Unhinge

  Slowly, almost robotically, my arms wrapped around him. Wes calmed down instantly.

  I didn’t know what had just happened. It unnerved me. It terrified me.

  “We can make memories in this house. Memories that will last us until we die. Do you trust me?” Wes asked.

  I nodded, but it was a knee-jerk reaction.

  “We will. We will,” he repeated over and over into my hair. “That beautiful garden you want? I’ll call a gardener and have them start working on the backyard. We’ll make the room next to ours the nursery. Anything. Anything you want.”

  The promises continued, but my confidence that I knew my husband like the back of my hand was shaken. I had no idea what the hell just happened minutes ago and I had no idea how to make sure it never happened again.

  September 2013

  “Don’t break that! It’s fragile!”

  Wes glanced over at me. “It’s a flowerpot, Victoria. If I break it, we can go buy another one.”

  I bit down on my tongue. We? Why did he say “we” when we both knew it would be me to go buy another? That’s how it had been since we started construction on the house. I thought we would decide on details together, ranging from things as simple as knobs for the kitchen cabinets to the number of bookshelves he wanted in his office.

  I really thought this house would be our project. It was supposed to be our dream home, so why wasn’t he as invested in it as I was?

  That was the least of my problems, though. Wes and I used to crave our time, spend every possible moment together, but now there was this impatience about him. A stiff quality, as though he was counting down the hours until he could leave my side. I was quick to blame his workload and the stress that he put on his own shoulders.

  He told me it was because of work. A lot of hours. A heavier caseload. When I suggested that maybe he cut back, he gave me a dirty look and said: “How do you suppose I support this picture-perfect life you want?”

  The house was supposed to be for our family. At least, that’s what I thought.

  But finally, here he was, helping me with all the gardening supplies. It was the first time we’d been alone in a while and I didn’t want the time to turn sour.

  The backyard was nothing now, but I saw what it could be. In my mind I saw a brick path with flowers and neatly trimmed hedges lining it. The oak trees clustered at the very edge of the property would have patio chairs beneath them. But the best part was that it was in clear view of the cherry blossom tree. Right now it was in full bloom. The pale pink colors of the buds popped up in a sea of green. In the midst of a construction zone, it was a beautiful sight.

  I couldn’t wait until the gardener arrived.

  While I resented Wes for hardly participating in any of the house decisions, I happily jumped at the task of finding a gardener. There were many choices, but ultimately I settled on Renee Davery. Her business, Fairhaven, was a florist shop and landscaping business wrapped into one. Taylor once mentioned that Renee had the most beautiful floral arrangements.

  Wes gently placed the flowerpot underneath the cherry tree. He dusted his hands off and stood up. “I have to go,” he said. “What are you doing today?”

  “Probably work on the backyard with this Renee lady.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” I repeated.

  “All right. Love you.” He gave me an absentminded kiss on the cheek. Gone were the days where one goodbye kiss turned into two, then four.

  I watched him walk away. Five days ago we got into an awful fight. Wes came home later than usual. I ate dinner by myself. I called him and it went to voicemail. Every second he didn’t come home, I was seething inside. A hatred filled my heart. Black and heavy, it covered me. The emotion took me over and when Wes walked through the front door, I jumped out of my seat, demanding to know where he had been.

  We argued, but instead of me backing down, like I always do, I stood my ground. He screamed at me to leave him alone and when I didn’t he promptly turned right back around and left the house. He didn’t come back. The next day he came home and apologized. He told me that he had slept at his office. I didn’t know what to believe. It was the first time we’d ever gone to bed angry and apart.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath.

  When I opened my eyes again, I watched as a small woman walked around the side of the house with her hands filled with shovels and supplies. She moved forward like a woman on a mission. And when she reached me, she abruptly dropped all the supplies. I waited for her to look up and say hi, but she walked briskly back to her truck.

  I watched as she moved back and forth between her truck and the backyard. Normally I was very quiet and contained but I wanted to talk to her and introduce myself.

  I cleared my throat and she finally lifted her head. Her head was covered in a baseball cap, with the bill shading the upper portion of her face. Her skin was caramel from being out in the sun, her black hair pulled back in a ponytail. I knew without seeing all of her face that it was makeup-free. She seemed the polar opposite of the ladies I spent most of my time with. For that reason alone I was intrigued.

  “Hello,” I blurted out.

  She lifted her hat and gave me a quick once-over. “Hi.”

  “I know you’re the new gardener but I thought I should introduce myself.” I approached her as she knelt beside a flower bed.

  “I know who you are,” she cut in. She plucked her gloves off and dropped them onto her jean-clad thigh. She smiled and shook my hand. “Mrs. Donovan.”

  I nodded slowly and gestured toward the derelict, vast space behind me. “Looks like you have a lot of work cut out for you.”

  “It’s not as bad as you think. It seems like a lot but I think I can get the flowers planted and shrubs trimmed within a week.”

  My eyes widened. “That’s impressive.”

  She shrugged. “It’s my job, Mrs. Donovan.”

  “You don’t have to call me that.” Confusion clouded her gaze. “Mrs. Donovan,” I supplied. “My name is Victoria.”

