Chapter Nine

 “Do you keep a little flower garden at your own place, Guin?”

Granny June came out to the bistro set with two glasses of iced tea. She handed one to Guin then took a seat across from her.

“My own place is not even my own. So no.” She took a sip; she felt physically spent after a third day in a row of trimming and transplanting Granny’s garden. Their labors had paid off in a paradise of blossoms.

“Everyone needs a little haven, I always say.”

“That’s why I come here,” Guin remarked, smiling at her grandmother. In reality her safe haven had less to do with the atmosphere and more to do with Granny June.

“So, how have you been keeping yourself busy with all this time off you have?” Granny slipped her gloves off, shook the dirt from them and laid them on the tiny table. She didn’t ask of vacations or other things one might normally be inclined to do during a leave of absence. She knew what was on Guin’s mind. “Have you had any more visions of your friend?”

Guin’s eyes involuntarily widened. “Could you see that?”

“No, child.” The old woman took a sip of tea, shrugged. “But why else would you be elbows deep in mulch for this many days straight? Your old granny recognizes self-administered therapy when she sees it. Not that I don’t appreciate the company. Or the help.”

Guin looked thoughtful. “I’m not having any visions. They were kind of a source of comfort for me for a while, but I ran out of things to…touch.”

Granny reached across the table, clasped her granddaughter’s hand. “My love. It will get better.”

“It can’t get worse, that’s for sure.”

“Now, you and I know that’s not true. That’s why we’ve got to enjoy every minute of it, every day.” She rose, retrieved her clippers from inside a nearby flowerpot. Granny talked as she walked to the nearest flowery row. “That’s why you’ve got this time to yourself. You take the time to mourn and appreciate what you’ve lost. Then hopefully you take something good away from it and you remember it for next time you try to fall in love.”

“Am I that obvious, Granny?” Guin’s face felt warm. Granny knew Cheryl was married. None of this was helping her conscience any. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with her.”

“I know, child. We never do,” she called from the other side of the row. In moments she approached Guin, handed her a small bouquet. “Here you go. Your own personal garden.”

Guin smiled, took the flowers and stood to give her grandmother a hug.

“How can you be so different from Mom?” Guin whispered in her ear.

If she’d caught Granny June off guard with her question, it didn’t show. She squeezed Guin’s hand in her own tinier one. “Gloria has always been…a different case. I used to blame myself for it all the time—my blessing was her curse.” Granny smiled in the sunlight. “All those years I spent at Heart House trying to help all those children, and I couldn’t even help my own daughter. It felt so hypocritical of me.”

Granny rarely spoke of her former career rescuing homeless families off the streets and steering them toward a more meaningful life. Guin figured her humility about those acts made her as close to an angel on earth as one could get.

“But one day she brought me this beautiful, sensitive granddaughter who I’ve watched grow into a fine woman.” Granny winked at Guin, whispered, “And that alone is worth anything Gloria could dish out to this old woman.”

“I love you, Granny.” Guin smiled at Granny, buried her nose in the sweet-smelling blooms.

“Now go home and get these in some water.” Granny eyed her dirt-covered granddaughter. “And soak yourself when you’re done doing that. You’re not used to my kind of workout.”

Guin feigned offense. “Are you saying you’re tougher than me?”

“We both have our dirty work.” Granny smiled, added, “I’d take mine any day over yours, though.”

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“No. Tomorrow’s the day you do something for you.” Granny’s voice conveyed that she meant business. “Me and this garden—we’re just your tether. Now cut the line and see what’s going on in the rest of this world. And that’s an order.”

At home, there was a note taped to her door.

Going to Masquerades. Meet me there? xo-T

Guin snatched the note and went inside. The last thing she felt like doing was going to a noisy bar to meet her goofy friend with his short attention span. She looked around the kitchen for anything that would serve as a vase, and she found an old glass jelly jar with Tweety Bird on it. She filled it with water and plunked the flowers into it, fanned them out nicely.

She showered until her skin was adequately pruned. She towel-dried her hair as she entered the kitchen. She inspected every cupboard, every shelf of the refrigerator. Empty. Her eyes roved the countertop and landed on Terence’s scribbled note. She sighed and went to get dressed.

An hour later she was seated in a too-noisy bar, sipping tequila. Terence was nowhere in sight.

“Figures,” she muttered.

“Pardon?” The voice came from over her shoulder, and as noisy as it was, Guin wasn’t even sure it was directed at her. Then a woman with flaming scarlet hair and matching dress leaned over her small table. “I hope you were saying your date didn’t show.”

Guin looked at her, half-smiled, shook her head. “My friend didn’t show.”

