Adult Assembly Required, page 19
When she came out of her room, she nearly ran into Bob, who was on his way back from the kitchen carrying a tray and hurrying to return to the game. She opened his bedroom door for him, and the two of them sat on the sofa and gazed at the score.
“I was out of the room for four minutes,” said Bob. “How did I miss two home runs?”
“They’ll replay it,” said Laura confidently. She reached for a chip and dipped it, looking at the score. “I’m amazed the score is this close, the Phillies have been having a terrible season.” She laughed, and popped the chip into her mouth. “The second game against the Rays was mortifying, but that’s what happens when you play small ball against a big team, right?”
Bob gazed at her silently, trying to dampen the glow of joy he felt, the relief of knowing he’d reached solid ground and found something they could really talk about. Sometimes, on dates, he’d hear himself rattling on about this game or that team and notice the light fading from the eyes of the woman across the table. He’d panic and try to change the subject, but before long they’d both falter into silence and he’d panic all over again and find himself talking about plants, which was even worse. There had been many late nights when he’d come home alone and rehashed all the things he could have said, the interesting topics he could have reached for, if only he’d been able to stop his skittish brain from reaching for familiar subjects. But Laura liked plants, and she liked sports, and something about her smile told him maybe she liked him, too.
The game continued, and Laura and Bob argued about plays, second-guessed the referees, and generally enjoyed every minute of the remaining innings. Every time one of them jumped up to curse at the screen or yell at a play, they’d sit down a little closer to the other, and before long both of them were very aware they were essentially pressed up together on one end of the couch. During pauses in play, Laura surreptitiously checked out Bob’s room and was surprised; it was tidy and organized, with a large drafting table against one wall. She wanted to ask about it, but waited until the game was over. Then they both sat back and grinned at each other.
“Why do you have a drafting table?” asked Laura, getting up and wandering over to it. Her thigh still felt warm where it had pressed against his, but she focused instead on the thin pieces of paper attached to the table. Looking closely, she realized they were plans of some kind.
Bob stood and came over. “I use it for planning gardens,” he said. “I found it on the street ages ago and dragged it home.” He gestured. “That’s actually this garden. I was thinking of adding a water feature.” He looked at her. “I’m really lucky, Maggie doesn’t mind if I try new things here, so I get to test out ideas.”
Laura leaned over the plans, noting the mix of symmetry and wilderness, the little symbols becoming clear: circles of all kinds for trees, tiny bushes and pathways, indications of light and shade. “You don’t do this on your computer?”
“Yes,” said Bob, “I do that sometimes, but I like to start by drawing. It gives me time to think about it, if you know what I mean.”
Laura nodded, then noticed something else sticking out from under the plan. It was a printout from a website, and as she pulled it out, she read the header, Cornell Graduate Program in Public Garden Leadership, and turned to look at Bob. “Oh, is this the grad school thing you were talking about yesterday?”
He nodded, and reached for the paper. “Yeah . . .” He tailed off.
Laura frowned at him. “When do you need to apply?”
Bob turned away. “I don’t think I’m going to. It’s a lot of work.”
“The program?”
He shook his head. “No, the application. The program is amazing.”
“What is it about?” asked Laura. “I mean, what is public garden leadership?”
Bob dropped the papers onto the table, next to his computer. “It’s what it sounds like. It’s for people who want to run parks or botanical gardens, things like that.”
Laura picked up the papers again and sat back down on the sofa. Bob seemed vaguely uncomfortable talking about this and she wanted to know why. “And that’s what you want to do?”
Bob was silent, then took his spot at the far end of the sofa. “It’s not very interesting.”
Laura shook her head. “I think it is, tell me about it.” When he paused, she added, “Bob, anything’s interesting when it’s explained by someone who cares about it. I know absolutely nothing about public garden leadership, but I honestly want to hear, so spill it.” He still looked uncertain, so she leaned back and folded her feet up under her. “There isn’t another game on, and I have no plans, so there’s no point trying to avoid it.”
Bob sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He looked down at his hands. “I have this dumb idea to open public vegetable gardens all over the city. Like, a small public park you can dig and weed and plant in, if you want to.” His voice got more confident. “I got the idea from the vegetable course, with Edward. People want to interact with nature, but it seems overwhelming, especially if you live in a city, and there aren’t a lot of opportunities to show how simple it can be.” He looked up at Laura, and his eyes were bright with enthusiasm. “It used to be that most towns had some kind of public allotments, open spaces people could rent and grow vegetables on . . . and there were victory gardens during the war . . . and people could take classes and do projects . . . kids, of course, but also adults . . . regular gardens and maybe greenhouses . . . or you could come in and sit and enjoy the plants and get fresh produce or flowers. Anything extra would be donated to a food bank. There are community gardens in some places already, but it would be different, you wouldn’t be responsible for any of it, it would be open for everyone.” Laura nodded, understanding what he meant and smiling at how excited he was getting. “You wouldn’t need to make some big commitment, you could wander in and pull weeds for an hour if you felt like it.” He faltered, and said, “Like I said, it’s kind of a dumb idea.”
