Читать книгу Secrets At the Cove - Honey Perkel - Страница 6

The rich, dark soil felt moist between her fingers. Iris Grayson never liked to wear heavy garden gloves when she worked in her garden; she wanted, needed, to feel the “life” in the earth. And life was everything. With a trowel, she dug a small hole and planted the Chinese pink dianthus along the border of the driveway and up the front walk, pressing the dirt carefully and compactly around each plant in turn.

With the back of her hand, she brushed a fallen strand of frizzy gray hair and tucked it up under her large-brimmed sun hat. Then Iris settled back on her heels to admire the profusion of color before her. From behind, she could hear the crashing of the ocean. Sea and earth. Mind and body. Life.

The petunias and golden calendulas had all been planted. Designed to grow as a bright display of color beside the scarlet red geraniums and sunny marigolds. Delicate white candytuft nudged coarse green junipers, adding heavy contrast against the light. The blooms’ bright faces looked straight up into the morning sun, filling the cool air with pungent, sweet perfume. A big fat bumble bee settled on the center of a white oleander bloom. Its low hum was comforting.

Iris’ features puckered with delight as she admired her work thus far. The splendor of her garden gave her such pleasure. Year after year, Iris replanted the same purple and pink petunias, yellow marigolds, and tall, proud magenta snapdragons. It gave her peace to know her garden remained in perfect order. A part of her world that would never cause her pain or dessert her. Iris’ flowers had become her constant companions. Her friends. Her family. They didn’t disappoint her. They didn’t abandon her. They were always there to comfort her without question or doubt.

It was not something she had to do. That was the strange thing about living in this enchanting little beach town. No matter if she worked in her yard or not, watered the roots of her flowering blooms or not, the beautiful blossoms never died. Oh, an occasional weed or deadhead snuck in from time to time, but somehow Seaside gardens just seemed to take care of themselves. No, it was not something she had to do. Working in her garden was something Iris needed to do.

From early morning until sunset she potted, sprayed, moved plants, and tilled the soil. Though the garden would remain magnificent without her love and attention, it was therapy for her soul.

As her trowel plunged into the sandy black soil once again, Iris heard the shrill ring of the telephone inside her house. Standing, she stretched her long, arthritic legs and wiped the loose dirt from her hands.

She entered the front door and made her way through the dark and dusty clutter of her house. Felines eyed her sleepily from their perches atop deep-cushioned hassocks, the backs of sofas, the tops of bookshelves, and dining room chairs. Toms. Queens. Kittens. All eleven of them.

“Good morning, boys and girls,” she greeted them. Sadie and Bessie mewed. Or was it Tommy and Boris? Or Kit?

“Who’s calling us, Samuel?” Iris didn’t really expect Samuel, her husband, to give her an answer as he’d been dead for ten years. However, it was nice to think she wasn’t alone.

“Aunt Iris, it’s Scott. How are you?” It was him. Her beloved boy. Smiling at the sound of his voice, she clutched the telephone receiver.

“Mom said to be sure to call you. I’m coming into town at the end of the week,” she heard him say.

It took a few moments for Iris’ mind to focus on the words. “You’re coming to Seaside?” she asked. Her heart swelled with happiness.

“Yes. On Friday. I have some extra vacation time and decided to drive down to the coast. Seattle is a scorcher.”

“Yes, of course,” Iris responded. “It’s much cooler here.” She was having trouble breathing.

The sound of Scott’s voice did that.

“How is Elizabeth?”

Iris paused. “She’s fine, Scott. She’ll be so happy to see you.”

“I can’t wait to see her.” Elizabeth was the real reason he was coming to the coast, of course. Iris knew he wasn’t coming to see her. But it didn’t matter. He was coming.

She hesitated. “How is your mother?” It was the polite thing to do. To ask about his mother. A tabby jumped up onto her lap with one easy spring of his hind legs.

“Mom is fine. You know her, hobbling around on that broken leg. She said she hasn’t heard from you for ages. You haven’t answered her e-mails.”

Scott spoke as though he wasn’t aware of the fact his mother and aunt were estranged. He didn’t know, of course.

Iris didn’t know Laura had broken her leg. She knew nothing about her sister’s daily life. Nor did she need to. The one thing she did know was that Laura had become a monster to her, and ultimately the two sisters had become strangers. It was a long time ago, yet she was reminded of it every day.

“No. I’ve been terribly busy,” Iris told the young man.

“That’s what I told Mom. ‘It’s summer.’ ”

Yes, Iris thought. It was summer and her garden needed her; it was the only thing needing her these days.

“Well, I’ll see you Friday,” Scott said. “Oh, and don’t tell Elizabeth I’m coming, Aunt Iris. I want to surprise her.”

“You can trust me to keep a secret.” Iris told him. Keeping secrets was what she did best, wasn’t it? Secrets. Lies. Perhaps for the rest of her life.

“I’ll have the guest room ready for you, my dear.”

“Thanks. I love you, Aunt Iris. See you soon.” The telephone suddenly went dead. The cat jumped off her lap.

“I love you, too,” Iris spoke into the empty receiver. There was no one to hear her words, though it didn’t matter. She just needed to say them.

Scott was so alive, so filled with energy. This beautiful young man had always been a light in her otherwise lonely and tortured life. He was coming at the end of the week. And thank God he wasn’t bringing his mother with him.

With uneven steps, she made her way back through the house and out to where her garden waited. The blooms waved to her in the warm morning breeze, greeting her, bobbing their heads in their singsong way. It was truly music to her.

Iris began to water the impatiens, pansies, and deep green-striped hostas. She must hurry now with her tasks, she realized. Soon she would be meeting the ladies for lunch at Annie Rose’s. How could Tuesdays come around so quickly?