“Her loss,” the woman purred.

“His loss, actually.”

The woman looked utterly surprised at her bad call. Guin chuckled, figured the mistake was convenient and didn’t bother to correct it. She wasn’t in the mood for company anyway.

“Too bad,” she said, and she was back on the prowl, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost.

Guin expelled the breath she’d been holding. “Holy shit…” she muttered much more quietly this time. She flagged down the waitress, motioned for one more. Her eyes then slid past the waitress down to a patron seated on a barstool across the room. An African-American woman she thought she recognized made eye contact with her for several seconds. Guin craned her neck, tried to get a better look, a feat made difficult thanks to a flamboyant fellow waving a feather boa on the cramped dance floor. When the boa finally moved, the woman was gone. The waitress returned and slid the drink in front of Guin, startling her. She passed her a ten, tossed back the shot, and looked around the room for the woman. She was as gone with the wind as Scarlet.

Guin swiped the back of her hand across her damp lips, pulled her jacket on and slipped out of her seat. She silently cursed her absent friend all the way to the exit of the firetrap bar. She was hungry and considered that if she’d not loused up the chance, she could be having the woman with cherry hair helping soothe her various appetites. But it was probably for the best.

On the way home she stopped at a grocery store, bought brown rice, California rolls, pumpkin granola and tequila. She went home and plopped in front of the television for what had become another exciting night in the life of Guin Marcus.

After a week of solitude, she called Terence.

“You got a new phone?” he squealed.

“I tried my tin can with string, but you wouldn’t pick up.”

“Funny girl,” he said, then, “Where were you the other night?”

“I was there.”

Terence laughed. “You’re kidding me. I never dreamed you’d show. I ran into an old friend outside. We never even made it through the door.”

“Thanks. You could have left me a message.”

“On what phone? Your tin can with string?” he scoffed. “Did you have fun? Get lucky?”

“No, and no.” She leaned back onto the couch, considered what she was dying to ask her friend. She’d resisted until now. Mustering up as impartial tone as possible, she went for it. “So, did they find the guy?”

He didn’t need to ask which guy.

“Guin, you know I can’t talk to you about that.”

“Why the fuck not?” All notions of cool went out the door. She sat up, raked her hand through curly hair. “I was her partner. I was on the call. I was a witness. That’s not protocol. You’re out of line.”

“Just calm down.” Terence sounded like he was thinking it over. Guin listened to his breathing through the phone, suddenly saw him outside a Starbucks in West Hollywood. Weird.

“Are you…getting coffee?”

“Why? Do I sound overly-caffeinated?” was his monotone response.

“No more than usual.” She’d think about it later. More pressing matters were presently at hand. “So, what about the case?”

“Of course it’s not protocol to deny you information.” His voice grew quiet and she could see that he was surrounded by a few other java seekers. “I’m just looking out for your well-being. I’d love to think that you could really capitalize on this time off. Really get this junk out of your head.”

Guin heard him mouth thank you to the lady behind the counter. Maybe she saw him do it—who could say? It was getting weirder by the moment. The idea of him telling her to clear the junk out of her head was funny—hell, she couldn’t even get him out of her head.

“So, talk to me,” she persisted.

“I’ll check the progress.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

“You could call Briggs yourself, you know.” He took a sip. “He said for you to check in with him.”

“I’m not calling him. I’m pissed at him.”

“What for?”

“He suspended me, duh.”

“Not a suspension—paid leave.”

“Same difference.”

She was growing impatient, wondered if she needed to get to a store for more supplies since she could feel another lockdown coming on.

“How about I come over.” He sounded like his heart wasn’t in it. Plus, Guin knew that if he’d trekked all the way over to WeHo, he was meeting someone. Besides, she felt like bad company. No sense in poisoning her friend.

“No, do your thing. I’m going to bed early.”

They said their goodbyes and Guin stared at her phone. The faint vision of him drinking coffee vanished with the disconnect. She considered the real possibility that her gift was evolving. She ran her finger along the phone, looked thoughtful, and finally punched in Cheryl’s cell number. Promptly an automated operator said that the line was no longer in service and she felt nothing at all. Guin pressed the off button, tossed her phone down, watched it bounce off the couch and land on the rug.

She looked at her watch. Nearly four o’clock and she was restless. She’d prided herself on the fact that she’d never been enough like her mother to pop even a sleeping pill. However, an innocent Benadryl might do the trick... Of course the interim between taking the cold meds and waiting for it to kick into snooze-time would require lying in a bed that had managed to capture Beth. Bully for her. No amount of sheet-washing would exorcise those demons. She wondered if there was a market for Tide with Spirit Cleanser.