“Why?” said Laura forcefully. “I think it’s a great idea! In New York the public parks are filled with people all the time, Central Park, Riverside Park . . . they’re one of the best things about the city.”
“Yeah,” said Bob, “and LA has several fantastic public parks for hiking and exploring, and obviously the botanical gardens and other wonderful arboretums, but these would be much smaller, and dotted all over the place.” He smiled crookedly at her. “You don’t think it’s stupid?”
“Not at all. I think it’s fantastic.” She read over the information. “So, why don’t you go do this program?” She looked at him. “It’s only a year, and you have all the requirements.” She read further. “Presumably Edward would write you a letter of recommendation.” She frowned. “What’s stopping you?”
Bob shrugged. “I . . . I’d have to write a proposal, and pull together a résumé.”
Laura nodded. “Sure, but that’s no big deal.”
“I’d have to apply for financial aid.”
“So?” said Laura.
“And I would lose all my customers.”
Laura shrugged. “Which would matter if you wanted to keep doing what you’re doing, but it sounds like you want to do something different.”
“And I’d have to move to Ithaca for a year.” He shivered thinking about it.
Laura laughed. “I get that. It’s unbelievably cold in the winter there, but it would make a change from all this lovely sunshine.”
Bob smiled. “I guess I can stand anything for a year.”
“Of course,” she replied. “Hey, you want help with the application? I had a part-time student job in the admissions office at school, forms and applications hold no fear for me.” She leaned forward and waved the papers at Bob. “Honestly, Bob, it’s easy. You’re super qualified, and I’ll help you with the financial aid forms, I just went through the whole process myself.”
“Maybe,” he said, feeling shy again. Why did Laura have to be so considerate, on top of being so attractive? There was something about the planes of her face, the way the light hit her jaw, her eyelashes, her voice . . . He could even overlook the fact that she was a Yankees fan, because they were her home team, after all. You couldn’t help where you were born.
As he was about to speak again, there was a sudden jolt in the room, and pencils started rolling off the drafting table. In the distance they heard china falling and breaking, and as the shaking in the room increased, Daisy started barking, echoed by Jasper somewhere else in the house. Outside, in chorus, a variety of car alarms went off, going in and out of time with each other.
Laura realized what was happening and reached out for Bob, who was reaching out for her. They gripped each other silently as the earthquake rocked the room, causing books to tumble from the bedside table and the lamp in the ceiling to swing. With a final, hard judder it stopped, and Bob let go of Laura’s arm.
“Are you OK?” He looked at her eyes, which were still very wide. “That was a pretty good one, but not too close . . . maybe 4.0?” He stood up. “I’m going to check on the others.”
“That was my first earthquake . . .” she said, laughing shakily. “It wasn’t like I expected . . . the room actually moved.” She stood, but wobbled a little. He took her arm again, and smiled at her.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to them.” They could hear voices in the hall: Maggie, Asher, and Libby. Bob went to open the door, and found Maggie right outside.
“Bob,” she said, breathlessly. “We’ve got a problem in the garden. You’d better come and see.”
TWENTY-SIX
When they all walked out into the garden and saw that a section of wall had collapsed on the vegetable garden, taking the rose-covered arch with it, Laura heard Bob swear under his breath. Not angrily. Sadly.
“It’s kind of incredible,” said Libby, who had been consulting his phone, “that the wall fell at all, because that was not a big earthquake.”
“It felt big to me,” said Laura, who was still a little bit thrown. Weirdly, she wasn’t anywhere near as discombobulated as she had been in the truck. Mind you, earthquakes had a certain novelty value, whereas the danger of cars felt painfully familiar.
Libby looked up. “It was a 4.2, which is minor.”
Bob opened the gate of the vegetable garden and headed toward his tomato bed, which resembled the aftermath of a pretty serious food fight. “I think the tomatoes might be done for.” He stared at the wall, the trellis, and the massacred roses.
“Poor Cécile,” Bob said softly. He stepped forward and tried to move the trellis, sighing and picking bricks from between the branches.
“You named the roses?” asked Laura, coming over to help.
“That’s their variety,” he replied, “Cécile Brünner. She’s been around for a long time, and she’s pretty indestructible.” He bent down to look at the roots, then looked up at Laura and grinned. “If we can get the trellis back up, I think the old lady might make it.”
Laura stepped next to him and reached for the trellis.
“Careful,” he said. “She’s not completely thornless.”
“Who is?” muttered Laura, carefully placing her hands to avoid the worst of the spiky branches, and closing one eye against a trail of roses that threatened to blind her. “This thing is heavier than I thought.”
Bob nodded. “I’m glad you’re here to help with it, I’m not sure I could manage on my own.” He looked at her, noticing her hair was filling with petals, the loosened pink curves settling in her curls.
They got the trellis upright, and Laura held it while Bob ran to get wire. The fence around the garden was still totally solid, and in a few minute the trellis was firmly attached again. Bob pulled clippers from his pocket and lopped the damaged branches, ending up with an enormous armful of pink blooms.
“I think you deserve these,” he said, “for surviving your first earthquake and saving my favorite roses.”
