A Couple Years of Gardening (Chapter 4) (standard:romance, 2080 words) [4/10] show all parts
Author: kmr412002	Added: Nov 11 2006	Views/Reads: 2678/1868	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The courtship and marriage of detective as told by his wife.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


That's when I come face to face with Kit. I have a feeling he saw me way
before I saw him. “Nina, you look great.” 

“It's good to see you, Kit,” I lie. His beard has grayed and his face is
framed with silver strands, but that stare still unravels a little part 
of me. 

Kate stomps off without saying a word. 

“What's with her?” 

I look at him astounded that he could ask such a stupid question.
Eventually, we make the small talk former couples make, and I mentally 
congratulate myself on how well I am handling this, when he smiles 
conspiratorially at me. “Are you fucking him?” 

I jerk my head back and give him a puzzled look. “Who?” 

“That guy,” he nods back over to Jack who apparently just walked back
through the door into the bar.  And I also notice Kate approaching him. 


I smirk, “Always the charmer, Kit. That's not your business, not
anymore.” 

I take a step back and he advances. He thinks this is funny. I can tell
I really amuse him and I hate him as crisply and clearly as I hated him 
ten years ago. He says, “That's what you'd like to think.” 

That's when Jack appears. He takes my hand and says to me, “There, you
are. I was wondering where you went.”  Jack hurriedly introduces 
himself and before Kit can say another word, I am in Jack's arms on the 
dance floor. 

Jack is not the best dancer, but I am unnerved at how protected I feel.
I am trying not to give into it and say, “I was fine, Jack.” 

He smiles a little. “I know that.” 

“What did Kate tell you?” 

“Just that it was a messy breakup. That girl was Pete's daughter.  I
wanted to make sure she got a cab okay.” 

I aim my gaze over his shoulder. Don't look in his eyes, Nina. If you
need to remember why, just think about that piano playing asshole who 
--.” 

The time we spend on the dance floor seems to last forever and seems to
end too soon at the same time.  I'm trying hard to be here for this 
moment, not even think about Kit.  Finally, he says, “He was a fool, 
Nina.” 

I stop moving to the music, and say, “Maybe he wasn't the fool.” 

He smiles but his eyes hold just gentle sadness, and I feel I'm going to
be swept away with the moment. I ask quickly, “Megan, how is she?” 

He shrugs and asks, “Are you ready to go?” 

I give him a puzzled look. 

“You said I could walk you back to your hotel.” 

We walk for awhile in silence.  We stop at a bridge and Jack points out
to another bridge in the distance, “Over there, we found her over 
there. She was the same age as one of Pete's daughters. I had never 
seen a dead child before. Pete must have known right away she was dead, 
but I ran down the bank and picked her up yelling like some fucking 
idiot, ‘Stay with me, sweetheart.  Stay with me.'  Pete was yelling at 
me that it was too late.” 

That case was difficult for each of them. Jack drank to get through it.
Pete was diabetic and with a family didn't have that option. He retired 
soon after. 

Jack says, “I don't know how many times he had me over for dinner with
his family. When I went up to the 114th I just let him slip out my 
life. Maybe it was too hard, maybe --.” 

“Jack, what your partner did. That wasn't your fault.” 

“Yea?  Then why haven't I been able to sleep since this happened?  All I
think about is the fact that I have spent my life just letting people 
pass through my life; hell, hoping they'll pass through. Tell me, Nina, 
what kind of person does that make me?” 

“Jack, I don't know what to say.” 

The wind suddenly whips up plowing into the river in front of us. I
impulsively step back and stare at Jack's back. I finally slip my arm 
around his and start walking. 

When we reach the front of my hotel, I turn to face him and he looks
away. His eyes are red from crying, drinking or both. I wonder where 
he'll go when he leaves me. Then before I can think about it, I say, 
“Jack, look at me.” 

Instead, he looks across the street when he takes my hand and says,
“What we're thinking about, it's not such a good idea.  I don't want 
mess up what we got.  It means more to me than you know.” 

“You're right.  It's not such a good idea.” 

We back away from each other until just our fingertips are touching.  He
says my name that way, and I know something inside of my heart is 
shifting around and I really don't care.  In one swift beautiful 
moment, he grabs my wrists, pulls me toward him and he kisses me. 

I stare into his eyes and I wonder how this same person can deal with
the some of the worst this world has to offer. I take his hand as we go 
into the hotel and I don't look back until we reach my room. He sits on 
the bed looking up at me and places his hands on my hips. He says, “You 
don't have to do this.” 

“I know if something terrible like this had happened to me, you would be
here for me, one way or another. 

He smiles sadly, “Yea, Nina, one way or the other.” 

I let him slowly pull me toward him as he leans back toward the bed.  
He kisses my throat and he unbuttons my blouse. When I come to rest on 
the bed, he curls up beside me as a child would, and lays his head 
between my breasts as if listening to my heartbeat. I hold him there, 
as he lets out a sigh. “How could someone be in a place to do that to 
himself?” 

“I don't know.” 

He murmurs, “I'm tired, Nina, so tired.” 

I permit myself to stroke his head until I'm sure he is asleep. Then I
permit myself to just feel. 

I hear my cell ringing somewhere in the distance. As I awake, I rehearse
my excuse for what I imagined is a missed meeting, “I was comforting a 
friend last night, and before I knew it . . .” 

Actually it is Jack's phone and when he answers it, I take the
opportunity to slip in the bathroom and put my clothes on. When I come 
out, Jack is putting his tie on. He says, “I believe I actually slept 
last night.” 

“I don't see how you could through your snoring.” 

He laughs, “I've got to go to work. When do you have to be back?” 

“I take a flight back today.” 

“I'll call --.” 

I put my hands to my ears and make a face like someone just asked me to
eat dirt. I groan, “Please don't say it.” 

He stops tugging on the knot in his tie and smiles. “What? Nina, when
have we not said that to each other?  Maybe this time, it sounds so 
--.” 

“Unbelievable?” 

He sits beside me and looks at me. “No, it sounds so right.” 

I look down. It's hard to be a glib smartass when he looks at me that
way. 

On the plane back to Atlanta, I think about the summers I spent in my
grandmother's home. At the beginning of every visit, she ceremoniously 
brought out a box to the kitchen table. It contained a beautiful quilt 
that smelled of cedar and age. My grandma told me the story of how her 
grandmother, as a slave, made this quilt. Then she warned me not to 
touch it or else. She closed the lid and that was that, until I turned 
ten. One boring rainy afternoon, I found myself opening the forbidden 
box and placing my cheek against the delicious softness and just 
smelling. The next thing I know my grandmother is behind me and I know 
I'm dead. She picks me up by my overall strap and spanks my bottom with 
a flyswatter. I let a few obligatory tears flow, and as she vows to 
beat the Jew out of me next time, I vow I'll visit that quilt every 
summer. 

I decide I'll treat that night with Jack like that quilt. I cherish it
every once and a while, but I'll put back in the closet.  I'm a 
grownup.  I can do that. 


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