The Unfinished Garden by Barbara Claypole White Read Free Book Online Page B

to
associate with him after only two meetings. How did she get here, sitting on a
rocking chair next to someone she was trying to avoid? A stranger who projected
complete focus while eating ice cream but whose constantly moving fingers hinted
at something out of control.
    James rose, opened the garbage can flap with his elbow, and
lobbed his untouched cone inside.
    “Why spend so long deciding which cone to have if you weren’t
going to eat it?” Tilly nibbled through the end of her sugar cone and sucked out
double chocolate chip ice cream.
    “Life is in the details, Tilly.”
    When they were talking, she forgot they weren’t friends.
“You’ve got something against cones?”
    “Ones that have been sitting out in the air all day, yes.”
    “Worried you might catch a deadly disease?”
    “Possibly.” His eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses,
but he appeared to stare at her. Silence pressed on her chest, the silence of
strangers who had no understanding and no shared history. “I need to go inside
and wash my hands,” James said and vanished.
    A mud dauber hummed under the porch roof, and a memory tumbled
out, so vivid Tilly had to gasp. Swear to God, she could hear Sebastian’s
giggle, the giggle that fizzed like soda spilling from a shaken bottle. Her
memories must be scrambled if she was confusing wasps, Sebastian and laughter.
He was terrified of wasps. Always had been, always would be, because he refused
to acknowledge it. She took a huge, gulping breath and nearly choked on a
lungful of clotted, late-afternoon heat. Sebastian didn’t deserve her thoughts.
She wasn’t allowing him to steal them.
    She waved to Isaac, who was tumbling around with two smaller
kids, making buddies with ease thanks to equal doses of his father’s charisma
and his grandfather’s canny way with people. She had never been as open and
trusting as a child. Of course, she had been painfully shy for most of her life.
Amazing how widowhood had knocked that out of her.
    The shop door jangled and James reappeared. He shook his hair
from his face and smiled at her. She grinned back; it was impossible not to.
    * * *
    Her smile, her smile doused the swell of anxiety.
    “This is very noble of you,” James said as he resettled next to
her. He tugged at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “Going to look after
your mother.”
    “My mother doesn’t need looking after.” Tilly took a tiny,
birdlike bite from her cone. “I’m merely helping out.”
    James stopped moving. He recognized self-talk when he heard it,
the belief that positive words could lead to positive thoughts. How he wished
that were true. In an instant, he wanted to know her hopes, her fears, her
family story. The works.
    “Do you have siblings?” he said.
    “I have two sisters, twins. Eight years younger than me. They
were preemies, so it was a case of join in the mothering or fall by the wayside.
And then my father died and—” Tilly strained to keep Isaac in her sights.
“Boring family stuff.”
    Of course, that explained the big-sister bullishness, the duty
run back to England. Finally, he had context within which to place her. “You’re
the family glue.”
    “I guess so.” Her approval gave him a kick of triumph, the
pride of being a kid with his first gold star—hell, his first trophy! When was
the last time he made someone feel good about herself, paid attention long
enough to want to make someone feel good?
    But her expression suggested sadness, and failure swamped
him.
    “We used to be closer.” Tilly paused to chew a fingernail, and
James suppressed his revulsion. “Truth is, I’ve distanced myself. Widowhood’s
streamlined me. What you see today is the leaner, meaner Tilly.”
    Shit, he didn’t see that one coming. “I assumed you were
divorced.”
    “I wish. God, no, I didn’t mean that. You’re not…are you?”
    “No. Never married.” Thankfully, one mistake he hadn’t made.
But Tilly, a widow? Had he become so self-absorbed