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She turned on the pump. Waited. Waited.
Water spurted out from the cupped hands in pretty fountains that spilled back into the copper bowl.
“It works!” She spun a circle, grabbed Miles, kissed him, spun another. “Oh, it’s adorable, right? Adorable and quirky and unique.”
“You’re handy. You built a damn fountain.”
“I learned to be handy, and it was more like putting pieces together. I love it. If they don’t, they’ll say they do, but I’ll know. Let’s sit on the patio, see how it looks from there. I’ll get us a drink.”
PART IIIRoots
Beauty, strength, youth are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green.
—GEORGEPEELE
Love is strong as death;
jealousy is cruel as the grave.
—SONG OFSOLOMON8:6
Chapter Twenty-one
As she filled two tall glasses with ice, Morgan did a little dance. Out the kitchen window, beyond the patio, the Zen frog tossed water into the air. Now she could imagine her ladies smiling at it while they enjoyed their morning coffee or evening wine. Through the rest of the summer and into the fall before the air blew too cold.
Picturing it perfectly, she opened the refrigerator for the pitcher of lemonade, then paused when the doorbell rang. A delivery, she supposed as she went to answer. Still, the rules of her life had become the habit of her life.
She checked out the front window first.
And all the simple pleasure of the day drained away.
She opened the door to the two federal agents.
“You’d have called if you’d caught him because you’d want me to know right away. That’s not it.”
“No, Morgan, I’m sorry. That’s not it. Can we come in?” Beck asked her.
“Yes, of course.” She closed the door behind them. “Who was she?”
“Let’s sit down first.”
“Sorry, yes. I…” She looked back toward the kitchen. “I’m not alone. I have my…”
What? She couldn’t say “boyfriend”—he wasn’t a boy. Partner, no, she didn’t think of them as partners, not really. Lover was true, but not all.
“Out back. Miles—Miles Jameson. We’re involved.” That soundedreasonable and true. “He was helping me with a project. He knows about all of this.”
“Yes, we’ve spoken with him.” Morrison glanced back as she did. “Do you want to go out, include him in what we have to tell you?”
No, she thought. She wanted to sit in the sunshine with Miles and lemonade and watch the frog fountain.
But.
“He’ll need to know anyway. I work at the resort. His family owns the resort. And, as I said, we’re involved. I was just… getting lemonade. That sounds so normal.” She laughed, shoved a hand at her hair. “So summer Sunday afternoon. I’ll get two more glasses.”
She walked them back to the kitchen. She could see Miles had already wound the hose back on its reel. Now he stood there with his hands in his pockets, studying the frog fountain.
