The Garden of Happy Endings (10 page)

“Who wouldn’t let you in?”

Her sister swallowed. “Federal marshals. The Sheriff’s Department. They said that Scott’s being indicted and they’re seizing everything in the house. Maybe even seizing the house itself.”
Tears ran, unchecked, down her face. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it? I mean, there has to be some mistake. Right?”

“Yes. I’m sure it’s a mistake.” Elsa took her sister’s hand. “When was the last time you talked to Scott?”

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders. “Four weeks. Yesterday.”

“Oh, Tamsin. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her eyes rolled wildly, almost like a horse’s. “I don’t know! What would you think of me?” She pushed her hand through her bangs, leaving them standing on end. Elsa reached up and smoothed her sister’s hair. “I have to go to the Sheriff’s Office. They want to interview me.” She looked down at her grimy T-shirt. “They wouldn’t even let me go in to get a change of clothes.”

“I’ll come with you. Just let me make sure there’s someone to cover the bases around the kitchen, and I’ll be right back out.”

“No.” Tamsin pulled her hand from Elsa’s grip. “I’ll be all right. I’m just going to talk to them.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll be right back out. Don’t move.”

Tamsin grabbed her hand. “Elsa, what am I going to
do
?”

“One thing at a time. Let’s go downtown.”

T
he interview lasted just over an hour. Tamsin didn’t know anything. It was that simple. Not that they necessarily believed her, she could see that, but in the end, they simply let her go.

What they did not do was tell her when she could get back into the house, or even get her things. Her bank accounts and credit cards had been frozen. She had exactly seventeen dollars in her wallet.

Also, she smelled like a goat. That had probably made a very good impression.

They advised her to get a lawyer. Which, she pointed out, she had no money for.

Again, they were very sorry.

Shaken, Tamsin walked on wobbly legs to find her sister, who was reading a very tattered
Field & Stream
in the waiting room of the Sheriff’s Office. “I’m done,” Tamsin said.

“Have you had anything to eat?”

“No. Just a doughnut this morning.”

“Let’s get you a hot dog and take a walk around the Riverwalk.”

The hot dog vendor was on the corner. Tamsin automatically pulled out her wallet, because her sister was the poor church mouse, and then remembered that the bills inside were all she had.

“I’ve got it,” Elsa said.

As she stood there, Tamsin could not stop the tears streaming down her face. Not noisy. Not dramatic. Just open faucets, pouring over her cheeks, dripping off her chin. A wind came up, carrying the bite of lingering winter.

Elsa handed her a hot dog and a root beer. “Come sit by the waterfall.”

They settled on a bench and Tamsin forced the food down, even though it stuck in her throat like a cork. “I have absolutely nothing,” she said. “What am I going to do?” A jumbled list of losses spilled out. “I don’t have fresh underwear. I can’t even buy a bottle of wine.”

“We have to get you a lawyer. I’m sure we can find someone who can help you. You should be able to get into your house to collect your personal things eventually, and in the meantime, you’ll stay with me.” Elsa rubbed her sister’s arm. “And I’ll buy you a bottle of wine.”

This shift in their roles was almost more disconcerting than anything else that had happened today. Tamsin was the older sister, born to their parents when they were thirty-eight, a surprise after twenty years of marriage. They were amazed by the pretty little princess they had miraculously produced. When Elsa, too, showed up eight years later, when their mother was forty-six
and had thought herself almost finished with the messiness of her female body, they had been a little less thrilled.

That younger sister now took Tamsin’s hand in her own. “Things will sort themselves out in a day or two, Thomasina. You can’t let panic overwhelm you.”

“I’ll try.” Suddenly she remembered something. “Oh! I just realized that my Kindle is in the car. And I might have some clothes at the gym.”

“That’s the spirit. Books and underwear are all a woman really needs.”

“And wine. Don’t forget the wine.”

Elsa smiled. “I won’t forget the wine.”

O
ne did not enter the ministry with the goal of making a lot of money. Elsa lived frugally, however, and had for many years, so she’d managed to save a bit of a cushion. But not even those savings would have lasted long through this unpaid sabbatical if she hadn’t owned the small house where she and her sister had grown up.

It was just two miles from San Roque, in a pocket neighborhood known as the Grove, which had once boasted a Guinness World Record: the largest number of parishes in the smallest area. There were also a handful of grocers in small shops, though most of them sold little more than lottery tickets and beer these days. A union hall stood proudly on the main entry corner, where wedding receptions and wakes were still held. And bars, of course, neighborhood bars that had served generations of steel workers. One of them, the Star Bar, was famous for its Slopper, an open-faced hamburger served with green chile poured over the top.

Like most of the houses in the area, Elsa’s was modest—a two-bedroom bungalow with a deep backyard, and a good front porch shaded by elm trees. The kitchen was tiny. The living and dining areas were combined into one room, and a bathroom sat between
the two small bedrooms. The bedroom windows looked over the driveway, which was lined with tall juniper trees where entire nations of birds nested—singing and twittering and tweeting.

The house still technically belonged to their elderly mother, who lived north of Denver with her second husband, but Elsa had been overseeing the rental for years. She had also overseen a handful of upgrades—a new stove, a better fridge, new carpets. That the house had been recently vacated when she returned in December had seemed like a sign.

If she believed in signs.

Now Tamsin dropped her gym bag and eReader onto the bed in the guest room and tugged at the bottom of her shirt. “Weird,” she said. “It’s just so weirdly tiny, isn’t it? How did we not notice that then?”

