Page 20 of Edge of Ruin (The Edge Trilogy #3)

Chapter Thirteen

Jack

I patted the earth down after setting out the last seedling and rose to my feet. “There you go,” I said. “Now we just watch, and hope.”

Vivi’s smile made me feel so strange and good. Charged with energy.

“Would you show me your other flowers?” she asked, hesitantly. “Margaret told me they were beautiful.”

“Sure.” I brushed earth off my hands, looked at them in a moment of doubt. I wanted to hold her hand, but it didn’t seem right, with all that dirt.

She resolved my dilemma by grabbing my hand herself.

We set out toward the river, through a clearing on the hillside that glowed with wildflowers lit from the side by the setting sun.

They seemed to dance and flicker like flames.

She hardly seemed real, wafting next to me in that floating skirt.

Something from a dream. So pretty, she hurt my eyes, with that fiery hair streaming, cheeks so pink, lips so red.

Eyes that bright, glowing gray. Already, I felt the hot tingle of a brand-new erection coming on.

We hadn’t bothered to shower, just pulled on our clothing. Vivi seemed urgent about the planting, as if something bad would happen if we lost any time, and I had seen no reason not to indulge her.

I kept ogling, marveling. It was official. My brain was slop. I had never even dreamed of sex like that.

After we got past the scary stuff, of course. My free hand clenched at the thought of her evil ex. How a man could hurt any woman was beyond me, let alone one like Vivi. So beautiful and scrappy and strong.

She’d probably scared the shit out of the cowardly bastard. Given him a huge inferiority complex so that the dickhead felt compelled to use the one advantage he had: his greater size. That was a classic. The standard playbook of asshole men.

Not that it was an excuse. He would pay. I intended to see to the matter personally.

Vivi stared up at the trees, the rays of sunlight slanting through them. I gazed hungrily at the perfect curve of her arched neck, the angle of her jaw.

Then we stepped out of the pine thicket, into another world.

The floor of the little valley was covered with spires, buds, blossoms of wildly contrasting colors. Edna yelped and readied herself to plunge into a bank of Kniphofia.

Vivi caught her collar and held her fast. “No way, girl. You stay right here. Sit!”

A branch snapped in the forest, and Edna twisted out of Vivi’s grasp and bounded off into the woods to investigate.

“Come out into the field,” I offered. “I’ll show you around.”

I led her out into the field, between the beds, and pointed.

“These are Kniphofia, otherwise known as red hot pokers. The Lilium auratum on the other side are almost ready. Down there are Oriental poppies, and Anthoxanthum odoratum, which is a type of ornamental grass. There’s some Centaurea cyanus and Stachys byzantina on that rise over there.

Bachelor’s buttons and lamb’s ears, in common English.

And see those white and blue ones? Campanula aurita.

Bellflowers. And columbine, at the far end. ”

She looked enchanted. “Who taught you to grow flowers?”

I hesitated, and then just owned up. “My uncle Freddy,” I admitted. “I lived with him for a while. Until I was fourteen. He was heavy into organic gardening.”

“He grew flowers, too?”

“You could say that,” I answered.

She lifted an eyebrow. “What do you mean? He did or he didn’t.”

“Uncle Freddy specialized in cannabis. Various strains of specialty marijuana. Very profitable for him, for a while. It was a different era.”

“Oh.” Vivi looked startled, but not unduly so.

“The principles are the same,” I said. “He loved plants. He knew how to give them what they needed.”

“Oh,” she said again.

“I prefer flowers myself,” I went on. “More color. Less stress.”

“Is your uncle still ... um, never mind.”

“It’s okay. I doubt if he’s still in business.

It’s a very different game, now that it’s legal.

And he had to leave the country one night twenty-some years ago.

Haven’t seen him since. Don’t even know if he’s still alive.

He’d be over seventy by now.” I kept my gaze averted and stroked a Campanula aurita bud.

They were getting ready to bloom at any minute.

I always liked that moment of suspense, leading up to the big explosion.

“That was when you were fourteen, you say?”

“I’m thirty-seven now,” I said. “That would make it twenty-three years ago.”

“Were you there when he left? Was it a drug bust?”

My discomfort surged up. “Yeah.”

“How awful,” she said. “What happened to you afterward?”

I walked into an aisle between two rows of fluttering poppies, turning my back to her. “Nothing happened to me,” I said.

“Did he just vanish?” she persisted, following me.

“I’m fine now. Let’s leave it.”

“Excuse me,” she said. “Never mind. I know it’s none of my business.”

Fuck. I felt like shit, but I did not want to talk about it. I was dick-for-brains stupid for bringing it up and ruining our excellent mood.

