Hey, my heart was in the right place, anyway. Right?
Last Sunday night we were playing chess. Talk about two different methods, not that that should surprise anyone who knows us. I believe in this whole blitz approach, moving pieces around and dazzling my opponent with fancy footwork. Jim is a strategist from the word go, plotting three moves ahead and trying to psych me out with these annoying grunts when I make a move. Funny thing is, we're pretty evenly matched. We don't play often, but it's enough to have figured out each other's weaknesses.
It was a crisp October night. We had the balcony doors slightly ajar, just enough to circulate the air. The chessboard was set up on the coffee table and we both were on the floor, leaning on the closest piece of furniture. Nice jazz on the player, Oktoberfest beer dark and cold—and I was beating the crap out of my partner tonight. He can grunt all he wants because tonight I could do no wrong.
My knight had his queen hiking up her skirts and fleeing in terror when the phone rang. Not surprisingly, Jim leapt up to answer it. I took off my glasses and stretched my arms high overhead, relishing Don Lanphere's dusky sax floating through the air. Even my olfactory senses could pick up the smell of burning leaves in the air, a scent I always loved. I dropped my arms and leaned forward to examine the board in expectation of a very sweet victory.
Jim answered the phone with his usual "Ellison." His tone quickly warmed. "Hey, Steven, how ya doing?"
At that point I kinda tuned him out. I grabbed my bottle and stood up to stretch again, walking over to the balcony doors to look out. I was vaguely eavesdropping just in case my name or something else of interest came up. When I heard Jim's voice elevate a little I glommed back in. Jim had walked around to sit on the arm of the couch, reaching over to pick up one of my surrendered pawns and toss it while he talked to his brother.
"Hey, that sounds great! No, we're off 'til the following Wednesday, we worked the last three weekends. No kidding? Hey, yeah! I hear you get huge ones outta there. Hold on, lemme ask—what? He's not? Why? Oh." Wow, major change of inflection there. From excitement to freezer burn in one syllable. I turned around to look at Jim, hoping his brother hadn't said something to annoy him. A relationship between these two had been slowly building over the past few years and I didn't want anything to disrupt that. Family is important, right?
Jim was looking straight at me with an unreadable expression in his eyes. I get a little spooked when I can't read my partner.
"I don't know, Steve, it's kinda short notice. Yeah, I've always wanted to fish that river, you're right. Yeah, I know it's my birthday but at my age—" He was still looking at me and I was trying not to let the abject disappointment I was beginning to feel show on my face. I had made plans for Jim's birthday, nothing elaborate on my strained wallet but I was looking forward to it. This was probably the first year in our relationship where I felt really comfortable in expressing my affection for this big old sentinel that wasn't directly related to him saving my life. But if Steven had something else in mind, something special, how could I deny Jim? I obviously couldn't compete with whatever it was. Pasting a smile on my face, I waved my hands like I was unconcerned then turned around to look back out the window. I tried not to clench the bottle too hard.
"Ok, lemme think about it and get back to you. Yeah, when do you need to know? Ok, call you in the morning. Yeah. Hey, thanks. Goodnight." I heard him walk over and replace the phone. I took a deep breath and turned around to face him again, steeling myself for possible serious disappointment. Jim walked over to the CD player and turned it off, still grasping the chess piece. He tossed it a couple of times before setting it next to the board and settling in on the couch. I swallowed, thinking maybe the best present I could give him was to let him off the hook now.
"So," I said brightly, "what's up with Steven? Sounds like he's got something going on for your birthday, right?" All smiles and ease, not bugging me, nope, not at all.
Jim shrugged casually. "Steven got in on a fishing expedition on the Scatter River in Idaho. Seems one of his clients owns a resort up there, kind of a rich man's dude ranch. Private airstrip and everything. He got invited at the last minute when someone else cancelled. Um, there were just two openings, though." He looked at me and I could tell he was trying to assess my reaction. Yeah, Jim, I know the Scatter is like trout Xanadu to you.
"So he invited you? Very cool, man. Sounds great." I nodded semi-enthusiastically. No need to go overboard. Best I could do at this point anyway. I was seeing a lonely weekend ahead.
