Page 37 of Riding the High

“Daddy tried to grow tomatoes before but it’s just full of weeds now,” Mabel presses on.

Insects buzz and the water in Cole’s pool shimmers as we walk by. It’s like a little backyard oasis here, intimate andprivate, with a huge concrete patio that runs the length of the house covered by a wood pergola. The entire perimeter of the yard is surrounded by trees but the pool is wide open to all-day sun. I can see why Cole chose this house for him and Mabel. It has the same quiet, peaceful feel of the ranch where he grew up, and faces the same direction for that view of Sugarland in the distance.

We make our way to the “garden” at the back of the yard and take in the sad state of affairs. It’s a bordered plot about eight by ten feet, and sits beside a potting shed. The beginnings of a garden remain, but Mabel is right, it’s mostly weeds now.

“Could I press that flower?” Mabel asks, pointing to one lone little blue violet poking up amidst the mess. I smile when I see it; a beautiful bloom among the weeds always reminds me of nature’s persistence.

“There’s hope for you yet, garden,” I say, before plucking the lively flower from the earth and handing it to Mabes.

“We’ll press it after dinner, okay?”

She grins up at me in response. “Okay.”

We kneel down together to sort through what is already here: some volunteer potato stalks, carrots and rhubarb; a lot of overgrown clover and thistles.

“This could make a great little garden, you know,” I tell her, sifting my fingers through the soil as an earthworm disappears below. “It has good soil.”

“Will you help?” Mabel asks, smushing dirt between her chubby fingers.

“Sure I will. If it’s okay with Daddy,” I reply as Cole yells over that the burgers are ready.

We sit outside under the wooden pergola, enjoying the evening sun. It’s the beginning of a beautiful night and, as we dig into Cole’s BBQ, I watch as a hummingbird hops around on the feeder by their back door.

“This might be the first time you’ve ever made me dinner, Cole Ashby,” I sigh contentedly, listening to a neighbor cut their grass a few houses down.

“And?” he asks from his end of the table, one eyebrow raised.

“It’s quite impressive. Not burnt at all.” I smile and take another bite of my burger.

Even with the unspoken secret between Cole and I, the air tonight is comfortable. Just as it always is. Which gives me hope that all is not lost the moment we sign the dotted line and dissolve this marriage. Through the rest of dinner, we have easy chatter back and forth. Mabel tells me what she’s doing this week—going to the zoo in the next county with Jo, a playdate with her friend—and, when dinner is done, Cole heads back inside to do some chores while Mabel and I set up to press her violet. By the time we’re done, Cole is all cleaned up from dinner, and Mabel wastes no time in looking for more flowers (or anything else that will work) to press. It’s a typical night in the Ashby house. And all the while I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing here.

“She’s asleep,” Cole says as he comes out from the back of the house at nine o’clock with a basket of laundry. I glance up at him, taking a break from watching the lightning bugs dance as the sun sets, sending an orange glow through the cedars and holly bushes. He drops the laundry on the floor and heads for the kitchen to grab us both a drink.

“What’s this?” I ask, taking the amber liquid from him and taking a sip.

“Pa’s bourbon. I’m trying to loosen you up before I cash in on a favor.”

My stomach drops.

“I gotta say, all this buildup makes me think I might not want to know what you’re going to ask,” I note, moving to help him fold the laundry.

“Probably not. But I’m hoping you’ll remember all the nights I picked you up when you were in trouble. Plus all the stops for food on drunken Saturday nights. Every last favor, Vixen. Remember them all.”

“Jesus, Cole. Just ask already.” I laugh, setting down the fourth towel I’ve folded to his two.

“Well, I found out some answers today …”

He starts to fill me in on everything he found out from Bev—about proving intoxication or lying—and I let the news sink in.

“So, we’d have to get a divorce?” I ask. “In which case, I’m taking half.”

I laugh, he does not.

“I’m being serious, Ginger. Divorce is public knowledge. And when you’re in my position …”

My chest tightens. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Cole almost looks nervous. And Cole never looks nervous, which makes me … well, very nervous.

He starts pacing the length of his six-panel front window that’s almost floor-to-ceiling.

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