Bleeding Heart (9 page)

“It’s too much of a grade,” Damon said. “Too steep for kids and anyone who’s not in great shape.”

“Yeah, but how many people are actually going to be using it?” Nate said. I could tell he was irritated about having his work called into question, especially by someone he didn’t report to. He’d done a massive amount of stonework in record time and had assumed he was through with the project. “I saw this more as a kind of maintenance area, you know?” We were standing on a shadowy rise by the empty oval pool that indeed I’d envisioned being looked at primarily from above. I’d had no plans to cultivate the glade other than keeping the undergrowth trimmed around the pool.

“I’m just saying,” Damon replied, shrugging. “But if you don’t care about code, it’s fine with me.”

“I’ll tell you what worries me more,” Nate said. “That exposed area up there. This is some kind of a drop, man. I’m thinking you need to put a railing or something around the mouth of that waterfall.”

I looked up at the cliff towering above us.

“Nate’s right,” I said after a moment. “I was hoping for an unimpeded view, but it’s really too dangerous to leave like that. Especially considering all the people—” I stopped myself, realizing that
I was about spill the news from Vera before Mackenzie had agreed to it.

“All what people?” Damon asked. They both turned to look at me.

“Okay—please don’t breathe a word of this because the client hasn’t signed off on it yet, but we’ve been selected to kick off Open Days this year.”

“No fucking way!” Nate said, laughing.

“Fantastic!” Damon agreed. As artisans who depended on the gardening trade for a lot of their custom work, Nate and Damon knew that this was a big win for them, too. After that, they quickly agreed to make the changes and additions they’d both suggested, and we were able to call it a day before evening descended altogether. I stopped by the house on my way home, but Eleanor told me Mackenzie was still holed up in his office.

“That man’s going to work himself to death,” she said, shaking her head.

The office was dark by the time I got home, but Mara’s beat-up Corolla was still in the drive, and I noticed the lights were on in the greenhouse. I walked across the lawn, where the first of the summer’s lightning bugs were drifting upward through the humid night air.

“Mara?” I called as I entered the small greenhouse that my grandfather had built more than fifty years ago and that I now used primarily to store trays and hoses. Two years ago I’d added an extension: a much larger commercial steel-framed and polycarbonate model, which was where we nurtured our seedlings and housed the tender perennials and shrubs over the winter. Mara was at the far end of the addition, her back to me. About half the trays were empty now after several hundred of the sturdier annuals we’d grown had found their way into our clients’ gardens over the last several busy
weeks of planting. We were waiting another few days before putting in the more delicate varieties.

“Mara?” I said again as I started down the center aisle toward her.

“Oh!” she said, whirling around.

“Sorry if I scared you,” I said. “You’re working awfully late.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, wiping her hands on her jeans as she came down the aisle to meet me. “The plants needed pinching back. They were getting really leggy.” She looked tired.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” I told her. “We ran into a lot of problems today and I didn’t get to those calls. But I promise to do it first thing tomorrow. And I’ll also try to give you more of a hand in the office.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “The way I acted before? I think I was just embarrassed I didn’t know about Open Days.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said, surprised and touched that she would admit this to me. We walked out together, switching off the overheads and leaving what she had been doing unfinished.

“No, stuff like that is really important,” she said as we walked back along the drive toward her car. “It’s the kind of thing I need to know if I’m going to make it in this business.”

I felt another wave of pleasure at hearing her declare that the job mattered to her. That she saw it as her future. I knew that I was forcing Mara to work hard, but I also believed that I was giving her a great opportunity to learn a trade from, quite literally, the ground up. It was so difficult to know what she was thinking and feeling most of the time. But I felt a chink had opened between us—and that for just a moment or two I was able to see into her heart.

I
ran into Gwen at the farmers’ market two days later. I’d dropped by to pick up something to eat on my way back from the site. It was nearly five o’clock and I hadn’t had lunch. Worse, I still hadn’t been able to meet with Mackenzie. And the couple of morning hours allotted to planting a semicircle of weeping cherries had turned into an all-day ordeal. I’d hoped to use some of my Green Acres workers that I’d recently been pressing into service at Mackenzie’s, but Mara had put her foot down, saying they just couldn’t be spared at such a busy time. So I had to rely on the less than cooperative crew the nursery sent. The afternoon had evaporated without my realizing it, and I was starving. Then I heard Gwen’s voice behind me at the Bread of Heaven stand.

“Where’ve you been hiding, stranger?” she said.

“What?” I asked, turning around. She was wearing a sleeveless jersey minidress, oversized sunglasses, and a wide, innocent smile.