He rubbed his hands together, then spread them as he shrugged. "Gonna pass, though. We've been working hard the past couple of weeks. A quiet weekend'll be good." Oh, man, he was trying so hard. I knew he wanted to go but he also didn't want to disappoint me.
"Are you nuts? Jim, you've wanted to fish that river like forever!" I set the bottle down and plopped next to him on the couch. "Look, you should go and have a good time. All-expense paid trips don't come along every day." I nudged his knee. "Go. Catch fish. We'll do your birthday when you get back." Funny. Now I really wanted him to go because I couldn't stand the guilt if he stuck around just for me.
Jim looked at me, a frown between his eyes, "You sure?"
I nudged him again as I rose from the couch. "Yeah. Hey, I'm gonna call it a night. Let's leave the board, though. No way I'm gonna scratch this game when I've got you on the ropes." I smiled at him, grabbing the empty bottles to toss in the recycling bin. He stood up and stretched, not exactly returning my smile but looking settled. The next morning he called Steven from the bullpen and accepted his offer.
Listening to them make their plans was hard. Jim kept his enthusiasm as low-key as possible but I still sit across from him, right? Hearing the lightness in Jim's voice made it palatable though, so I knew he had done the right thing to accept. What was casserole compared to a four-star chef and a riverside suite? Besides, we are together all the time and now that we shared the same occupation he must really get tired of having me in his hip pocket. It would do us both good to be apart for a while. He would go fishing and I—I would do something else.
What can I say? It basically sucked.
Later that afternoon we were getting ready to leave when my phone rang. I grabbed it, watching Jim stroll into Simon's office to say goodnight.
"Sandburg."
"Blair? Hey, it's Edna." Edna Shelstein was a friend of my mom's from way back, a local rights activist and easily 70 years old.
"Hey, Edna! What's up?"
"Oh, honey, they're gonna tear up the P-patch. The zoning went through."
"Oh, man, that's just wrong! That's been there for what nine, ten years?" I jumped up on my desk, legs dangling. "When are they starting construction?"
"Next Tuesday, the bloodsuckers. Guess they'll just bulldoze it."
"Isn't there anything we can do?" I loved that P-patch. I hadn't been out there too often in the past few years but I always had a row of something or other going. The veggies we pulled out of there were incredible—even Jim thought the first three of loaves of zucchini bread I made last year were pretty good. The next three loaves we donated to the bullpen. Then the next three to the motor pool—well, you get the idea. It bugged me that all that great dirt was going to be paved over for a Wonderburger.
I looked up to see Jim laughing in Simon's office. Well, someone would be happy anyway.
Then I kinda had this idea. Jim was going to be gone for four days. Maybe I could join Edna and the others and we could find someplace to put all that stuff. There was a huge variety of plants and flowers out there; surely we could give a lot of it away so someone could enjoy it. This was a highly urbanized area but I knew even in our neighborhood there were quite a few rooftop gardens.
Whoa. That was one thing 852 Prospect did not have. I suddenly flashed on that rooftop garden the Chopec had found—they had felt at home there. Still listening to Edna bemoan the P-patch's fate, I watched Jim cast out with an imaginary fishing pole as Simon looked on, green-eyed with envy. As my partner hauled in an imaginary trophy he saw me watching him and quickly lowered his hands, then turned and continued his conversation with Simon. Poor guy. If he can get over feeling guilty he'll probably have a great time.
Jim came out of Simon's office and caught my eyes, raising his brows in the classic Ellison "I'm leaving now are you coming or walking?" expression. I waved at him and made a return Sandburg "don't get your knickers in twist I'm coming" face at him. He rolled his eyes and sat down to wait.
Good old long-winded Edna, I could trust her to ramble while my mind was going a mile a minute. My original plans for Jim's birthday had included changing the oil in the truck and maybe washing it, followed by a nice dinner of all his favorites. But what was now percolating in my mind was going to be so much better. I started getting excited at the idea but Jim was standing again, grabbing his keys and logging off his computer. Being a detective I pick up on these subtle clues.
"Listen, Edna, I have an idea here but my ride is leaving," I stuck out my tongue at my partner, "so let me call you tomorrow, ok? Great, thanks." I grabbed my stuff and trotted after Jim, my imagination running wild with ideas. Let Jim go away for four days. When he came back I would have the gift of a lifetime.
Sunday, six days later.