  “Victoria it is then.” She looked at the boxes of flowers lined up neatly next to her.

  “So here are some flowers that I think you would love.”

  I glanced down at them. I had no clue what their names were; I just saw a wild array of bright colors. I didn’t know where to start. “What are those?”

  Renee shielded her eyes and looked to where I pointed. “Orchids,” she replied.

  I kneeled next to her. She seemed taken off guard. “I don’t like those.”

  “I don’t care too much for them either,” she confessed with a small smile. She held her hand out to me and even though we had shaken hands just moments ago, this handshake was offered with meaning, as if I had earned her respect. “I’m Renee.”

  Up close, I could see the small bump on the bridge of her nose. Wrinkles surrounded her coffee-brown eyes and appeared on the edge of her lips whenever she smiled. She seemed practical and levelheaded—like the kind of person who’d say what she needed to say and go on her way.

  “You don’t have to stay in this sweltering heat. I have things covered.” To back up her words, she bent her head and got to work.

  If I was honest with myself, there wasn’t much I had to do. I looked over my shoulder at my work-in-progress house. The sound of hammering and sawing rang in my ears. Just like my future garden, I saw my future house: The back porch would have a brown wicker furniture set. The French doors would have lace curtains billowing in the wind. And a basket of petunias would hang from the wooden beams extended above the deck.

  The truth was, I was lonely, and even though Renee wasn’t exactly the most talkative of people, I liked the vibe she put off.

  “I…I can help you,” I said. She lifted her head, her eyes sharp like a cat. “If you want me to,” I added quietly.

  Renee hesitated. Finally, she motioned a gloved hand in the direction of her truck. “Go get some gloves and I’ll teach you
a thing or two.”

  I followed her directions and found an old pair sitting out on the back of the truck bed. Was I that transparent? Did I have a blinker above my head that said, Look at me! I need a friend!

  I must have because she gave me menial tasks, like helping her pull out weeds along the oak trees and around the neighbor’s fence. The time passed in silence. Renee seemed to go into a zone when she worked. Her lips spread into a thin line and her eyebrows formed a tight V. But she did hum, very quietly to herself. So quietly that I couldn’t hear her unless I was right next to her.

  When I finished watering the flowers I stepped back and looked them over. “I love those lavender-blue flowers,” I said, pointing to my right.

  Renee lifted her head for only a second. “Those are catmint.”

  “Catmint,” I repeated blankly.

  “Funny name, right? The nepetalactone in the plant lures cats in, giving them a temporary bliss. Think of it as cat weed.”

  I smiled. “Impressive.” I scanned the rest of the flowers and pointed in front of me at the flowers with petals that were golden at the tips, with the color slowly bleeding into red to the head of the flower. “What about those?”

  “Blanket flowers,” Renee threw out within seconds. “They’re also called gaillardia. They’re pretty now, but in a few weeks, when they’re in their prime, they’ll take your breath away.”

  For the next hour I pointed to this flower and that. Renee rattled off the details so easily. I smirked and nodded approvingly. “You know quite a lot about flowers.”

  “It’s in my blood. I lived in my backyard while my mom was always tending to her garden.”

  “What’s your favorite flower?”

  Renee was bent over yellow tulips. At my question she leaned back and stared at the ground thoughtfully, lost in her own world. “Hyacinth,” she announced and reached out in front of her to brush a single finger against a pale pink petal. “I think they’re elegant and uplifting—a garden must-have. Every time I look at them they instantly calm me.”

  The two of us didn’t say much after that. We slipped into a comfortable silence and eventually, Renee resumed her humming. It wasn’t annoying or loud. It was very soft and soothing to me, making the tension from my shoulders fade away.

  “Do you hum a lot?”

  Renee jolted, as if she had forgotten I was there. “Sorry. I didn’t know I was doing it.”

  “It doesn’t bother me.”

  Renee shrugged and continued to pull out weeds. “It’s something my mom does all the time. I guess it kind of rubbed off on me when I’m lost in my own world or whenever I’m stressed. It relaxes me.”

  I nodded. I thought there was some merit to what she said.

  She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “You should try it sometime. It works. Trust me.”

  “In that case I will be humming twenty-four/seven.”

  The words came out of me so quick. I covered my mouth. It was the first time I had ever told anyone that maybe my life wasn’t as perfect as it appeared. There was no way to take them back.

  Renee didn’t lean forward, with a hungry look in her eyes for gossip. She just smiled. “In this backyard, there should be no stress. Not a care in the world. This is all yours.”

  “My haven.”

  “Exactly.” She gave me a warm smile. “Now if you want, you can help me water the rest of the plants.”

  October 2013

  I slammed the car door and hurried up the pathway. I was late. About a good fifteen minutes. Part of me wasn’t sure Wes was going to be able to make it. As usual, he was held up at the office. We were supposed to meet the contractor working on our house. Wes kept reassuring me that things were progressing, but I was skeptical. I swear, every time it felt like we were taking two steps forward we ended up taking four steps back.

