Page 108 of The Change
“Oh no, I’m so sorry!” She had no idea where she’d last seen herphone. She didn’t know an explanation was required, so she didn’t bother to give one.
“Mrs. Osborne—” he started again, clearly worried.
“Ms.” She didn’t really say it. The word just slipped out.
There was a pause. “Ms. Osborne, may I come inside? Your husband and his attorney have an offer they’d like me to present.”
“Inside?” The house could use a good cleaning, and it reeked of pot.
“Is that a problem?” he asked, his voice now teetering on the line between concerned and frustrated. “Ms.Osborne, is everything all right?”
“I’ll meet you at the front door,” she said, though she was sure she’d regret it.
When she opened the door, she realized she’d screwed up. She’d met the man on her doorstep exactly three times, and each time she’d been in tears when they parted. She’d known Colin Clarke by reputation long before she hired him. Everyone said he was the best divorce attorney in Mattauk. He specialized in representing well-off women whose husbands had retained Manhattan heavy hitters. Clarke was famously cold and formal. He made it clear to his clients that they would never be friends. The questions he asked would at times seem brutal. He might need to know things they wouldn’t want to share. But if they were honest and forthright, he’d ensure they left their marriages with every cent they deserved. Now he was standing in Harriett’s doorway in a lovely Italian suit—and an expression that made it clear that he was not at all pleased with her.
It had been weeks since Harriett had cared much about her appearance. There were likely leaves in her hair and fur on her legs. Having walked around naked for days, the robe felt like a sober-minded nod to convention. But Mr. Clarke clearly did not agree. His eyebrows lifted as his head reared back. For a moment, she wondered if she might smell terrible, too.
“Are you sure this isn’t a bad time?” he asked.
“Yes,” she told him. “Please, come in.”
As he walked past her, she read his reaction in his stiffened spine. When she turned back toward her living room, she realized why. Almost every inch of flat surface was claimed by pots, each holding a plant of a unique size, color, and shape. Only the coffee table had been put to a different use. It held the remains of Harriett’s last meal, as well as a large cannister that had once been filled with marijuana. Beside it lay empty rolling paper packets.
“I’ve taken up gardening,” Harriett said.
“So it seems,” Clarke replied in a soothing voice, as though she might be dimwitted or dangerous.
“The south-facing windows make the living room an ideal greenhouse.” For some reason she couldn’t quite fathom, she needed him to understand.
“Do you know what all of these plants are?”
The question threw her. It was something one might ask a child. “Of course,” Harriett replied self-consciously. “I bought or gathered the seeds myself. By April, the plants will be ready for the garden.”
“Ah yes, thegarden,” he said with a sigh. “I drive past on my way to work every day.”
“It’s much more interesting on the inside. I’ll show you around, and then we can chat,” Harriett offered. “The garden really is wonderful this time of year.”
The idea didn’t appear to appeal to him. “Are you certain we’ll have a place to sit?”
It was another strange question. “Of course,” she said.
Before the attorney had arrived, she’d been lying on a patch of bare dirt in the center of the garden. She’d cleared the ground herself the previous day. Soon, she’d build a compost heap on that spot. The imprint of her naked body remained in the dirt. Around it, a fairy circle of thirteen white mushrooms had sprung up.
“Look at these beauties!” Harriett squatted down as if to greet old friends face-to-face. “So that’s what I felt growing beneath me.Chlorophyllum molybdites. Highly poisonous. My mother was an avid mushroom hunter. She used to call it ‘the vomiter.’”
“Careful,” said the attorney, reaching out as though to drag her back.
“Why?” Harriett laughed and looked up. “I don’t plan to eat them.”
Her gaiety drained away as she watched the man’s eyes roam her garden. What he saw was wild and dangerous. She rose to her feet and guided him to two chairs that stood facing each other on the garden’s last remaining slab of concrete. As she sat down across from the lawyer, she caught a glimpse of her dirty feet and hair-covered legs and wished she could tuck them beneath her. When she spoke, she did her best to sound sane.
“So, Mr. Clarke. What does my ex want from me now?”
Clarke opened his briefcase and pulled out a document. “Your husband is offering to purchase this house and the land on which it stands. Given the current state of the property, I’d say his offer is quite generous.”
Harriett shook her head. The suggestion was silly. “This is my house,” she said. “I gave Chase first choice of the properties. His lady friend decided she wanted the apartment in Brooklyn. So I took the house. It was all decided months ago. As far as I’m concerned, the arrangement has worked out beautifully.”
“Apparently he’s received a few phone calls from concerned neighbors. I’ve witnessed the evolution of your garden myself, and I’m afraid I’ve also heard the chatter about town. Everyone in Mattauk is talking about the weeds.”