What the hell was I thinking? Jim was going to be home Tuesday and by that time I will have expired from sheer stupidity.
It was such a cool idea and it had started out so promising. First thing I did was call Gwen, the property manager and get permission to install a rooftop garden. That was totally cool with her; she thought it was a great idea. In fact, turns out one of the old tenants had had pretty extensive gardens up there once and most of her stuff was down in the basement, since the garden had been dismantled after she'd passed away. I made a date to meet with Gwen on Saturday to pull out anything still usable. Then I called Edna from work while Jim stepped out for a minute and told her I wanted to move some of the P-patch up to the roof of my building. Groovy, she said, after everyone else pulls out what they want she and I could cherry-pick the rest and transplant it. We also thought I could use the lumber from the raised beds to create terraced rows.
Then I hopped on the 'net and found all these cool gardening sites, including one that helped me lay out my imaginary garden with the dimensions Gwen provided. Something plain—after all, this was for Jim, right?
It all sounded so simple.
Getting Jim off early Saturday morning was awkward. Steven double parked his Lexus downstairs and came up to help Jim haul his gear down. I had gotten up and thrown on some sweats to do the same thing but suddenly I was odd man out again. Steven was cordial to me but also anxious to get to the airport, so he took a load down while Jim grabbed his overnight bag and tossed me the keys to the Ford. I had asked to borrow the truck to help Edna with the patch; he had grudgingly accepted as long as I made sure not one microbe of soil was ever found in the bed. Of course, I promised.
Suddenly Jim seemed reluctant to go. "You gonna stay out of trouble while I'm gone, Chief?"
I crossed my arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. "I should be asking you, Ellison. You're the one going deep into the woods without your guide here." I meant the words lightly but he obviously took them to heart.
He switched his grip on the bag from his right to left, his hand coming up to rest on my shoulder. "You know I wish you could come, right? I'm sorry there was only room for two—"
I grabbed his wrist and gave it a squeeze before moving away, ostensibly to get more coffee. His obvious remorse at leaving me behind was beginning to make me feel sorry for myself again and I thought I had gotten past that.
"No problem, man, it's ok. You know I'm gonna be helping at the patch for the next couple of days so I wouldn't see you much anyway." There was an impatient but oh-so-expensive honk from the street. I grinned at Jim. "You better git. I've got trout almondine on the menu for Wednesday and you've gotta supply it. Have a good time, ok?"
Jim nodded, not quite smiling, and headed out. I ran over to the balcony windows and opened them but didn't go outside, knowing Jim would either see or hear me there. I just listened for the slamming of the Lexus trunk before diving back into my room to change into grubbies. Four days to create an oasis for my sentinel. Piece of cake.
Ok, first obstacle. Roofs are necessarily high. I knew this. I've been up there before. As long as I didn't get too close to the edge I'd be ok. Just meeting Gwen up there I would have done ok, but she wandered all over, showing me the old layout of the previous garden. I kept repeating my mantra that this was for Jim so I could do this if I didn't get too close to the edge. The previous garden had been really elaborate; I had nothing so grand in mind but the more we spoke the more I could see this incredible garden in my head. I think that's when I started to get into trouble. After all, I had four days. I could work miracles, right?
I had also made a quick poll of the other residents. Most of them were elderly and wouldn't be able to help but I made sure they knew they could visit when they wanted. The others looked at me strangely—ok, maybe no more than usual—and said whatever. Hey, their loss.
Then it was on to the P-patch. By the time I got there Edna had told the other contributors that I was planning a rooftop garden and any advice or donations would be appreciated. Apparently, most everyone else had either pulled what they wanted or had enough at home because the next thing I knew the bed of the Ford had been filled to overflowing with dirt, plants and lumber. Then Edna pulled up her flatbed and instructed everyone to fill it up too.
I pulled her aside. "Edna, hey, this is great but I don't think I've got room for all this, you know? I just wanted some plants and herbs, maybe a deck chair, a wind chime. I don't think they'll let me recreate Butchart Gardens up there, ok?"
Did I mention Edna loves to squeeze my cheek? I knew it was coming and I tried to duck, but she's like a heat-seeking missile when it comes to this. Before I could move out of the way she put the double whammy on me, grabbing my face in both hands and giving a good tug.
