A little later I’m tackling the overgrown shrub with the pruning shears, the one I already half cut back the day before yesterday. The smell of damp earth hangs in the air, clouds drag themselves heavily across the sky. But I barely notice as I shorten one shrub after another, stuff the clippings into sacks and work my way deeper and deeper into the wild garden. The ground beneath my feet is laced with roots, my back aches, but I keep going until my fingers can no longer hold the shears.
Sweat runs down the back of my neck; with dirt-smeared fingers I push a strand of hair off my forehead. Above me the leaves of the old apple tree rustle in the wind. It is the only sound I hear besides my exhausted panting as I straighten up for a moment and let my gaze wander over the wild green.
I can already sense it, but will Jaden do the same?
The moss between the paving stones still has to be removed, the lawn mowed, the beds laid out and the lavender planted. There’s no way I can get everything done today – after all, I still have to go to work later and prove to Dr. Franks what I’m capable of – but I should get as far as possible. I work as long as I can.
Tomorrow I’ll come back, just like the day after tomorrow, next week, next month.
Jaden will see the jungle turn into a real garden. Something that is an unattainable illusion for him right now will become reality.
A ladybird crawls across my hand. I smile, take a sip of water and turn back to the stubborn hedge.
There is still a long way to go. For the garden, for Jaden and for me, I know that. But there is something inside me that is growing, with every root I dig up, every branch I cut, every nettle I tear out.
Minute by minute I pull up weeds, heave overfull sacks of clippings into the van, stack rotten branches. My clothes cling to my body, sweat has soaked the fabric through. Every muscle aches, feels weak, and again and again the world spins around me when I rise up from my crouch.
But I can’t help it. This has to work, and the faster the garden is finished, the better Jaden’s chances are. If he backs down and really is sick.
‘Step by step,’ I remind myself.
First the garden; everything starts with that.
I keep going, losing all sense of time. At first I barely feel it, then more and more clearly: drops on my shoulders, my head, my arms. I look up at the sky. It’s gray, but not dark enough for the shower to turn into a thunderstorm.
More drops land on my arms, cool and soft. The wetness feels good. It washes the dirt from my skin and cools my flushed cheeks.
The rain grows heavier, falling first in fine streams, then in thick drops. Within minutes I’m soaked. My hair sticks to my forehead, mud splashes onto my shoes.
Undeterred, I keep going. For a chance you can see, touch, smell, and taste.
For Jaden.
Chapter Forty-Eight
JADEN
‘Nyla?’ The emergency coordinator turns to his computer with a frown. ‘Let me check.’
I lean against the counter, push myself off again, run my hands through my hair, massage my neck, bite my tongue.
‘She doesn’t start until four today,’ he says what feels like an eternity later.
‘So she’s not here.’ Damn, where the hell is she?
‘Well, we’re in Canada, not in Europe, so… no, she’s not here.’ He studies me intently. ‘Are you okay? You seem kind of… I don’t know…’
‘I’m great, thanks, I have to go.’ Find Nyla and tell her that I’ve finally figured it out. I raise my hand, my shoulder hurts. ‘See you.’
On my way out, my thoughts are on a roller coaster. Nyla wasn’t home and I didn’t run into any of her roommates either. She’s not at Halifax Harbor Hospital, either.
Where could I look next?
As I’ve done so often in the last hour, I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial her number.
She doesn’t pick up.
Not again.