“I’ve been trying to reach you,” she told me.

“Really? You couldn’t have been trying very hard.”

“What’s the matter? You look a little frazzled.”

“That’s because I am. Mackenzie’s missing in action and I have a lot of things I really need to talk to him about.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I hated to do it, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Have
you
heard from him?” I asked.

“No. Not lately,” Gwen said. Which could have meant she’d last seen him two weeks ago—or just yesterday. At least she had the decency to keep her sunglasses on and not try to look me in the eye. What the hell was she up to? But I was pretty sure I knew, because this wasn’t the first time Gwen had suddenly dropped out of my life without explanation. In fact, it had become a pretty good indicator that she had embarked on another one of her clandestine affairs.
Here we go again!
I thought. It was her choice, of course, and in the past I’d forced myself not to be too judgmental about some of Gwen’s more dubious romantic decisions. But now I suspected her behavior was coming between me and my client at the worst possible moment. And this after I’d handed the Mackenzie Project to her on a silver platter! How could she be so selfish and unthinking?

At any other time after not seeing Gwen for such a long stretch, I would have insisted that we sit down together and catch up. But as it became my turn at the Bread of Heaven queue to place an order, I realized I’d lost my appetite—not only for a sandwich but for my friend’s company as well.

“Sorry,” I said, stepping out of line. “I’ve got to run.”

“Is everything okay?” Gwen asked.

“I’m working night and day to get this garden done on time,” I told her. “So if you happen to see Mackenzie before I do, please let him know we really need to talk.”

I’d stopped answering Vera Yoland’s calls. A full week had gone by since she’d spoken to me about the Open Day event, and it was now
only three and a half weeks before the proposed date itself. Press releases needed to be written and sent out, brochures and tickets printed. As agonizing as it was to watch this opportunity slip through my fingers, it was becoming increasingly clear to me that I had no choice but to turn down the greatest professional honor of my life.

The project itself, however, was coming together beautifully. I’d pushed my suppliers hard, dropping hints that exciting news about my work for Mackenzie was in the offing. As a consequence, I was expecting a shipment of the last of the specimen trees—a dozen black-barked river birches—that afternoon. As I waited in the driveway for the delivery, I looked down and saw Mackenzie below. I’d yet to walk him through the nearly completed garden rooms, but there he was, pacing back and forth across the sundial terrace as if it had been in his possession for years. I shielded my eyes against the afternoon sun, watching him stop, turn, and walk back the other way. His head was down. He seemed unaware of his surroundings. He appeared to be talking to himself. It took me a moment to realize that he was on a hands-free phone.

It had been several weeks since I’d seen him, and I was shocked by the change in his appearance. Even from this distance, I could tell he’d lost weight. He moved slowly, hunched over a little, as though in some pain. I’d been so preoccupied with my own concerns that it hadn’t occurred to me that Mackenzie might not be just overwhelmed by work—or distracted by a new love affair. He’d always seemed so much bigger than life to me. It was unsettling to think that he could actually be ill.

The delivery truck arrived, and I spent the next hour or so overseeing the planting of the new birches at the northern edge of the property. The whole time I was working, however, I also had my eye on Mackenzie as he moved restlessly around in the garden
below. He remained on the phone, occasionally shaking his head. His tone seemed subdued. Not once did I see him laugh.

After the crew left, I debated about what to do. Though I longed to approach him about the Open Day—in fact, this was probably my last chance to do so—I couldn’t imagine interrupting him during what was obviously a serious call. But he solved the dilemma for me. He stopped in midstride, looked up the hill at me, and—almost as though he’d read my mind—waved me down. Then he continued pacing.

“. . . I’m not sure how many more times we’re going to have to go over this,” he was saying as I approached. He nodded vaguely to me, and went on: “I’ve talked to your lawyers. You’ve talked to my lawyers. Your lawyers have talked to my lawyers. Listen, Sal, the point is, your team had its shot at due diligence. Six fucking months of it . . . Okay, but that’s your problem now, isn’t it? Do you really think bringing in even
more
lawyers is going to solve anything?”

Mackenzie turned and crossed the terrace again, walking right over the beautiful stone-and-iron compass mosaic that Nate and Damon had laid into the pavement. I doubted he even noticed it.

“Take this to the press?” he cried. “Go on! Be my guest! You have my absolute blessing to look like a total fool. No, I’m not gloating. You’ve got to know how sorry I am about what’s happened.”

He turned back in my direction, shaking his head.