"Oh, Blair, honey, it'll be ok. I'll help you, we'll get it all squared away right as rain. Now grab those buckets and head over to your place. Timmy and Wayne are gonna meet us there and help us haul this stuff up."
Timmy and Wayne? The two octogenarians that played bingo with Edna on Wednesdays? The elevator in our building only went to the third floor; after that it was a flight of stairs to the roof. We were talking some heavy lifting here. All that dirt was going to have to be hand-hauled by the bucket. These guys could barely lift their mugs of Ovaltine.
"Uh, Edna, I thought your grandsons were helping." Two thirty-five year old grandsons.
"Nope! Sorry, honey, they couldn't make it. Timmy and Wayne are happy to help, though."
And help they did. They helped themselves to the sodas, to Jim's chips, to the leftover pasta (which was supposed to be my dinner) and finally, the VCR. To be fair, they did haul two buckets of dirt up to the roof. Unfortunately, they promptly spilled one of them, managed to walk through the debris a couple of times, hit the rain puddle with unerring aim and then decided to head back to the loft to see if Championship Bass Fishing was on yet.
Saturday was a really, really long day.
Fortunately, Edna's grandsons did show up late in the afternoon and managed to help me unload the trucks. A little after five they all left and I'm pretty sure Jim and I are gonna come up short in the Tupperware department. But by then I really didn't care. In the waning light I stood alone on the roof, looking over my treasures and thinking I had really blown it this time.
Ok, let's take inventory. Three wheelbarrows worth of dirt piled in six different places. A significant load of lumber that I was pretty sure I could tame into a nice framework over which I could pull some of the heavy-duty tarp I'd found in the basement. It would shield the plants from the excess rains and could be pulled back when the sun shined. That was usually sometime in August. In a good year.
Then I had maybe six dozen plants, mostly herbs. The volunteers at the patch had been kind enough to transplant them into large tin coffee cans so at least that was under control.
But the very best thing of all was the Adirondack chair. Handmade of red cedar, burnished over many years to the softest patina, it was a thing of beauty. Edna had reigned over the P-patch from this chair, sitting by the entrance where the small stand had been set up to sell the overflow to passersby. I walked over to it and rubbed my hand along the arm, knowing the smooth contours and flowing planes would appeal to a sensitive touch.
"Take it," Edna had insisted, "I don't want the thing anymore. Moving to a condo after the first of the year anyway, won't have the room. You take it, honey. Enjoy it."
I had been slack-jawed at my good fortune. Up until that moment I hadn't even considered where Jim would sit when he lolled about this Eden I was attempting to create. What's that line? Lack of foresight on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part? Guess it does when you hold all the parts and are totally clueless. SSOP. Standard Sandburg Operating Procedure.
Just about the time I realized I had no idea what to do next it started to rain. Big surprise. And all this lovely loose dirt that would wash away if I didn't do something fast. Forget Jim's garden. This was about to become the Ellison Tar Pits.
I figured I could use the tarps in the basement to cover the dirt temporarily, so I made another weary trip downstairs. By the time I got everything covered it was full dark and I had only the light of nearby streetlamps to go by. I had grabbed a hooded slicker on the way back up, thinking I could stay relatively dry. No such luck. The wind had picked up and the rain was falling horizontally—no, in Washington, that is not a contradiction in terms.
Thus ended my first day in my attempt to plant a little greenery in the life of my best friend. I was cold, wet, muddy and tired, apparently dinnerless and totally broke.
It was all I could do to heat some soup, grab a shower and crawl into bed. The mud tracked in by the wonder twins would be easier to clean up when it dried—I hoped—and the kitchen could wait. Sunday was coming all too soon but hey! I still had three days. It was a lay-up.
Sunday started out great, dry and fairly warm. I left the loft in its current state of destruction and started back upstairs to the roof with renewed determination. The tarps had done their job and protected all my gleanings. I pulled them back and folded them carefully then surveyed the project. Best thing about today was that my buddy Geoff was coming over to help. He ran the hydroponics unit at Rainier and had volunteered to help me bring order out of chaos. He and I had been friends a long time and he had taken the huge U-turn in my career right in stride. Cool guy.
