eyes through closed eyelids.
Captain Wentworth is not very gallant by you, Anne. He said you were so altered, he should not have known you again.
***
The following day, Kathy committed me to a favor before specifying what I would have to do. With the bribe of her delicious caramel turtle cookies thrown in for good measure, she had me trudging across the street with her Rototiller to help with the garden project.
Justine stood surveying a dirt mound next to her fledgling flower box—the location of her future garden—when I got there. She held a shovel in a gloved hand and wore a sleeveless tank top. Her arms were thin and pale, like dried sticks. I forced myself not to look at them.
“So where do you want your dirt?”
“Here. Thanks, Mark.”
“What are you planting?”
“Roses. I know it will be too late to see any bloom this year, but I’m going to get some grafts from the nursery. If we have a warm autumn, I might get lucky.”
I spent two hours over there churning the dirt for her while she dug a shallow trench around the border of the lawn. Fortunately, there was little occasion to talk over the loud whirring of the machine. And when I was done, all I wanted to do was leave. But I couldn’t help but notice the shoddy job she was doing with the watering trench. I suspect she tried her hardest, but there was little strength in her limbs.
I moved next to her to ask if she needed anything else. I wanted to offer to dig a proper trench, but I couldn’t. Something inside me wouldn’t allow it. I swallowed a spiky ball of resentment. Even then, after all those years.
She crammed the ancient shovel into the ground and yanked it back with every bit of her strength. The handle snapped at the tongue and she fell back. On instinct and reflex, I grabbed her before she fell.
Her shock prevented her from crying out. I held her for a moment too long while registering my own shock. She felt so much lighter in my arms than she once had.
What the hell had she been doing out in LaLa Land? Starving herself?
I straightened and helped her stand. Her hair brushed past my face. I caught a whiff of her familiar scent—flowers and mint. My body responded on instinct, flooding with heat. She still used the same shampoo. Memories flashed through my thoughts: holding her in my arms, tasting her lips, pressing my body to hers.
The heat turned to anger at my own subconscious reaction. I released her as if she had burned me. Preparing to retreat across the street, I moved to the tilling machine and locked the blade.
“Heya, Jus, whatcha doin’?”
We both turned. A gorgeous blonde was peeking over the fence from the neighboring yard. She was young, in her early twenties, and had enough hair and enough chest for two women.
“The usual. Working on the garden. I got a huge help thanks to Mark, here,” she said coolly, as if the past moments hadn’t happened.
The young woman’s eyes assessed me and I nodded, sporting my best “charming guy” smile. Her shirt was cut low and it was hard to take my eyes off the stretch of fabric across her breasts. When I finally looked at her face again, she had a knowing smile. My grin widened.
“Mark, this is our neighbor, Chloë,” Justine said quickly, darting looks from one of us to the other. She cleared her throat and uttered the rest of the introduction as if from a great distance. “Chloë, this is Kathy’s brother.”
“The doctor?” Chloë immediately perked up. I got that a lot.