“So why not shut up for a minute and listen to what I have to say? Right, I realize that, but I really am trying to help. Okay. The best thing you can do—in fact the
only
thing you can do as far as I’m concerned—is to just suck it up and take one mother of a write-down. Yes, I understand. But you know what I think? You’ll be roughed up in the market for a week or two, but then you’ll bounce right back. No, really. Sure. Me, too. Yeah—I wish.”

He stopped pacing and stood with his back to me, looking out over the valley. I didn’t realize the call had ended until he said to me without turning around, “Word of advice, Alice: never do business with friends.”

I’d heard him mention “Sal,” and wondered if he’d been talking to Sal Lombardi, whose calls I’d tried to return earlier in the week. But Sal’s wife, Gigi, had told me her husband was down in the city and she had no idea what he might have wanted. Though Mackenzie’s comment almost begged the question, I decided not to ask him if he was referring to his neighbor. The last thing I needed was to get caught in the cross fire between two of my most important clients.

“I hope everything’s okay,” I said, walking over to him. Up close, I could see how the weight loss had further loosened his jawline. And there was a new pouchiness around his eyes that made him look older and somewhat sad.

“No, actually, it’s not,” he said. “I’ve hit some pretty choppy water, Alice. And after years of smooth sailing I’m afraid I’ve lost my old knack for coming about.”

I didn’t know what to say. Should I try to commiserate? Or offer solace? Here we stood in this man-made paradise he’d paid me an enormous sum of money to create for him, and I was pretty sure that he was barely taking it in—let alone deriving any pleasure from it. And I was surprised at how much that bothered me. How much it mattered that he should enjoy our great shared endeavor. I’d known when I took on this project that I wanted to prove something to myself. Now I realized that I’d been hoping to prove something to Mackenzie as well. I wanted him to feel that he’d been right to believe in me. That I’d done him proud. I longed to hear the old excitement in his voice.
What I’m hoping for is something totally unexpected and unique. The fact is I want you to create the most beautiful garden in the Berkshires for me.

“You’re right,” he muttered, as though I’d actually been speaking to him. “Enough of this! Self-pity is such a ridiculous waste of energy. So, Alice,” he said, turning to face me. His gaze was hooded and weary. “I understand you’ve been trying to get hold of me.” I knew that Eleanor had been attempting for days to get him to respond to my repeated requests. Was it Gwen who’d prompted this sudden willingness to talk?

“Yes,” I told him. “Something’s come up that I think you’re going to like. At least I hope so. Because, in my world at least, it’s a pretty big deal. . . .”

I was sure that my news about the Open Day would shake Mackenzie out of his slump, but he seemed to just absorb it into his general unhappiness.

“So I agree to let the public come traipsing through here,” he said, “and they trample all over the flower beds and have their little dogs pee on the bushes. What exactly do I get out of it?”

“Recognition,” I said, my heart sinking. This was hardly the response I’d been counting on, and his peevishness surprised me. I was aware that he could be bullying and demanding, but this was the first time I’d ever known him to be small. “A chance to show off what you’ve done. This is an amazing accomplishment. Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Oh, Christ!” he said. “The thing is, this isn’t the optimum moment for me to be showing anything off. I hope you didn’t go and promise that Yoland woman anything. I got at least two dozen different messages from her. You’d think people would start to get it when you don’t call them back!”

“Of course I didn’t promise anything,” I said, affronted. “Though I might have given her the wrong impression about how you’d react. I’m sorry—I assumed you’d be pleased.”

“Don’t get all martyrish on me, Alice,” he said. “I have enough
on my plate right now without having to deal with your tender feelings.”

“I’ll live,” I told him, though in fact I was bitterly disappointed. It was my garden, too, I wanted to remind him. But the truth was that without his money neither of us would have been standing there, surrounded by beauty and utterly miserable.

“I’m not sure
I
will,” he said. “Along with everything else, I feel like absolute hell. If we’re going to continue this, do you mind if we find a place to sit down?”

“Of course,” I told him. “But would you like me to give you a quick tour of the gardens first? There are benches down there by the waterfall. Do you think you can make it that far?”

“Well, let’s give it a try,” he said, and then, surprisingly, he held out his arm. He might have done it to help steady himself, but it felt more like an act of gallantry to me. And so we set off at a leisurely pace . . . across the sundial garden . . . down the steps to the miniature lily pond . . . along the walkway covered with flowering wisteria . . . up to the newly planted birch grove surrounding the Buddhist shrine . . . down the curving staircase to the perennial beds, where rosebushes had already started to climb up the retaining wall . . . and along the colonnade of lime trees. He moved with some difficulty, but his mood seemed to lighten with every new garden room we entered.