“That it is.” Rocking back on her heels, Brynn smiled. “Your elephant ear bed makes me crazy with envy.”
Georgia reddened and the size of her grin tugged at Brynn’s heart. “Nice of you to notice. I planted those bulbs when my Harold—bless his soul—was off fighting in the South Pacific. They were so exotic. Made me feel closer to him.”
“What a nice story. Knowing the history of how those gorgeous plants came to be makes me love them even more.” Not to mention, wish she had more happy memories of her own. Mack’s death and resulting scandals had soiled everything they’d shared to the point Brynn often felt, aside from Cayden and the baby girl about to be born, she’d have been better off never knowing Mack at all. “Your husband did come home? From the war?”
“Oh, yes. Harold finished pharmacy school and ran the corner drugstore for nearly forty years. His oddball habits drove me crazy, but I still miss him.” Eyes welling, Georgia pressed her hands to her heart.
Which made Brynn teary, too. “I—I’m so sorry I haven’t taken the time to get to know you sooner. Working on the house and caring for my son—well, not that any of that is a good excuse, but I’ve been busy.”
Georgia waved off the apology. “Aren’t we all? But now that we are acquainted, no more avoiding me behind your rosebushes.”
Brynn gasped. All this time, Georgia had known?
“I might be old,” she said with a sly grin, “but I’m not blind. Whether you like it or not, the rumor mill in this town has been churning up a storm about you. I know your whole story and it breaks my heart. Mack might’ve had his wild streaks, but at heart, he was a good boy. Losing him didn’t just hurt you, but all of us.”
Chest aching, Brynn managed, “I—I’m not sure what to say.”
“No words necessary.” After taking the spade from Brynn’s hands, Georgia helped herself to the flat of marigolds, planting one before Brynn could even open her mouth. “Unless, of course, you want to invite me to this big birthday party I’ve heard your sweet Cayden is having.”
* * *
“WHAT’RE YOU WEARING?”
Late Saturday morning, Tristan looked up from the spy novel he’d been trying to lose himself in to check if his mom had developed spots or a fever. Nope, just a still-flushed complexion from her latest stint on the treadmill. “Why would you ask that?”
“You are planning on going to Brynn’s son’s party, aren’t you? You built the afternoon’s main attraction—other than the birthday boy himself.”
Tristan reread his latest page.
“Ignore me all you want, but not only do I think you should go, but you should wear something nice. I heard through the garden club grapevine that there will be no less than six eligible women in attendance.”
He whistled. “You want me to start something with all of them or just a few?”
“Don’t be fresh.” She took her two-pound hand weights from the coffee table. “Wouldn’t kill you to get out of here—did my heart good, seeing you help Brynn and her boy.”
Weary of his mom’s meddling, he marked his page and tossed his book to the sofa. “I’m mowing the lawn.”
“Hasn’t it only been a few days since you last did it?”
“Yeah, but it’s the only place I can go without you yapping at me.” He kissed her cheek. “I appreciate you caring—really, I do. But I’m good. Getting better every day.”
“Then prove it by for once, shaving, then putting on a pair of khakis and a nice shirt. Since I already bought a gift for Cayden, you can just add your name to my box. Not that I was invited, but I thought you might be.”
Laughing, he said, “You’ve covered all your bases...”
“Which reminds me—rumor has it you also volunteered to help little Cayden with his hitting. Want to tell me about that?”
Tristan winced. “Nope.”
His cell rang. Andrea. Was Jack okay?
“Who is it?” his mom asked.
Already on the way to the screened back porch, he told her before answering, hating the pain in his stomach that always accompanied just hearing his ex’s voice.
“Hey,” he answered, arms crossed, leaning against a wood column. “Everything all right with Jack?”
“Great.” Though the reception was crap, her tone struck him as breezy. As if she hadn’t a care in the world. Why did she get to be happy, yet he’d basically lost everything? “Only we’re on a day cruise, and I guess being on the water reminded Jack of his dad. He wants to talk to you.”
“Cool.” Tristan’s heart soared. His biggest fear wasn’t dying in a third-world country, but having his own son forget him. The fact that Jack remembered the times he and Tristan had spent on the water meant a lot.
“Dad?”
Tristan’s eyes welled and he wasn’t sure he could speak past the knot in his throat. “Hey, buddy! Hear you’re spending a day in my favorite place.”
“We’re on the Pacific and this boat is pretty big, but not even kinda the size of the ships you took me on. It doesn’t have awesome guns, either.”
Tristan laughed through silent tears. “Did you at least bring your own weapon in case pirates attack?”
“I have my best squirt pistol, but Mom said I couldn’t wear my battle helmet because I might not see good enough and fall off the boat.”
“That makes sense.” Wiping his cheeks with his wrist, Tristan laughed and nodded, picturing his son on the bow, fending off imaginary invaders.
“Well, I gotta go. Peter bought me food to feed the seagulls.”
“Be careful,” Tristan said, resenting the hell out of Andrea’s new husband for assuming his role. Although with Tristan having been gone three-quarters of the last year they’d been married, how much of an active part in Jack’s life had he really played? “They’ve got sharp beaks.”
Jack laughed. “I will, Dad! Love you!”
“Love you, too, bud.” Though his son had broken the connection, Tristan held his cell like a life raft, with the backs of his hands he took another swipe at his eyes.
“You okay?” His mom stepped up behind him, placing her comforting hand between his shoulder blades.
Though he was anything but okay, for her sake, he nodded. “I’m good. Sounds like he’s gonna have a great day.”
“How about you?”
“What do you mean?” Still unable to face anyone, he stared out at the lush backyard, focusing on the sweet-smelling honeysuckle winding up his mom’s pagoda. The quick-growing plant already needed a trim.
“I mean, are you going to Cayden’s party? Or you gonna sit around here and mope?”
“Mom,” he managed, aching to his core. “I know you have the best intentions, but please stay out of this.”
“But—”
Busting open the screen door with the heel of his hand, he strode across the backyard, intent on taking a run. Didn’t matter that he only wore leather flip-flops. What mattered was running as fast and far as possible from his problems—which now happened to include his well-meaning, yet nonetheless interfering, mom.
* * *
SINCE CAYDEN’S DAD HAD BEEN gone, and he didn’t make the baseball team, Cayden hadn’t been sure he’d ever be happy again. But then Mr. Tristan built his pirate ship fort and now all his friends were over and brought presents