I had sent him some ideas from the sites I had visited and he had replied with some more realistic parameters. Now that I actually had the stuff he and I could wrangle us a rooftop garden in no time.
I started laying out the framework physically over the area it would cover. I had done a little carpenter work in Malaysia, helping to rebuild a village after a huge storm had practically wiped it out. The raised beds I wasn't too sure about but that's where Geoff came in. At least where he was supposed to come in—but just my luck, the guy totally missed his cue.
I cannot fault a guy for giving in to the temptation of free Seahawks tickets. I had already laid out the beginnings of our plan when my cellphone rang. Somehow I just knew this was bad news. Sure enough, Geoff's brother-in-law had scored tickets on the forty-yard line.
No problem, Blair, he said. Follow the plans we drew up, Blair. Easy as pie, Blair.
You are screwed, Blair.
So I called Simon. That went over well. After he stopped laughing at the mere thought of giving up his day off to help me he reminded me that he too had Hawks tickets.
More calls, no luck. Everyone was either going to the game or watching the game or had plans to avoid the game. Just my misfortune the team is good this year. I longed for baseball season.
So it was me, myself and I and we were all determined as hell to make this work. Giving in to the dark side I brought up the CD player so I could listen to the stupid game and invoke Andalusian curses on the Raiders. That would be my contribution.
It was close on to four when I stopped to assess the garden situation. The curses had worked and the Hawks were up big time, which was more than I could say for the Sentinel's garden. If anything, the roof looked worse than when I started and that meant pretty bad, I have to admit.
I had managed to divide the six large piles of dirt into many little ones. The lumber that I had tried so vainly to build into a recognizable frame lay on top of the piles like a stack of Godzilla-sized toothpicks. My attempts to build a shelter had failed spectacularly so I guess my carpenter experience wasn't quite as vast as I'd remembered. Intermittent rain showers had chased me away a few times but as the day wore on I felt I was just flat running out of time. I ended up working through them so any dirt on me—and there was quite a bit—turned into a nice smear of mud. Since I tend to express myself with my hands (so I've been told) this tended to get mud into my hair just as well. I must have looked like a deranged mud puppy beanie baby.
At six I just gave up. Despite my somewhat deserved reputation for enthusiasm even I could see it was time to yield the field to this lost cause. I needed help. It was dark and I was tired and Jim was going to be home in two days and either kick my ass or fall down laughing. Or both. Happy birthday, big guy.
I made my way back to the loft, grabbed a sandwich and flopped on the couch, flipping on the TV in hopes of finding the late game while carefully avoiding the Home and Garden Channel. No need to be mocked by major appliances on top of everything else. In the back of my head I knew I had tracked a great deal more mud into the loft but it was a moot point by now.
I woke up a few hours later, stiff and sore and wishing I knew how to needlepoint. You know, a nice pillow is a great birthday gift.
But no one could accuse me of being a quitter so I dragged my tired butt over to the kitchen table and fired up the laptop, hoping for inspiration. Quick check of my emails, nothing exciting there. A message from Geoff saying the game was awesome and how was I doing with the garden? Delete. I'll call him later.
Back to the plans we'd drawn up. I stared and fretted and played around with it, trying to reconcile the plans to my dreams to the reality above me. I could do this.
So, in what most people would think of as a moment of insanity, I trotted down to the basement and hauled up the Coleman lantern. It wasn't raining—yet—and I just had to get a grasp on this thing. This was important. This was for Jim.
Ok Sandburg. You get your choice. Quick intense pain or slow torture. Then you get to clean up the loft.
There was mud on the floor, mud on the kitchen counters and mud on and in between the couch cushions. More mud in the bathroom, specifically in the tub and smeared on the shower curtain. I could smell dirt and rainwater emanating from the hamper, along with some serious plant life that actually smelled kinda nice. There was more mud trailing into Sandburg's room and a muddy handprint on the frame of the French door.
He's gonna clean this place with his toothbrush. As soon as I find him.
It was one o'clock in the morning, for God's sake. Now, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that he was out socially. Although the loft was criminally dirty I felt pretty comfortable in my assessment that it was my partner who had committed the crime. After all, I had seen the truck. At least I assumed it was my truck somewhere under all that crap.
He was gonna clean that with his tongue.
