As daunting as it felt, she needed to seriously consider finding a support group. That was certainly more overwhelming than contacting a landscaper. How would she even know where to start? She needed to remind herself she was a strong, capable woman, or she once was, and she would be again.
As she struggled to find the courage to seek out a counselor, a memory came to her. It happened shortly after Jared’s services. Gennie Davis, a friend from college, had connected with Joan and offered condolences. Gennie had lost her husband two years earlier and had mentioned a counselor who had helped her deal with the loss and pain that followed Joe’s death. They’d gotten together, Gennie and the counselor, for a couple meetings before Gennie had transferred to a grief therapy group.
Unlike Jared, Joe had died of cancer after fighting the disease for several years. Jared’s death had come about suddenly and had been a complete shock. Joan barely had time to get to the hospital, following the ambulance, only to arrive and learn her husband had been declared dead. The shock of it, the suddenness, had hit her like running into a bulldozer. She’d been devastated. When she’d first heard the news, she’d been convinced there was some mistake; someone had gotten it wrong. Jared couldn’t be dead. Surely the medical team should be able to do something to bring him back.
Remembering that dreadful day sent Joan’s thoughts spiraling down a deep, dark hole. She had to shake herself to pull her mind back into the present. If she were to book an appointment with a counselor, Joan would need to relive all that again and she couldn’t do it, couldn’t go through the agony of that dreadful day one more time. Once had been bad enough.
She’d call a counselor later, Joan decided, another time when she was better able to deal with that pain. She had never been one to rush into things. She was methodical. Until then, she’d make the effort to get out more. When she started to feel more like herself again, she’d revisit the idea. It might take a while, but it was important that she be mentally ready to take the step that would help her move forward. That time wasn’t now. Or anywhere close to it.
* * *
—
Phil Harrison listened to the voice mail and couldn’t contain his smile. The only criteria the caller wanted was simple: He must love flowers. She sounded a bit distressed, as if this letter from the HOA had unsettled her.
He sat in his pickup and was ready to return the call, when another came in from his dad. Phil had taken over the family business a few years earlier when his father decided to retire. His dad had been shocked that Phil would give up a thriving law practice to mow lawns and weed flower beds.
It’d surprised Phil, too, but he’d badly needed the change, needed to get out of the office and the courtroom. As a kid, he’d hated working for his dad and did everything he could think to avoid yardwork. Then the accident had happened, and everything had changed. His entire world had imploded. Afterward, Phil felt the urge to get back to basics, close to the earth, to nature. The desire burned in him, and he started helping his father the way he never had as a youth. Digging into the earth, planting flowers and trees, bringing color and life into a world that had felt ugly and dark, revived him. Soon he was spending more time doing yardwork than he was in the office. It was about the same time that his father suffered a heart attack, and the doctors advised him to retire. Phil knew taking over the business was what he wanted, what he needed.
His dad kept his hand in the business, but most of his time was spent at the senior center with his friends. He’d taken up woodworking in his spare time and had become a rather good cook, much to Phil’s surprise.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey,” his father replied. “I got a call from the old lady Wilson. Do you have time to squeeze her in this afternoon? She needs her lawn fertilized.”
“I’ll make time, no problem.” Mrs. Wilson was one of his father’s friends from the senior center. While his dad might refer to Samantha Wilson as old, they were the same age.
“She seems to think I’ll be the one to stop by. That woman couldn’t be more blatant if she tried, making every excuse under the sun to spend time with me. I wouldn’t want to encourage anything like that.”
“You mean to say she’s sweet on you? Dad, go for it.”
His father chuckled. “If I want romance in my life, I’ll watch the Hallmark Channel.”
Phil grinned. Like him, Phil’s dad was a one-woman man.
* * *
—
Joan went about her day, checking the clock every now and again for the time. Her hair appointment was coming up that afternoon, followed by dinner with Nick. This was more to do in one day than she’d had scheduled in months. That encouraged her and convinced her she was making progress.
She was sitting in front of the latest jigsaw puzzle when her phone buzzed. Thinking it might be Nick, she answered without looking.
“Hello.” If it was Nick, she wouldn’t be overly disappointed if he needed to cancel. She’d keep her hair appointment, though.
“Is this Joan Sample?” a man with a deep, rich voice asked.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“I’m Phil Harrison. You left me a voice mail earlier today.”
Joan’s cheeks instantly filled with color. “I…I didn’t leave my number, how did you…” Unsettled, she left the rest unsaid.
“Your number showed up on my phone.”
“Of course.” How foolish of her to have forgotten about caller ID.
“I’m sorry to hear your HOA is giving you trouble.” He sounded sincere, kind.
“Yes, I fear my lawn has become something of a jungle.” She didn’t mention the condition of her flower beds, as that felt like a personal failure.
“I’m here to help.”
“I’ve never had a lawn service before. My husband always took care of such matters, but unfortunately, he died a few years back.” She swallowed tightly and recovered quickly. This man seemed to inspire confidence, his voice soothing and caring. “I have a lawn mower. It’s top of the line. Jared always insisted on buying the best.”
“We have our own equipment, but thank you. I’m sorry to hear about your husband. It’s hard, isn’t it?”
“Very.” Not wanting to discuss her grief, she quickly added, “My son was able to mow the yard a few times last year…” Joan kept speaking, knowing it wasn’t a good idea. Everyone knew not to give out personal information to a stranger, and here she was blurting out the details of her life.
“I’d be happy to stop by and give you a quote, if you’d like.”
“Yes, please, that would be appreciated.”
“Are you available later this afternoon?”
“Ah…” She stopped herself from mentioning that she would be away from the house. No need to set herself up for a burglary. “Tomorrow would be more convenient.”
“Sure thing. Let me check my schedule,” he said, and was silent for several seconds. “I have several commitments tomorrow, but I can come around six, if that isn’t too late.”
“That would be perfect.”
“Great, then I’ll see you at six tomorrow. May eighteenth.”