Donovan flashes his smooth smile. “Well, yes. But there’s more to it, too. There’s an efficiency to what I do that I find gratifying. I look at a complicated maze that at first glance seems impossible to escape, and then I find the fastest way to break free of its barriers.”
“So you’re used to it, then,” I say.
“Used to…?”
“Making the impossible, possible.” I smile. “Anyway, if my presence is any indication, it seems like you’re doing more hiring than firing around here. And getting the grounds in order is a wonderful thing to do for the residents.”
Donovan lifts one eyebrow, leans toward me, and says, “There you go with that optimism again.”
I laugh. “I guess you can take the gardener out of the garden, but you can’t take the garden out of the gardener.”
Donovan nods toward the home. “Are you heading out for the day? Can I walk with you?”
We walk inside together. It’s only half past four, but the residents are already making their slow, silent way into the dining room for dinner. The air is warm and thick with that starchy, bland, antiseptic amalgam of scents that makes my temples throb.
In the lobby, Donovan stops. “I should give you my number. That way, if you think of anything else that would improve the property, you can text me.”
After I put his number in my phone, we part—he turns down a hallway, and Gully and I cross through the lobby. I’m pulling open the front door when I hear my name and turn to see Jill walking toward me at her usual brisk pace, her heels clicking ominously against the marble. I have the disquieting thought that she is being propelled by anger.
“You had a chat with Donovan,” she says, stopping in front of me and crossing her arms over her chest.
I have a vision of Jill in her office, watching Donovan on the terrace as he watches me in the garden. It’s no wonder I felt eyes on me.
“I think he wanted to check on my progress,” I tell her.
Jill eyes me. “Is that all?”
I nod.
There is a long, tense beat while Jill scowls and drums her nails against her biceps. “Well,” she says finally in a low, bitter voice. “I’m sure you think he’s very charming. I used to think so, too.” Suddenly she leans toward me and whispers, her voice an urgent hiss, “Just be careful, Lucy.” The words are spoken so quickly, so quietly, that they seem to evaporate in the air. I stare at Jill, thinking of my mother.Be careful, Lucy.A tremor of foreboding moves through me.
“What do you mean?” I ask, lowering my voice. Noreen, I’m aware, is openly staring at us from her station behind the reception desk, her face taut with the effort of eavesdropping.
Jill hesitates. Then she shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says at normal volume. “Forget it. Is the restoration going okay? Do you have everything you need?”
I feel like I have whiplash. I also sense that no amount of prodding will get Jill to release whatever secret she is holding.
“Actually I did have a question,” I say. “I’m starting work on the woodland garden tomorrow. The plants in there are overcrowded, and I’ll need to remove some. What would you like me to do with them?”
“Just have Vince carry them down to the compost pile,” Jill says with a shrug.
I frown. “I’d rather find them new homes. I’ll transfer them into pots and take them with me, if that’s okay with you.”
“Fine,” Jill says. “Anything else?”
I think for a moment. While I have her attention, it can’t hurt to ask….
“Have you given any thought to Marjorie’s request to put tables and chairs out on the terrace again? Now that the paths are clear, they’re safe for walking. Putting tables on the terrace might inspire more residents to come outside, even if only to enjoy the view…” I trail off as I watch Jill’s expression tighten.
“That’s not a good idea.”
“But… can I ask why?”
Jill sighs. “Lucy, I told you this already. You must leave the residents, and what is best for them, up to me.Yourjob is gardening. Only that.”
I clench my jaw. How can she not see that the gardens and the residents are inextricably linked? I think of Adele, and the way she seemed to blossom, the very cells in her body rearranging, as she spent time outside this morning. The way Marjorie brightened when she spoke of how beautiful the property had once been. Eventhe crotchety Mr. Fitz seems to reluctantly crave a few stolen moments outside.
“But why restore the grounds,” I say, “if not to—”