“Everybody else lived in houses like this, too.” Elsa gave her fresh towels. “You can have a bath if you want. I need to make a few notes about the garden before I forget.”

Tamsin sat down abruptly. Her arms fell loosely between her knees like noodles. “And what am I going to tell Alexa?”

Elsa put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. It was trembling faintly. “First take a bath. Then we’ll take the next steps. How about a cup of tea?”

Tamsin nodded and picked up her towels. “Bath first.”

In the tiny kitchen, Elsa put the kettle on. Outside, a blustery wind had begun to blow, tossing the junipers back and forth, and it made her wonder for the twelve-millionth time how birds managed to stay in their nests. Sometimes they fell out, but mostly they didn’t. It was miraculous, if you thought about it. Standing with the heels of her hands against the sink, she imagined a clutch of little birds huddled together, wings around one another, eyes closed tightly as their house swayed side to side.

The water started to run in the bathroom, and Elsa blew out a breath.

This was terrible. If Scott really had been involved in a Ponzi scheme, chances were good Tamsin was about to lose everything. Her husband, her comfortable life, the ease of having no financial worries, and—painful for a woman who’d grown up with so little—the house she loved and had spent so much time restoring.

Surely they would be able to rescue her personal belongings and clothing, her quilting supplies and such things. How did this all work? Would they auction it off to pay the bills? Would it just sit there, getting dusty, while the courts sorted it out?

Elsa closed her eyes, reaching for the comfort she had always relied on—the peaceful depth of spirit that reminded her this life was only one sliver of everything. Once, she had accessed that velvety peace at will, had found courage and sustenance in it.

Now, nothing was there. Only a dead cold emptiness.

And yet, from force of habit she wanted to pray. She wanted to ask for assistance, to say, as she had so often,
Help me help her
, but the words stuck in her throat.

Instead, she took a breath and gathered all the tools she had learned as a counselor over the years—listening, reflection, compassion, non-judgment. Even without prayer, they could be helpful. Humans did not have to rely on God—or be in service to him—to be helpful to one another.

Charlie padded into the room, snuffled at his empty food dish, and looked up at her.

She chuckled. “Sorry, my man.” She filled one stainless steel bowl with kibble, the other with his minuscule portion of canned food mixed with a tablespoon of yogurt, which had cured a gassy problem that had sometimes driven her outside in desperation. He waited politely, his feathery black tail swishing over the floor, spreading out more debris than she would have thought possible.

When she put the dish down, he still waited patiently, until Elsa said, “Okay, go ahead.”

As the water boiled, she remembered that she still needed to
send a note to Deacon and Joaquin about the garden. The thought of it blew like a fresh green wind through her dark, worried mood, and she found she was even smiling a little as she composed the email.

When the kettle water was boiling, she made a heartening pot of strongly scented tea. On the table, she spread an old, worn-soft cloth embroidered by some unknown hands long ago, and linen napkins, and two cups from the collection she had amassed, china in all sizes, in colors of blue and pink and gold. The cup she set at Tamsin’s place was one of the best she had, blue on the inside with a rim of gold, and a matching saucer. The spoons were antique English teaspoons, gathered on her travels when she was young and heartsick. No flowers were blooming outside yet, so she put a potted African violet in the middle of the table, along with a plate of ordinary shortbread cookies and some chocolates in foil wrappers.

Tamsin emerged a little while later with wet hair hanging down her back. She wore a YMCA T-shirt with long sleeves and a pair of yoga pants and some socks. Her face was washed clean of makeup. She had always been a beauty, from smallest babyhood when photos showed that she’d had a crown of soft blond curls to frame her eyes, the color of the inside of the china cup. As an adolescent, she’d grown coltish and radiant, with slim hips and generous breasts, and silky blond hair that tumbled over her shoulders. Even now, exhausted by the worst day she’d probably ever had, she was gorgeous, her skin still smooth at forty-six, her eyes the same electric blue, her mouth full and plump. Elsa suspected she had begun fillers and lasers long ago, and the result was a face as lovely as it had always been. Elsa was so much plainer, it was hard to believe they had the same parents. Perhaps if they were closer in age it would have been an issue, but Elsa had worshipped her big sister when they were growing up.

“This is so pretty,” Tamsin said as she sat down. “You have such a knack for setting a table.”

“Thank you.” She picked up the pot and poured a cup of deep red tea. “It’s an herbal blend. Caffeine didn’t seem like a good idea.” She pushed a little crystal bowl of sugar cubes across the table.

“Do you have any Equal or Splenda?”

Elsa smiled softly. She didn’t believe in artificial ingredients. “You know better.”

Tamsin lifted her cup and sipped, made a face, and reached for the sugar. Elsa simply waited as she stirred it in, watched it dissolve, and took another sip.

“I feel shell-shocked,” Tamsin said, finally. “Like I’m in a dream. I don’t even know how to begin to make a plan. Like, how long will it be before I can get some clothes out of the house? And if it’s a long time, what should I do in the meantime? I can’t go around like this forever.”

Elsa nodded.

Tamsin stared into her tea for so long that the silence in the room took on a noisy rustling depth. “He’s gone, isn’t he? That’s why I haven’t heard from him.” Her eyes filled with tears.

Elsa paused before she answered. “I don’t know. Maybe he is. From a practical standpoint, it might be best to move forward as if that’s true.”

Tears spilled from her sister’s lovely eyes. “He disappeared to some faraway place so he doesn’t have to face the music. He probably stashed a big pile of money in some Swiss bank account and left me to deal with this mess on my own.”