A distressed yelping came from the trees. Vivi picked her way hastily through the flower beds toward the pine thicket. I caught up with her as she plunged into the trees. Her dog was whining and pawing anxiously at her muzzle.

Vivi grabbed her collar and crouched down, holding the trembling dog still. “Easy, girl,” she soothed. “Oh, God. Oh, no.”

Porcupine quills stuck out of Edna’s nose and jaw, like long, crazy whiskers.

I crouched down and took the dog’s shivering head in my hands, examining it. “There are only twelve,” I said. “I’ve seen worse.”

Vivi bit her lip, searching through Edna’s coat for more quills.

“Let’s go to the house,” I suggested. “I’ve got scissors. Pliers.”

“I don’t want to bother you with this,” she murmured, not meeting my eyes. “I’ve got pliers in my jewelry toolbox. I’ll deal with it.”

I gave her a horrified look. “Get real.”

Edna slunk between them, tail down, through the woods as they went back toward the house. Our camaraderie, that perfect elusive glow of joy, was gone.

It was so elusive. Such a fucking mystery. I wished I knew how to hang on to it.

Once at the house, I led her and her dog into my front room. I got the scissors and the pliers out and kneeled down beside them on the floor. “Hold her,” I said.

Vivi held her dog firmly as I snipped off the ends of the quills. Edna made high-pitched whining noises in the back of her throat.

“Why are you doing that?” she asked. “What’s the point of it?”

“I’ve been told that if you trim the end of the quills, the vacuum inside collapses and the barbs should let go more easily,” I explained. “Theoretically, at least. I haven’t tested the theory personally.”

Vivi blinked, and swallowed. “Oh,” she whispered.

We powered through the painful job. It didn’t really take all that long to pull out the quills, but it felt like forever. Vivi winced with each shrill yelp and jerk, although her low voice never stopped murmuring low encouragement.

I tried to be brisk and matter-of-fact, but by the time we were done, Jesus.

I sagged back against the side of my sofa, limp as a wet rag.

Inflicting pain on an innocent animal was fucking horrible, whether it was for the animal’s own good or not.

Thank God I worked with plants. I needed a drink after that ordeal.

Edna curled up in Vivi’s lap, still trembling. Vivi was bent over her, her face hidden against the dog’s silky brown shoulder.

Leaving me all alone, with memories flooding back, weirdly sharp and clear. Taking over my whole goddamn mind. I couldn’t stop seeing it. Hearing it in my mind’s eye. That June night when a wild-eyed Uncle Freddy had slapped me on the shoulder.

“Sorry, kid, but I’ve got to run. They got Pete, and Pete’s such an airhead, he’ll give me up for sure. I gotta leave the country.”

I remember my stomach heaving. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not gonna tell you where. It’s safer that way. Here.” He thrust a handful of limp, grimy bills into my grubby, nerveless hand. “Take this. I wish it was more, but it’s all I can spare.”

“Can’t I come with you?” I asked.

“I wish you could, Jackie, but you don’t have a passport. Shit, I don’t even think you have a birth certificate. I’ll be an outlaw, see? I can’t have a kid. Keep your head low and your mouth shut, okay?”

“Okay,” I said dully, pocketing the money.

“We shoulda drilled for this, but it was going so well. I got sloppy.” Freddy gripped my skinny shoulders in his big, work-stained hands.

“Lemme give you some advice. Don’t mix it up with the police, the social workers.

Hit the road. Go out and seek your fortune.

You can do better for yourself outside the system. ”

“Like you did?” I said bitterly.

“Hey, don’t hold this against me. Come on, chin up. You’re, what, sixteen? Seventeen? You’ll be fine. You’ll land on your feet.”

“Fourteen,” I corrected him, my voice toneless.

“Fourteen? Jesus, kid. I thought you were older.” Freddy tugged on his beard, looking distressed that I was not older. “Tavia’s number is on the fridge, okay? And your mom—where is your mom, again?”

“The ashram. In India,” I reminded him.

“Oh, yeah. The ashram. Damn. I guess Tavia is your best bet, kid. Oh, hey. You could always call Mrs. Margaret Moffat. Your mom and Tavia and I stayed with her one summer when we were kids, in Silverfish. Dad was working the carnival, and Mom had to go into the TB hospital, so she took us in for a couple of months. Nice lady. Baked great cookies. Call her if you get in a tight spot. But try Tavia first.”

I stared at my feet, mouth trembling. Uncle Freddy tousled my hair. “Sorry, Jackie. But you know how it is.”

“Yeah,” I said. I knew exactly how it was. I knew better than anyone.

And after a flurry of packing and a rough, sweaty hug, I had stood in the driveway and watched Freddy’s taillights disappear into the dark.