  Coming here was the last thing I wanted. Like the little bitch she was, Auntie Flo had arrived this morning. She was never a welcome guest and especially not this time. Seeing red on the toilet paper was like a giant fuck-you from my body, saying, Oh, hey, about that baby…It isn’t happening. Better luck next month!

  I had to admit, though, that in the past few months, the house had really progressed. It had taken on the appearance of a European-style home, with bay windows flanking the front door and a portico supported by two white columns. The exterior was covered in a light gray stucco.

  A worker was laying the bricks down for the front sidewalk. The double front doors were open. A few workers walked in and out carrying supplies. Sounds of drills and hammers traveled behind them and into the open air.

  I scanned the area, looking for the head contractor. Wes said his name was Sinclair Montgomery. Over breakfast Wes had told me, “He’s a nice man. I think you’ll like him.”

  “Doubtful,” I’d replied.

  Even though I had no clue who I was looking for, it didn’t take a genius to figure out which one was Sinclair.

  A tall man stood next to the front door, deep in discussion with a construction worker. He was dressed in black slacks and white dress shirt with the collar unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up, revealing tan forearms. Stitched on the right side of his shirt, in block letters, was MONTGOMERY CONSTRUCTION.

  His hair was coal black, cut short on the sides and styled on top. His skin was the color of honey. He was tall—even taller than Wes. I imagined I would come up to his chest. And such a big chest at that, muscled and well defined enough to make his biceps strain against his shirt.

  The man standing there was the last thing I expected. He didn’t look like he built houses for a living. He looked like he graced the world with his mouthwatering smile and had scores of women dropping at his feet. He didn’t have to work for anything because everything was given to him by a single crook of his finger.

  I cleared my throat loudly and stepped forward. His head snapped in my direction. “Are you Mr. Montgomery?”

  “Call me Sinclair.” He held out a large hand, rough and calloused. A hand that swallowed mine whole. If he tightened his grip even a little he could have easily crushed every bone in my hand.

  Regardless of my judgments, my manners kicked in. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I lost track of time. I was—”

  “No worries. You’re fine.” He looked behind me. “Believe me, you’re not late. I’ve had clients who have been almost two hours late. Now that’s late.” He peered over my shoulder. “Is your husband coming?”

  “He’ll be here soon. I’ll catch him up to speed.”

  Sinclair took a step back and gestured to the giant monstrosity looming above us. “Do you see an improvement?”

  “Improvement is an understatement. It looks practically done.”

  “Not quite. But we’re definitely getting there.”

  “How about we take a look around? I’m sure you’ve done this multiple times already, but at least now we can go through a detailed list of what’s been done and what still needs to be done.”

  We stepped through the doors and entered a construction zone. Drywall was up. It didn’t seem like any progress had happened since the last time. The wrought-iron banister was being installed. We were so close to being done. “It looks amazing.”

  We went from room to room. Sinclair went through a detailed list of everything and the longer he talked, the more I found myself staring at him. All of my frustrations that I carried with me into the house seemed to fall off my shoulders. He had a natural way of speaking that instantly put me at ease. When I asked a question, he looked at me. Not through me. Directly at me.

  We stepped into what I referred to as the baby’s room. I made a direct beeline to the window. Brand-new windows had just been installed. With my arms crossed I peered into my backyard. I smiled. The yard was beautiful, looking more and more like the perfect haven I’d always dreamed of. I wished I could take credit for it, but it was Renee’s hard work. Along the fence was landscaping, with a few flowers planted here and there.

&
nbsp; “It’s a pretty view.”

  I turned and saw Sinclair leaning against the door. It sounded like he was referring to the garden but his eyes were on me. My heart quickened but I didn’t look away like I probably should have. Instead, I held his gaze. There was a faint stirring in me. Warning bells went off in my head.

  I gave him a brief smile and returned my attention to the backyard. “My big plans for the backyard are finally starting to take shape.”

  He came up beside me. “What are your ‘big plans’?”

  I crossed my arms and tilted my head to the side, staring thoughtfully out the window. And told him everything. All the decisions that I normally kept to myself, I revealed to him. By the time I was done talking, I was slightly out of breath, shocked at how easily and willingly I’d spoken.

  Sinclair whistled. “You have it all planned out.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sinclair staring at me. Heat rose to my cheeks and I tried to pretend that it was nothing. “The house is going to be beautiful, but this garden? This garden is going to be beautiful. No offense.”

  He smiled. “None taken.”

  Silence circled around us. Sinclair didn’t move from my side. He gazed out the window. “You know,” he said slowly, “I didn’t peg you for a garden-type person.”

  “What did you peg me as?”

  “A pool person.”

  My eyes widened and my body shifted, just a small bit, in his direction. “A pool person?”

  He nodded and continued to stare outside, knowing full well that he had my attention. “The ritzy person who wants an immaculate yard and an inground pool with a grotto. They’ll spend all this money, but they’ll never use it.”

  I nodded. “Ah, I understand.”

  He looked skeptical. “Do you really?”

  Leaning in slightly, I said, “The person you just described is my mom.”

  He laughed and I just smiled.

  “Have you lived in Falls Church long?” he asked.

  “Born and raised here.” I glanced at him. “You?”