Digging In

by Loretta Nyhan

I ran a hand through Jesse’s adorably pillow-flat hair to wake him, and he nuzzled me a little, stubbly chin tickling my jaw, then swung his long legs over the side of the bed, sighed, and headed downstairs to make coffee.

This is already a bit heavy-handed.

Everybody liked Frank, because Frank had that one quality no one could resist—he knew who he was and still liked himself.

The girl went on in a singsongy voice. “We’ve got every little thing you need.” Oh, yeah? I wanted to shout. You’ve got my husband in your truck? Job security? A teenage son who doesn’t seethe with unexpressed anger? You’ve got all that hanging out with the asparagus and early onions?

Ha

“Dandelion greens.” “People eat those?” “They do. Cleans the liver. Helps you flush out the bad stuff.” She was smug. Just a little, but it was there. I was sick of people younger than me feeling superior. Sick of hipper than thou looking on me with pity because I was so ignorant. “I have a toilet for that.”

I forced my thoughts to shift—what would Jesse’s version of heaven be? Probably a glorified Container Store.

Hahahahaa

Once in a while we’d splurge and go into the city in search of some new hot spot Jesse had read about in Chicago magazine. Some might have seen our life together as boring, but we knew how valuable boring was. Like order, boring was safe. We could rely on it.

The garden was again morphing into something different. The flimsy young plants had taken root for the most part, and they were careening through adolescence like teens on a bender, their leaves seeking independence by growing into places I hadn’t predicted. Plants did not merely grow tall; they grew wide, curious about their surroundings, eager to seek nourishment from anywhere they could get it. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes I had to prune them back or watch a branch snap and wilt. My garden was a patchwork of failures and successes. I loved it.

I was not one to talk about ghosts, or vibes for that matter, but the fact that the dress was white, and that we’d found it buried in the backyard, well, that added some unusual elements. Also, I was curious to see Mr. Eckhardt’s reaction when he spotted it. Would he recognize it or have no clue? I couldn’t wait to find out.

Why has no one considered that he was the one who buried it and will not be pleased to see her wearing it yet?!?

“But you did steal from someone.” “From who?” “My wife.”

Yes this was clear about a hundred pages ago

“And where is your wife, sir?” Sean asked gently. A thought pierced through my annoyance. What if she’d died, and he was still mourning her? How could I, of all people, have not thought of that possibility?

WTF why was this not clear from the beginning lol

And then I heard Jesse’s voice in my head. He told me that it was okay to be new with someone and that growth was the natural by-product of change. He said I shouldn’t fight it or taint it with guilt or wish I’d been more like this new self with him, because it would discount the beauty of what we’d had. He said I should be open not only to life but also to love.

Ok that is extremely sweet. :)

“Jackie’s look is so dated it actually almost works,” Lukas said. “But you? You need to change.”

He didn't think of discussing outfits before the DAY of the pitch?…

Cultivating them sustained my soul over the summer, but when Bill Eckhardt and I managed to make such a delicious sauce with them, I felt like I’d honored their life cycle, as hippie earth mama as that sounds. They were ripped from the soil prematurely, but their life cycle was complete. Applying this to Jesse wasn’t beyond me. I’d mourn him every day until I drew my last breath, but I had to stop obsessing over the unfairness that he was taken and focus on the wonders he’d given us.

The most simple definition is this: success is increased opportunity. So explore.