Page 111 of Promise and Punishment

“I just think it would be good to divide your focus. I know the movie is only in preproduction right now, but there are things you need to consider. The director loves you and just wants to do lunch. You read the script, didn’t you?” she asked, and I nodded. “Well, it’s good, right?”

“It’s the same thing I’ve already done before,” I said, unimpressed with another senseless film with explosions and violence. I couldn’t even recall the name.

“It’s the same thing that people love you for. The director is going to want to persuade you, and—oncehe does—we’ll need to get the ball rolling. I’ve scheduled us to look at apartments this evening in case you say yes.” She smiled, pulling her phone out to confirm a list of potential places. “That sounds fun, right?”

I shrugged, unwilling to give her a final answer. I had no plans on doing lunch, nor did I plan on staying in New York. Ivanna didn’t even know I had already rescheduled our flight back home after this tour.

“You really are a great help to us, Mr. Rivers.” Mrs. Blair addressed me once again, stopping near the front entrance of the massive home where everyone stayed. “We’re really wanting to highlight the importance of donations and bring awareness to the needs of others.” She looked over at Ivanna, her eyes seeking some preemptive permission, “We were hoping to grab a few photos… you know, something to show at our next charity event.” She fidgeted as Ivanna looked at me, watching as I massaged the front pocket of my leather jacket. She knew I was anxious to leave.

“I’m sorry, I’m not too sure if we—” Ivanna began to apologize, but I stopped her, not wanting to hurt the chance that my appearance could raise more awareness and donations.

“I actually have to make a phone call,” I lied, being unintentionally stern. I wasn’t trying to be rude, I just needed a second to myself. “Ivanna… why don’t you follow Mrs. Blair inside. I want you to inquire further about their expansion project. Let’s make it happen for them. No matter the cost. I’ll take the photos. Just give me fifteen minutes, and I’m yours.” Mrs. Blair could barely contain her smile.

“I don’t know what to say, Mr. Rivers. Thank you.” She reached out to shake my hand, hugging a clipboard to her chest. I turned to leave, but she wasn’t done yet. “Oh! Take your call in the garden around the corner. The dedication you gave us is placed there. Mind you, it’s temporary; the official sundial, that will replace it, isn’t in yet.” She looped her arm around Ivanna’s as she guided her back into the house.

Finally, I was greeted with silence I hadn’t had since boarding the plane. This reassured me that I wasn’t meant for New York. There was no place to think, to be alone, to redirect my focus onto something as enjoyable as a sweltering field. I would only take a few photos, then I’d leave for good.

I turned the corner of the covered porch, making my way down the steps towards a newly installed picketed fence. Behind it were rows of purple and blue flowers, their colors crowned amongst thick green leaves and tiny dots of bundled white petals. I stepped closer, fishing out my cigarette, placing it between my lips. I took a moment to appreciate what they did with the space. It was all new and alive, defiant to the emerging crimson leaves that sat in the trees above. I lit my cigarette, snapping the lighter shut with a click, sucking in its sweet cherry taste.

The tremor in my hand seemed to calm itself, my eye catching the small paper sign taped to the fence.

Jardín para las Almas Buenas: Garden for Good Souls.

The play on the wordAlmawas a secret in my heart that I never wanted to share. I bent over to test the soil, measuring its brittle crumbs between the pressure of my fingers. “A garden forgood souls,”I laughed, committing myself to never step inside. That wasn’t for me, that was only for the worthy, for people like—

I stopped everything I was doing, immediately paralyzed from who I saw.

“Hello?” The smallest of voices came out from the garden, its invitation laced with a cautiousness that startled me into a cold sweat. I couldn’t even finish my thought, the very person I was thinking of stood up from the garden. It was her. Alma. My mother.

“Shit.” I blinked, my cigarette falling from my lips. As foolish as I felt, I immediately thought she was a ghost, or maybe an angel, something far beyond what I actually ever believed in. But it was true, it was her. Dark, long hair, freckled nose, and dimpled cheeks. Everything about her was the same as Alma, but nothing more so than her eyes. Lost. Distant. Weary from a lifetime of experiences that only I and others of this unique circumstances could understand. “I’m so sorry.” I stood up quickly, my previously settled anxiety once again on fire.

“No, I’m the one that’s sorry. No one’s allowed to be in here yet.” She combed her hair out from her face, looking far younger than me, younger than what I remembered my mother even being. I stepped on the cigarette, extinguishing it.

“Please. You don’t need to be sorry. This is your space. I shouldn’t even be here.” I became uncomfortably aware of myself, tugging on my leather jacket to cover my tattoos, as if being a man in a place like this wasn’t intimidating enough. “I’ll leave.”

“No. It’s ok.” She stopped me, filling me with a strange sense of conflict. I wanted to go, but I wanted to stay. I just knew it was wrong.

“I’m trying to be respectful.” I cleared my throat.

“Mrs. Blair seems to trust you,” she said, almost soothing me with a courtesy she didn’t need to extend. I turned to face her as she got closer, making her way through the garden. “I knew there’d be a tour today. I saw you guys standing on the porch.”

“We won’t be much longer. We just finished up, and I needed a moment to myself, so I snuck away.”

“No better place to be than the garden.” She smiled, lifting a small book in her hand with a shrug. I tried not to stare, but I allowed too much time to pass, that it bordered on awkward.

She turned away.

“What are you reading?”

She looked down at the book, her eyes shut with embarrassment, “Define a Daffodil,” she held it up. “A book on flowers and their meanings.”

“Do you garden?”

“Not before. I mean… sorta now. It’s just peaceful. It keeps my mind busy.” She edged herself closer, approaching the entrance I refused to cross.

“I get that.”

“Do you garden, too?”

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