The garden, over the last month, had transformed into a beautiful oasis of flowers and clovers and soft willow boughs. It was perhaps beautiful at any part of the day, but Henry had been right to design it for sunset. The orange light of magic hour really made the magic.
Equal parts shade and sunlight shifted across the flowers, native plants mingling in colorful bouquets. Large stalks of milkweed waved between rays of sunflowers, chicories grew in bursts of violet between Saint-John’s-wort, while hedge maids crawled across the ground between sprigs of wild mint and fireweed. There were summer lilacs basking in the sun beside black-eyed Susans, buttercups and yarrow and Queen Anne’s lace mingling like a colorful soiree, while goldenrod sprouted in the sunniest spots beside the forget-me-nots and bluebells.
It was a kaleidoscope of colors and flowers, while tireless honeybees with little yellow trousers of pollen skirted from one bud to the next.
Henry had a dream, and now, standing in Rus’s finished version, it was a good one. Eula would love it.
“Rus?” I called, looking at the vibrant flowers and shrubs, the shade of the willow and the soft green of clovers. The far wall had finally bloomed with deep yellow honeysuckles, looking like molten gold spilling onto the grass. I climbed the incline to the willow tree and parted the curtain.
He sat there on the swing, deep in thought. He was comically big for it, his legs splayed out as he gently rocked back and forth.
“Rus?” I repeated, a little louder.
Blinking, he pulled himself back and greeted me with a smile. “Why, hello there, sunshine.” I came up to him and bent to kiss him, so he didn’t have to get up. “I feel like I just saw you.”
“I guess to you, you did,” I replied teasingly, though my heart ached at the gentle rapport. “The garden turned out good, didn’t it?”
He gave an effortless shrug, but he was awful at hiding how proud he was. “Time flies when you’re … wasting away in a garden.”
“I thought the phrase washaving fun?”
He tilted his head, his soft dark blue gaze drinking in my face. I’d miss that the most. The cherished way he looked at me, like he wanted to burn me into his memories. “I did have a bit of that, too, I guess, while I’ve been here.”
“A bit?” I argued, pretending to be affronted, trying to swallow the ache in my chest.
“A bit,” he echoed. “The company helped.”
“She did?”
“I couldn’t have done it without her,” he replied, and rose up just enough to capture my lips in a chaste, quick kiss. I thought for a moment I’d fooled him, until he said, “You seem off. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing—nothing at all,” I lied. He quirked an eyebrow and I relented, “It’s been a busy day, and Wykofski is finishing the lights, so when I leave here I have to go watch him light them. Everyone is running around like they’re chickens with their heads cut off in anabsolutepanic.”
“By everyone you mean Juliette, I take it?”
“Yafir, actually. And Oliver—mostly Oliver,” I added, thinking back on the murderous-turned-gentle looks Juliette had given him since the night of the Scrabble game. “He wants the party to be perfect.”
“He knows that’s not going to happen, right?”
“Well, he’s also trying to distract himself from the fact that you’re coming, I think,” I added, and he gave a sigh. I studied the furrow of his brow, the worried tug of his lips, and asked, “Can you tell me? What happens tomorrow? You said you’d met me . . .” Maybe if I could figure outwhere, I could plan to stop him.
“I did,” he replied slowly. “I dropped my glasses and you gave them back.”
I waited for him to go on, but when he didn’t I asked in disbelief, “That’s it?”
“More or less.”
I made a sound of aggravation. “Cyrus, whatelse—ah!” I gave a yelp of surprise as he pulled me down to sit on his lap. His arms curled around my middle, and he set his chin on my shoulder.
“It doesn’t matter, sunshine,” he mumbled. “It’ll happen tomorrow for you, and meanwhile I’ll blink and you’ll be coming back through that door, I’m sure, and this time I’ll leave with you.”
My throat tightened. I hoped so, too, but I was afraid to think about it. Not here, this close to him, feeling warm and comforted by the simple rush of his breath beside my ear, the beat of his heart against my back. I settled my hands over his arms and leaned my head against his. “The garden looks amazing. Henry was right. You have a real talent, you know.”
“That’s high praise coming from a horticulturist.”
“I know, that’s why I said it,” I replied.
“Well, if I ever need a change of career, I’ll know exactly what I should do.” He said it with a laugh, but I imagined that soon, the thought would never occur to him.
