“That’s Jackson’s daughter and grandson,” Leonard said. His head tilted back and Harriett followed suit. Someone standing at the roof deck railing quickly took a step back.
“Oh dear, I think Jackson may be avoiding me,” Harriett said.
“On the contrary,” Leonard replied. “He was the one who recommended you as a horticulturalist. He’s probably on his way down to say hello.”
And there was Jackson when they rounded the corner, waiting for them in the yard, dressed in the clothes of a larger man. During his weeks in the hospital, he seemed to have shriveled. His skin, once as brown and taut as a sausage, looked loose and faded. Behind him, several giant bushes erupted out of the soil, their branches ablaze with bright yellow blooms.
“Hello, Harriett,” he said, tipping his cowboy hat from a careful distance. “You’re looking—uh—anyways, it’s good to see you.”
“Jackson,” she replied as her eyes feasted on what little was left of him. “I hear you spent some time in the hospital. How nice to see that you’re on the mend.”
“Yes, it was a close call, but I’m feeling much better, thank you. And thanks so much for coming out to the Pointe today.” His voice quivered as he spoke. He was terrified of her now, and she relished it. Creatures like Jackson only understood power and fear. She’d finally gotten through to him. “I know Leonard’s told you about our Scotch broom infestation.” He presented the bushes beside him like a television spokesmodel. “I’m sorry to say that it may have started right here on my property. I feel terrible about it, and I’m willing to spend whatever it takes to deal with the problem.”
Harriett suspected his checkbook was in his back pocket. “That’s awfully kind of you, Jackson, but I’ll charge you the same fees I’d charge anyone else.”
Jackson smiled with relief, and a thought seemed to pop into his head. “Oh, and you’ll be glad to know that next Memorial Day, we’re gonna open up the roof deck to all our guests. Make it less of a pecker party up there.”
“After all these years, you’ve finally decided to break with tradition?” Harriett asked.
“Yes, it’s about time,” Jackson replied.
“Well, it’s certainly very optimistic of you,” Harriett said. “To assume that there will be a next year.”
A faint buzzing could be heard from the bushes, and Jackson glanced nervously over his shoulder. A pair of bees emerged and circled lazily overhead.
“If y’all will excuse me, I really should get back indoors.”
“Thank you, Jackson,” Leonard said. “I’ll be in touch about the fees later.”
“I enjoyed that encounter far more than I expected,” Harriett announced cheerfully as they headed for the sidewalk.
“You obviously can’t stand him,” Leonard noted. “May I ask why?”
“I used to loathe Jackson,” Harriett said. “Now I know such feelings are pointless. I don’t hate anyone anymore, Mr. Shaw. I simply think Jackson Dunn is a blight on humanity.”
As they reached the sidewalk, Harriett came to a stop and took a moment to admire the view. On Memorial Day, every lawn on the Pointe had been a smooth patch of green. Now there were at least four bright yellow bushes growing on every lot.
“The Scotch broom certainly has taken root,” Harriett said.
“As I’m sure you know, it’s an invasive species, and it spreads incredibly fast. I don’t remember a single bush on the Pointe this spring. Now look. The gardeners spend half their day uprooting plants, and the next morning, there are more. No one wanted to use herbicides with so many children out here this summer, so the Scotch broom got its way for the season.”