Must Love Flowers(74)

Roy continued to glare at the pair as if weighing his options. After a minute, he snorted loudly and shook his head as though admitting defeat. “Go ahead, then, wear yourselves out.”

“Thank you, Roy,” Joan said generously.

Roy returned to the house, slamming the screen door behind him. The wire mesh was torn and flapped with the force of it.

While Phil surveyed the yard to remove trash and empty beer bottles, Joan started in on clearing the flower bed, an ambitious project for sure. After years of neglect, it was difficult to tell where the lawn stopped and the beds started.

“You need any help?” he asked.

Before she could answer, the front door opened and an elderly Black man stepped outside. He stood on the porch and removed his hat, holding it politely in front of him.

“Roy won’t say it, so I will. He appreciates what you’re doing. He knows it’s not for him but for Maggie, and that’s why he’s letting you stay.” He nodded once, replaced his baseball cap, and returned to the house.

“That was nice,” Joan said.

Phil agreed. He stood beside Joan and noticed a smudge of dirt on her cheek. She must have touched her face after she set the tray of flowers on the porch step. Not giving it much thought, he removed his glove and brushed the offending earth aside.

Joan blinked with surprise.

“You had some dirt on your face.”

Embarrassed, Joan moved her hand to her cheek and brushed again in case any remained. When she noticed him staring at her she asked, “Did I miss some?”

“No,” he said, and looked away as if self-conscious at being caught watching her.

Grinning, Joan elbowed him playfully in the ribs. “Quit your jabbering and get to work.”

Chuckling to himself, Phil headed for the lawn mower.



* * *



—

When Maggie returned from work, she noticed Phil’s truck in front of the house. She parked behind him and saw Phil and Joan diligently working in the front yard.

“Joan? Phil?” They looked up as she approached, both grinning.

Roy Herbert stood behind the torn screen door, cursing up a storm.

“Dad,” Maggie shouted. “Keep your mouth shut.”

Her father’s eyes widened with shock before he glared at her as if to say she was a traitor to all that was right and good. Maggie ignored him, as she so often needed to if she intended on keeping her sanity.

“What are you two doing?” Maggie asked her friends, although it was obvious they’d been working in the yard for hours. Phil had mowed what lawn there was, while Joan tackled what had once been flower beds. The wheelbarrow was filled to capacity with clippings and weeds. The sun-parched lawn had been enhanced with what looked like a green spray.

“What do you think we’re doing?” Joan asked, leaning on a rake. “If you’re going to get that loan, we need to get this house into shape.”

“I’ve got the lawn mowed,” Phil said, “and spread seed, which is why the lawn has this green tinge. I was about to water it. If the seeds take root, your dad will need to water it every morning and night.”

“I’m clearing the flower beds,” Joan said, and motioned with her gloved hands toward the semicircle she’d shaped on both sides of the porch. From the way the sweat dampened her bangs, she had labored long and hard. Flowers had always been Joan’s weakness. To her friend’s way of thinking, no home was complete without flower beds. She’d once told Maggie that flowers said everything about a home and its occupants.

“Where did you get the hose?” Maggie asked, knowing full well her father didn’t own one.

Phil answered her. “It was one I had lying around, taking up space.”

Maggie was overwhelmed. Putting the yard in order was a small fraction of the work that needed to be done, but it was a start. She was deeply touched and appreciative, even if her father wasn’t.

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve such wonderful friends,” she whispered, near tears.

Joan set aside the rake and hugged Maggie. “We love you,” she whispered. “If I’d had a daughter, I would want her to be just like you.”

That was all Maggie needed to let the tears flow. It’d been a hellish week with her dad. She missed Nick and lived in fear that everything she had sacrificed would be in vain if her father gave in to the lure of alcohol.

“Thank you,” she whispered back, hardly able to get the words out.



* * *



—

Maggie had Saturday off. She woke to the sound of her father moaning, leaning over the toilet, emptying everything that remained in his stomach. The space at the rehab center would be available soon, thankfully. When she went to him, he cursed and told her to leave him be. As she had in the past, she ignored him, got a fresh washcloth, and gave it to him to wash his face.

An hour later he was sitting in front of the television, looking pale and out of sorts. Maggie had gotten him to eat a slice of toast and a banana. His appetite had been nonexistent since he was completely off alcohol. It was a triumph that he ate both.

“Time to water the lawn,” she told him, as she turned off the television.

He looked at her as if she was insane. “Do what?”

She wasn’t putting up with his attitude or arguing. “My friends planted a lawn, and it needs to be watered. I’m doing everything I can to keep us afloat, Dad, and I refuse to do it alone. I need you to pitch in. You aren’t helpless.”