The aging, gargantuan beast had grown stubborn in his old age, refusing to budge, even for cars. Shifting into park, Colby removed him from the driveway.
“Stitch, you’re going to be a pancake if you don’t learn to scoot.” She deposited him on the porch of the small bungalow where she’d grown up. Quite a different neighborhood from where her half sister, Gentry, had been raised. Colby had never cared much for material things, but her mom liked to bring that disparity up . . . often.
“Mom?” From the so-called entry, Colby could see most of the cozy living room and dining room and a bit of the kitchen thanks to a renovation she’d underwritten several years ago for her mother. Almost everything had been replaced. Only the orange-and-brown patchwork afghan quilt her grandmother had made in the seventies and the “antique” secretary desk in the corner that had been handed down for two generations—its sole value being sentimental—remained as reminders of yesteryear. A quick scan proved the main area to be empty. She strode to her mom’s bedroom and knocked on the door. “Mom?”
No answer.
Walking to the rear of the home, she opened the French doors to the tiered deck—also a recent addition, courtesy of her checkbook. “Mom?”
“Over here!” Her mother dug her trowel into the dirt beside her, stood, and brushed off her knees. Unlike Colby, she was petite, with womanly curves that had always attracted men. At sixty, age-appropriate wrinkles collected around her eyes, forehead, and neck, yet she still looked vivacious thanks to her energetic cobalt-blue irises. Her mom reminded her of a rabbit, actually—twitchy and ever alert. Gesturing to a newly established garden, she asked, “What do you think?”
Colby’s heels sank into the damp ground as she crossed the yard. “Wow! When did you plant this?”
The plot itself looked to be at least fifteen feet long and ten feet wide. Neatly labeled mounded rows—lettuce, carrots, potatoes, long pole beans, and others—stretched from one side to the other.
“I’ve been working on this for two days.” Pride shone in her eyes as she tucked her graying blonde hair behind her ear and kissed Colby’s cheek. “If you stopped in more often, you’d know that, wouldn’t you?”
Colby let the lighthearted dig slide without mentioning that she usually stopped by at least twice a week. Maintaining a sense of humor about these things helped keep her sane. And despite the parrying, she and her mom loved each other deeply. “It’s very nice.”
“Maybe you can use some of these fresh vegetables at your restaurant later this summer. Farm-to-table is all the rage, you know.” An elfin smile popped into place. “My garden could be a footnote on your menu!”
“You never know.” Colby grinned. Her mom’s legendary history of starting projects without finishing them suggested it would lie fallow within the year. Cute, though, that she wanted to be part of Colby’s new venture. “So tell me, why’d you call me over today?”
Her mother’s hands flicked toward the garden in a gesture that basically said, “Duh.”
“Your garden?” Colby repressed the sigh pushing against her lungs. “What’s urgent about this?”
“How will I keep critters out if I don’t enclose it?” Her hands rested on her hips, brows pulled together in sincere concern. “I need a fence right away, or all my work will be for nothing.”
Oh, the melodrama. At thirty-one, Colby should have been used to her mother’s special brand of crazy. Sometimes it could be fun—whimsical excursions and projects that could entertain and educate, like the spontaneous day trip south, to Florence, to go on a dune buggy tour. Other times, when things weren’t going her mother’s way, not so fun.
Colby now knew where this conversation was headed: money.
Since childhood, she’d listened to her mom note the differences between the clothes, cars, and jewels her father bestowed on Jenna versus anything he’d ever given Colby’s mom. Although Colby had no influence over any of it, seeing her mother’s hurt and envy filled her with guilt whenever her father was generous with her. Whether or not with intention, her mother could always exploit that guilt.
But ever since Joe’s and Mark’s deaths, Colby’s patience with First World problems had grown thin. Her mother, however, was still one person she’d placate, because her mom was someone who’d loved her unconditionally.
“Well?” her mother asked.
“I agree. You need a fence.”
“I saw a beautiful home-garden fence in a magazine. It had a two-foot-high stone base and a picket-style gate.” Her mother smiled, erroneously sensing victory within her grasp. “Wouldn’t that go perfectly with the stone accent on the house?”
“Sounds very pretty, Mom.” And pricey, which was really the point. Not that her mom would admit it. And so the dance began. “However, that’d take a lot of time to build, so it wouldn’t protect this crop. Why not start with something less permanent and easy to install? Then, if you still love gardening at the end of the summer, you could explore the stone-and-picket option for next year.”
Her mother frowned. “It hurts my feelings when you undermine my enthusiasm.”
“I’m not undermining you. I’ll even take you to Home Depot and help you install a serviceable fence some night this week.” She raised her hands at her sides. “Truthfully, a stone fence will be costly. You can’t bring equipment back here without destroying that hedgerow, so masonry would have to be done by hand.”
Her mother waved dismissively. “If Jenna even thought about gardening, your father would have a massive garden and fence constructed in their yard.”
“Please, Mom. I can’t answer for Dad.” Her parents had now been divorced for almost three times as long as they’d been married. Not that that made a difference to her mother. She’d been hopelessly in love with and devoted to that man, and devastated when he’d left. Rather than mope, she’d donned an armor of righteous anger to shield her broken heart.
“I see. You’re just like him and your brother now. Tired of me.” Her mother’s eyes glistened. “None of you ever appreciate or understand me. You all can’t wait to get away from me.”
Colby knew those tears to be genuine. Perhaps her mom’s perceptions were distorted, but they were real to her. An important distinction Colby had come to understand after living with Mark’s illness. Unlike then, she’d never again underestimate the depth of another person’s sorrow.
She slung an arm around her mother’s shoulder. “I appreciate you. But you know I’m gearing up to open the restaurant and don’t have as much free time to drop in.”
“Fine.” Her mother huffed, squaring her shoulders. Colby stifled a smile. The woman really should’ve been an actress. “I ran into Julie Morgan the other day. Imagine my surprise to learn that you’d hired Alec. Once again, I’m the last to know anything.”
“Hunter hired Alec, so Julie might’ve even known before I did, Mom.”
“Humph. So now you know how it feels.” Her mother gave a sharp nod.