Laura smiled easily. “Thanks. Not sure I have a big enough vase, but I like the thought.”
They smiled at each other until they heard a cough, and remembered they weren’t alone.
They turned to see Maggie, Asher, and Libby staring at them.
Maggie was smiling. “Bob, once you guys have finished posing for the top of a wedding cake, will you check the wall to make sure it’s not going to collapse any further? We’ll call someone tomorrow.”
Laura and Bob turned to each other and realized they were still standing under the arch, dotted with a confetti of petals and leaves, Laura’s arms filled with the blooms Bob had handed her. They both blushed and nodded, and Maggie headed into the house, followed by Libby mumbling something about checking on Anna. There was a pause, then Asher changed the subject.
“Where’s Polly?” he said to Laura. “She was here earlier, right?”
“She said she was going to meet some friends,” replied Laura. “Not sure where, though.”
“Do you guys need any help out here?” asked Asher.
Bob looked around the garden. “Nah, I think we can manage.” He looked at Laura, who had already put down the roses and started picking bricks out of the tomatoes. Asher nodded and went back inside the house, and Bob stood for a minute or two surveying the damage.
Laura straightened and looked at him. “So, bricks out, what then?”
“Triage the plants and go from there.”
Laura nodded, and turned back to the bricks. This she could do. Bob watched her for a little while, then went to get some stakes and ties. As he sorted through the shed, he was surprised to find himself whistling.
* * *
• • •
When Asher went back to the kitchen, he found Maggie angrily sweeping the floor. He was perplexed by his mom’s reaction; she’d been through many earthquakes, some quite serious. He remembered half a dozen quakes and power outages in his childhood, including one that had turned into an overnight pillow fort and flashlight fest, a definite five-star memory. He’d always found earthquakes slightly exhilarating, a reminder of how easily Mother Nature could shrug him off the planet like a dog shaking off the rain, complete with ear-flapping sound effects (at least in his childhood head).
“Mom, can I help?” he asked, looking around. The damage wasn’t too bad: A couple of mugs had fallen from the sink counter, a single picture lay shattered on the floor. He bent to pick it up, carefully pulling the larger shards free of the frame. It was a shot of him and his sister taken when they were very young, her face serious, her yellow turtleneck making her resemble the world’s smallest executive on a casual Friday. His own face was a complete contrast, his eyes dancing, his face alive with laughter, his tiny chest thrust out to show off his new T-shirt, purple with a yellow star. He knew it was one of his mother’s favorite photos; maybe that explained her body language.
“We can get this reframed,” Asher said to her, holding it up. “The picture itself is totally fine.”
His mom leaned on her broom and looked over. “Oh?” she said. “Great.” She hadn’t noticed the picture, clearly.
“Are you OK?” he asked her. “You seem . . .”
“Not OK?” she replied, exhaling with a puff. “I’m fine, a little shaken maybe. Fixing the wall is going to be a pain in the ass, but whatever.”
The front door banged and Polly flew into the room breathlessly. “Everyone OK?” she panted. “I came as fast as I could.” Her hair was in braids but she’d lost one of the elastics, and the braid was half-undone.
Asher and Maggie stared at her, and nodded.
“No need to panic,” said Maggie mildly. “We’re all good.” She pulled open a nearby kitchen drawer and hunted for a rubber band. She handed it to Polly, who secured the braid and smiled her thanks.
“The garden wall fell down,” said Asher, “so I’m not sure if Bob would say we’re good. His tomatoes got completely squashed.” He noticed how flushed she was—was it possible she had literally run all the way home? Where had she been? Maybe she’d been with some guy who’d made her look so pink, and it had nothing to do with coming home. He looked away. She was too pretty to look at; it was overwhelming.
Polly’s eyes widened. “Really? We should totally make spaghetti sauce!” She laughed. “What a pity he wasn’t growing avocadoes, we could have had guacamole.”
“Or lemons,” said Asher. “We could have had lemonade.”
Polly stopped laughing and frowned at him. “Lemons grow on trees. The wall wouldn’t have squashed them.”
He frowned back. “The lemons might have been shaken out of the tree. Plus,” he added, “avocadoes also grow on trees.”
“They do?”
“How can you be a native Californian and not know that?”
Maggie had been looking back and forth, and now she interrupted. “Guys, the tomatoes were crushed into the ground, so I doubt they’re edible.” She leaned the broom against the sink, and walked toward the garden doors. “However, it’s a valid point, so I’m going to go see if anything was salvageable.” She left, muttering, “You guys continue bickering if you must.”
“I wasn’t bickering,” said Polly to her back.
“Nor was I,” added Asher, affronted. He turned to look at Polly. “Although, really, what did you think avocadoes grew on, bushes?”
She tossed her head airily. “No, I assumed they grew on vines, like bunches of grapes. I’m an actress, not a farmer.”
“I thought you worked at the bookstore?” asked Asher.
“I do,” replied Polly. “I can do more than one thing at a time.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” said Asher, starting to feel the conversation sliding away from him. So pretty, but so cranky.