I walked back over to where I'd dropped my gear, passing the table and grinning despite myself. Sandburg's laptop was up and running, but only the screensaver showing. It was Sandburg's favorite cartoon character, Marvin the Martian. As I went past, my hand brushed the mouse and the screen saver morphed into a schematic. Intrigued, I paused to check it out, wondering what new world Blair was involving himself in.
Then I stopped, jaw probably hanging open in that less-than-intelligent look Sandburg loves to catch me in. Hell, I didn't care. Up at the top of the layout so meticulously planned were three words:
Jim's Rooftop Garden.
Suddenly weak-kneed I slid into the chair, realization sinking into my head at a rapid pace. Well, Detective Ellison, that explained the dirt. The layout was rough but recognizable; it was obvious he had done some research. Didn't take a mastermind to figure he must have gathered up a lot of supplies from the soon-to-be-destroyed community garden he was so fond of. This kid just cracks me up. Doesn't have a dime to his name beyond the barest survival requirements (and I'm still not sure how a double tall mocha is considered a life-saving necessity) but yet he had come up with and was apparently executing probably the best birthday present of my life.
Which led me to the next question. Where the hell was he? I had a pretty good idea but it was still the middle of the night. He couldn't be where I thought he was. Could he?
Then I had one of those moments when even though Sandburg wasn't near I could hear him tell me what to do. With the sappiest smile on my face I closed my eyes and started the drill, filtering out distracting sounds, searching for the familiar. I could feel my grin widen.
Of course. Right above me.
Reaching the door that led onto the roof I paused, breathing in deeply. Beyond the door I could smell the clean, loamy earth and the plants that inhabited it. My own personal garden. Man, this was gonna be good. I turned the handle and swung the door open, already adjusting my eyes to the darkness I knew I would find but anticipating a slice of heaven.
Or not.
Ok, maybe I was anticipating the wrong thing here. This looked more like a kindergarten project gone horribly wrong. In an area approximately the size of our living room I made out all the ingredients for a garden—dirt, plants, wood—but none of the form. And where the hell was that light coming from?
It was a soft glow off to my right. I followed it around the corner of the stairwell housing, gingerly stepping over a pile of two-by-fours. On that side of the structure the wind was blocked. The glow was coming from the Coleman lantern we took camping; it was turned about as low as it could go. Beyond it, huddled in a chair, fast asleep, was Sandburg.
Oh, Blair, what am I gonna do with you? I blow you off for the weekend, cancel whatever plans you may have made for my birthday, and look at this. You're attempting to create a paradise up here. For me.
I took another look behind me at the destruction encompassing the roof. I chuckled a little, realizing that in no place did the mess get any closer to the edge of the roof than six feet. That led me back to the fact my acrophobic partner was still up here, asleep.
I stepped closer and leaned down to turn off the lantern. Sandburg was really out. He had his legs curled up to his chest and had wrapped his leather jacket around them like a blanket. The night air had him shivering a bit but he was sleeping right through it.
I crouched down next to him. God, he looked beat. His face was streaked with dirt and there were leaves in his hair. Underneath the scent of fresh dirt and something else, maybe lavender, I detected a faint residue of antiseptic ointment. Have to check that out later.
I was hesitant to wake him. There was something almost instinctual singing in my blood as I crouched there in the dark next to my guide as he slept. My eyes went to his face as he murmured a little and I felt a wry smile tug at my face.
Well, I thought, if it's any consolation I had a crappy time without you. Steven's sense of humor isn't nearly as wicked as yours. There were definitely times when your whacked out perspective would have been so welcome. These guys simply bored the hell out of me. Mergers, acquisitions, contracts. What I wouldn't have given for one of your weird tribal stories at dinner last night when the subject veered off to another incredibly boring business subject. Just the rolling of your eyes would have been enough to enliven the evening. You say more with an expression than those stuffed shirts said all weekend.
Suddenly Sandburg was waking beside me. I reached out a hand to his shoulder, giving it a little shake.
"Hey, Chief. C'mon, wake up now."
He shivered a little, blinking his eyes open as he turned at my touch.
"Jim? What are you doing here? Catch any fish?" He was still mostly asleep as he struggled to sit up. I watched the realization slowly dawn in his eyes as he pulled his jacket on. I was home early.
