Page 100 of Drawing Home
“Great,” Penny said dully. She reached for her crutches, making sure the special beach supports were secured on the bottoms. Her mom ordered those online, too.
Her dad helped her get to her feet, but once she had her crutches under her arms, she was independently mobile.
“Don’t go into the water,” he said.
“I’m just walking to the edge.”
Penny hobbled to the ocean. Just a few feet away from the chairs, and the breeze felt stronger.
The water rolled in fast, over her good ankle. She watched it recede, and as it rolled toward her, she felt the urge to count, the voice in her head louder than the waves.I’m not listening to you,she told the impulse.I’m tired of listening to you! I’m tired of everyone!It felt good to be angry. Anger was preferable to helplessness. The water washed over her feet, and she repeated her mantra:I’m not listening to you. It seemed to be working. The only thing keeping her from running into the water was her broken leg. She was bossing it back, but she couldn’t move forward. As usual, she was stuck.
She turned around, waved to get her father’s attention. “I want to go home,” she yelled. The wind carried her voice away.
The rosebush was a small victory.
Emma knew it might be folly to transplant an entire rosebush from the Mount Misery garden to Windsong, but she wanted to try. She’d prepared for this venture a week ahead of time, visiting the Mount Misery garden and watering the rosebush with a B1plant fertilizer to foster root development. Then, in the Windsong back lawn, she dug a hole that would give her about six inches of space around the root-ball. She’d tested the spot ahead of time to make sure it had adequate drainage.
It was a particularly hot day, and digging out the root-ball was challenging. But the physical work was a good way to keep her mind off the fact that Penny was with Mark. Emma cut into the ground with the sharp shovel and moved in a circle, sweating out her rage. Then, when the plant was loose, she quickly transferred it onto a tarp for the transport to Windsong.
“I’m sorry,” she said to the plant, knowing it was traumatized and hoping the roots didn’t dry out before she could secure the bush in its new home.
She pulled her car to the side of Windsong, not bothering to use the garage. Every minute felt precious. She opened the door and nearly collided with Bea, who was strolling the grounds with a woman Emma had never seen before.
“Emma, I want you to meet—”
There was no time to be polite; Emma, holding the tarp, rushed past them with the urgency of someone about to perform an organ transplant.
She put the tarp down next to the fresh hole in the ground, then treated the planting site with some well-aged cow manure, a cup of bonemeal, and some peat moss. The plant itself seemed to be holding up okay, and by the time she placed it into the soil, just above the crown, she felt confident it would be able to adjust and thrive. Success! This was why she loved gardening. A little planning and a little effort always paid off, unlike the rest of life.
In the distance, she heard the faint strains of music coming off the bay. Kyle playing something while working on his boat. She brushed the dirt off her jeans, wiped her brow, and sat back on her heels.
Maybe it was time to tend to herself as carefully as she tended to her roses.
Chapter Forty-Two
Penny didn’t speak to her father the entire ride back to the house. When he pulled into the Windsong driveway, he turned off the ignition.
“Penny, I know there’s a lot going on and you’re confused. But I’m not the enemy here.”
“You’re not exactly a father either,” she said, and she slammed the door the best she could without losing her balance.
Inside the house, she leaned against the front door to steady herself. Her whole body was shaking. Her father had been so busy with that woman, he’d barely spoken to her the entire day. Eventually, she’d given up and put on her sunglasses and her headphones. Except she didn’t listen to music; instead, she eavesdropped on her father and Diane’s conversation. Diane talked a lot, and most of it was about spending her ex-husband’s seemingly endless money. “You should produce this play with me,” her dad said. “We’ll make a fortune.”
“I already have a fortune,” Diane said, laughing.
Then there was no more talking, just really gross PDA.
Thinking about it made Penny’s head hurt.
“Did you enjoy your beach excursion? What a beautiful day!”
Bea. She was always around. If Penny hadn’t known better, she might have thought her mother had actually invited Bea to stay at the house to help keep an eye on her.
“I didnotenjoy my beach excursion,” Penny said. Bea spoke in such a stilted, formal way sometimes. Penny liked taking her absurd phrases and repeating them back to her, and she knew Bea kind of liked it too because sometimes it made her smile. But today Penny did it out of irritation, not playfulness.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bea said. “I suppose it was the company?”
That was another thing about Bea; she just said whatever she wanted. It was like she had no problem saying things that other people only thought.
