“Are you sure this isn’t a bad time?” he asked.
“Yes,” she told him. “Please, come in.”
As he walked past her, she read his reaction in his stiffened spine. When she turned back toward her living room, she realized why. Almost every inch of flat surface was claimed by pots, each holding a plant of a unique size, color, and shape. Only the coffee table had been put to a different use. It held the remains of Harriett’s last meal, as well as a large cannister that had once been filled with marijuana. Beside it lay empty rolling paper packets.
“I’ve taken up gardening,” Harriett said.
“So it seems,” Clarke replied in a soothing voice, as though she might be dimwitted or dangerous.
“The south-facing windows make the living room an ideal greenhouse.” For some reason she couldn’t quite fathom, she needed him to understand.
“Do you know what all of these plants are?”
The question threw her. It was something one might ask a child. “Of course,” Harriett replied self-consciously. “I bought or gathered the seeds myself. By April, the plants will be ready for the garden.”
“Ah yes, the garden,” he said with a sigh. “I drive past on my way to work every day.”
“It’s much more interesting on the inside. I’ll show you around, and then we can chat,” Harriett offered. “The garden really is wonderful this time of year.”
The idea didn’t appear to appeal to him. “Are you certain we’ll have a place to sit?”
It was another strange question. “Of course,” she said.
Before the attorney had arrived, she’d been lying on a patch of bare dirt in the center of the garden. She’d cleared the ground herself the previous day. Soon, she’d build a compost heap on that spot. The imprint of her naked body remained in the dirt. Around it, a fairy circle of thirteen white mushrooms had sprung up.
“Look at these beauties!” Harriett squatted down as if to greet old friends face-to-face. “So that’s what I felt growing beneath me. Chlorophyllum molybdites. Highly poisonous. My mother was an avid mushroom hunter. She used to call it ‘the vomiter.’”
“Careful,” said the attorney, reaching out as though to drag her back.
“Why?” Harriett laughed and looked up. “I don’t plan to eat them.”
Her gaiety drained away as she watched the man’s eyes roam her garden. What he saw was wild and dangerous. She rose to her feet and guided him to two chairs that stood facing each other on the garden’s last remaining slab of concrete. As she sat down across from the lawyer, she caught a glimpse of her dirty feet and hair-covered legs and wished she could tuck them beneath her. When she spoke, she did her best to sound sane.
“So, Mr. Clarke. What does my ex want from me now?”
Clarke opened his briefcase and pulled out a document. “Your husband is offering to purchase this house and the land on which it stands. Given the current state of the property, I’d say his offer is quite generous.”
Harriett shook her head. The suggestion was silly. “This is my house,” she said. “I gave Chase first choice of the properties. His lady friend decided she wanted the apartment in Brooklyn. So I took the house. It was all decided months ago. As far as I’m concerned, the arrangement has worked out beautifully.”
“Apparently he’s received a few phone calls from concerned neighbors. I’ve witnessed the evolution of your garden myself, and I’m afraid I’ve also heard the chatter about town. Everyone in Mattauk is talking about the weeds.”
“What weeds?” Harriett asked.
Temporarily speechless, Clarke sat back in his chair. Then he pulled in a deep breath, apparently determined to see his mission through. “I don’t ordinarily make recommendations of this sort, Ms. Osborne, but in this case, I feel the need to. You are clearly struggling to take care of your property. And when I tried to reach you at work, I was informed that you’ve been taking some time off. Take the money your husband has offered, Ms. Osborne. It’s a substantial sum. Buy yourself an apartment and hire someone to help you. You’ll be able to live comfortably for the rest of your life.”