Sandburg blinked hard a couple of times then looked me full in the face. I was ready for the surprise but not the stunned disappointment that followed. I rose and extended my hand to pull him up out of the chair. He stared at it groggily before taking it. When he reached his feet I put a steadying hand on his shoulder until he got his bearings.
"So," I began lightly, "I go away for a few days and you turn into Martha Stewart?"
I think he only half heard me, flashing me a quick smile as he looked around. When his eyes met mine I again saw the disappointment.
He yawned. "What time is it?"
"'Bout one."
"One!" His eyes flew wide open. "In the morning?"
I chuckled. "It's pitch dark, Darwin, what do you think?"
Sandburg stretched then walked away stiffly, hugging himself against the chill. I followed as he ambled through the confusion, marveling at the size—if not the execution—of the undertaking. I was reaching out to run my hands through one of the pots of rosemary when he spoke.
"Something go wrong? I mean, you're not supposed to be back 'til Tuesday night."
There was nothing accusatory in his tone but looking at the mess around us I began to get a clue as to why my sudden appearance was upsetting him.
I shrugged. "I was bored. One of the guys had to return early anyway so I caught a ride. Then I cabbed it home. Frankly, I think Steven was glad to see me go. I maxxed the limit both days before he even had one."
"Oh." Sandburg drew a dirty-toed sneaker through a clod of dirt then turned to face me. His arms were still wrapped defensively around his waist. He was watching me with the oddest expression as if expecting me to bust his chops for making a mess and
yet pretty defiant about the whole thing.
"C'mere, Chief." I crossed my arms over my chest. We had only the palest light from the streetlamps casting an infinitesimal glow on the rooftop. A cool, ocean-kissed breeze danced through the collection of herbs, releasing their heady scent.
Sandburg tilted his head and sort of smiled.
"Not if you're gonna whack me for tracking dirt into the loft."
I rubbed my chin, considering the idea. "Maybe later. Get over here." I turned partly away as he approached, looking down at a partially completed planter. When he got close enough, following my gaze to see what I was looking at, I wrapped my arm around his neck and pulled his head tight to my shoulder.
He gave a little "oof" of surprise as his arm automatically went around me for balance. I brought my other hand up as well, effectively holding him a loose headlock. This kind of maneuver was usually pretty intimidating on suspects. It made my thirty-year-old partner chuckle.
"Hey, jeez, Jim what's with the guerrilla tactics?"
I couldn't answer him. Caught in the dark curls tucked under my chin were the scents of the garden: lavender, rosemary and one of my favorites, dill. Breathing it in on top of the familiar scent of my guide brought such an exquisite sense of well being that I just closed my eyes and lived there for a minute.
It took me a second to realize Sandburg was speaking again.
"—so you're totally pissing me off here that you came home early." He was now standing in the loose circle of my arms, leaning back slightly to look me in the eye. There wasn't a hint of anger in his bantering but that tacit disappointment still lingered.
I reluctantly let him go and turned to face him head on, gesturing to the nascent paradise.
"Tell you what. Let's leave this for now and go back downstairs. You grab a shower while I fix us a sandwich or something. Then maybe you can give me a virtual tour of this place. I need to see the master plan if I'm gonna spend the next couple of days here."
Dark eyes widened and blinked at me, then the protests started. "No, no Jim, hey, that's ok. Look, you don't have to help me do this. Couple more days, I'll get it done." His voice dropped. "This is for your birthday, man."
I smiled. "Yeah. I know. All the more reason to let me in on this. My birthday, why do you get to have all the fun?"
There was that blinking thing again, a sure sign of cogitation. Then, suddenly, the sun was shining in the middle of the night as Sandburg placed his hands on his hips and smiled.
"Cool."
I finally shooed Sandburg off to bed three hours later, after much good-natured wrangling over the scope of this project. He backed off his insistence for a koi pond but I agreed to some kind of water sculpture thing. Eventually. About the time he started lecturing me on feng shui I made an exaggerated glance at the clock and pointed a finger towards his room. Sandburg in turn hung his head in mock shame and shuffled off to bed, leaving me alone with his computer.
It had not passed my notice in all his planning that there was only one Adirondack chair. Through the magic of modern technology and a credit card I would have that situation corrected by Tuesday.
Finally, before heading to bed myself, I just had to clean the loft. Yeah, by rights it should have been Sandburg but I just didn't have the heart to ream him over it. God, I am so softheaded anymore, letting him get away with this stuff.
Funny thing, I had no idea I could get swept up in a project so quickly. Blair's buddy Geoff came over early Monday afternoon and was a big asset, helping us situate everything for the best usage of the plants. He also did a practical blow-by-blow of the Hawks game, doing a wicked Chris Berman imitation that had Sandburg and I practically rolling in the dirt. The weather held and by dark that night we had a nice framework up. Blair's idea of pulling the tarp over to create a little shelter to protect the plants and also give a little privacy was pretty damn smart, I had to admit. I also had to admit I felt really grateful when Sandburg told me our neighbors didn't seem too interested in the garden. Fine by me.
After Thai food and a few beers Geoff took off. A light rain started falling, so Sandburg and I took the reprieve and watched Monday Night Football. Sitting there, enjoying the game after a hard day's work, muscles pleasantly sore, I felt good. Really good. Blair was suitably impressed when my fish arrived, cleaned and packed in ice by that overpriced resort. That place was so pricey I think they just paid the fish to hook themselves. Now he was sprawled on the love seat, looking as content as I felt. I wondered if he had relished this past day as much as I did, the camaraderie, the laughter, the togetherness. No bad guys, no spiking senses, just a couple of buddies and a few power tools.
As if reading my mind—which he probably does anyway—he turned to me and smiled that little knowing grin he has, the one that never fails to get me to smile back. Of course he knew exactly what I was thinking and wholeheartedly agreed without saying a word.
Finally, Tuesday night, it was done. That character Edna stopped by with more herbs she had saved and was nice enough to plant them in some baskets she found in her garage. We rigged them to hang from the supports, giving the whole area a more intimate feel. The Adirondack chair was ensconced under the sheltered part of the garden, facing west but close enough to the stairwell housing to buffer the wind.
Right at dusk Sandburg kicked me downstairs and told me to come back in ten minutes. I took the opportunity to get the newly arrived twin to my Adirondack chair up from the basement where I had stashed it earlier and tuck it into the stairwell by the roof access door. According to the weather channel and my sinuses we had just one more day of clear weather before La Niña kicked in again so tonight would probably the last we would see of the garden for a while.
After the ten minutes were up I knocked on the access door, feeling vaguely stupid for doing so. I didn't hear anything so I went ahead and pushed the door open. My eyes were immediately drawn to a flicker of light across the garden. Sitting on the Adirondack chair, rather forlornly was a Ding-Dong with a single lit birthday candle. Behind it, propped on the chair's back, was a card. Sandburg was not in sight but I could hear his heart beating around the other side of the stairwell housing. He obviously wanted me to read the card in private, so I picked up the Ding-Dong, made the traditional wish and blew the candle out. Then, being the practical man that I am, and since I needed my hands free, I removed the candle, stuck it in a nearby pot and proceeded to shove the usually forbidden treat into my mouth so I could rip open the envelope.
I'm not sure what I was expecting but I should have known that Sandburg would have done the perfect thing. My fingers instantly moved to caress the obviously handmade paper inside, enjoying the bits of flax and seed woven into the texture. No sappy poems about friendship or anything, just three little words: Happy Birthday—Blair.
I was suddenly sorry I had a mouthful of cupcake because swallowing became difficult. I managed anyway and then called out to my partner.
"Hey Chief, you gonna join me here or what?"
Sandburg moved out of the shadows and came up next to me, smiling slightly.
"Surprise!" he said softly.
I chuckled. "Thanks, Chief. Kinda disappointed it wasn't wrapped, you slacker." I grabbed him by his neck and gave it an affectionate squeeze.
"Damn picky sentinel. Next year you get a tie. With Wile E. Coyote on it if you're good."
I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and led him back towards the door. This was going to be the best part, I think.
"You may wanna rethink that strategy, Junior. Got something I wanna show you."
Yep. I was right. Definitely the best part.
As always, I thank Aithine for—well, damn near everything. But mostly for patience, guidance, gentle nudging and indulgence. Mostly patience, though. Ok, the nudging is good too.
And please visit the Butchart Gardens site—doesn't quite compare to the real thing but you'll get the idea.
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