Robyn Carr - The View From Alameda Island

And that fast she was gone.

Lauren looked at Beau. “What am I going to do with you? Met me at church, did you?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he said. “Seeing you here is even more startling.”

“We’re big supporters,” she said. “See that bald guy over there? With Andy? My husband.”

“Hm,” he said. “He’s friends with the host? Andy Emerson?”

“He believes so,” she said. “Like I said, big supporter. Do you play golf?”

“I know how,” Beau said. “I don’t know that you could say I play, in all honesty.”

“That’s right,” she said, laughing. “You read psychology. And fish. And garden.” She glanced at the drinks. “Should you get those drinks back to your table?”

“They weren’t dehydrated last time I looked. They’re signing up for auction items.”

“It’s possible we have friends in common,” she said. “My brother-in-law is an Oakland cop. I remember a fatality a couple of years ago.”

“Roger Stanton,” Beau said. “Did you know him?”

She shook her head. “Did you know him?”

“No, but the boys know the kids. You’ll have to ask your brother-in-law...”

“Oh, Chip knew him. Even though it’s a big department, they’re all friends. It was heartbreaking. I’m so glad his daughter is a recipient.” She nodded toward the drinks. “You should probably get those drinks back to your wife...”

He shook his head. “She’s not here tonight. I brought my boys, my brother and sister-in-law and a friend.”

“But not your wife?” she asked.

“Pamela finds this sort of thing boring and the friend I brought is a guy. But I don’t find things like this boring. So tell me, what are you doing Tuesday?”

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m going to check on the plants, maybe hoe around a little bit. H-O-E,” he specified, making her laugh. “I’m going to put some bunny deterrent around. See how things are doing. I like the plants to get a strong hold before summer. Do you think you’ll want to be uplifted by flowers?”

“You’re coming on to a married woman,” she said.

“I apologize! I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’ll get out of your space,” he said, picking up the drinks.

“I might check out the plants,” she said. “Now that I’m pretty sure you’re not a stalker or serial killer.”

“Oh Jesus, do I give off that vibe?” he asked, sloshing the drinks over his hands again. “I’m going to have to work on my delivery!”

“You sure don’t give off the waiter vibe,” she said, lifting a napkin from the table to assist him.

Just then, Brad was at her side. “We’re down in front, Lauren. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

“I know. Brad, this is Beau Magellan, a landscape designer. A friend of Sylvie’s.”

Brad’s black eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Maybe we’ll have you take a look at ours.” He put out a hand to shake, once he heard there was an Emerson connection, but Beau’s hands were full of drinks. They were wet besides.

“Oh. Sorry,” Beau said, lifting his handfuls clumsily.

“Okay,” Brad said with a laugh. “Another time. I’ll save you a seat,” he said to Lauren.

“Sure. Be right there.” She looked back at Beau, a mischievous smile playing at her lips.

“You’re a liar, Lauren,” Beau said.

“I’m sorry.” She laughed. “It was irresistible. I hope we run into each other again, Beau. Now if there’s anything left in those glasses, get them to your table.”

Lauren knew she’d be going to the church gardens on Tuesday after work even though she thought it could be foolhardy. Becoming attracted to a man was not a part of her plan. In fact, it could be a major inconvenience. But she liked him. She liked that he read a lot and wanted to talk about what he’d read. She enjoyed how flustered he was meeting Sylvie. She adored the way he sloshed the drinks he carried. And it moved her that he was there to support a scholarship recipient who’d lost her father.

Of course he was there. She saw his back moving through the plants and shrubs. He was pulling off dead leaves and dried flowers. And putting them in his pocket!

She noticed there were some things on the bench—the one she had occupied the last time. A bag containing something and two Starbucks cups. It made her smile. He shouldn’t have known that Starbucks would make her happy.

She cleared her throat. He turned toward her with a smile, shoving a handful of dead leaves and buds in his pocket.

“Hi,” he said. “I brought you a mocha with whipped cream.”

Perfect! Of course . “That’s very thoughtful,” she said, just standing there, feeling awkward.

“And something else,” he said, lifting the bag.

“Oh, why did you do that? You shouldn’t be giving me things. You should sit and relax and enjoy the flowers. And you were tidying up.”

“I’m always grooming plants. Maybe it’s a nervous habit.” He pulled a handful of dried leaves and small sticks from his pocket, dumping them in the trash can. He handed her the bag. Inside was a book. Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience .

“This is great!” she said. “I actually went looking for this book! But I didn’t ask for it, just looked in the psychology section.”

“I had to find it at the used bookstore...”

“Did it change your life?”

“No, but it was enlightening.”

She sat down on the bench, looking through the book. He handed her a coffee and stood at the other end of the bench. “I guess it didn’t make your wife any happier,” she said.

“No,” he answered with a laugh. “She has always wanted something more. Something else. Listen, full disclosure, my wife and I are separated. We’ve been living apart for six months. We’re getting divorced.”

“Ah,” Lauren said. “And you’re getting back in the game.”

He looked stricken. “No! I mean, that has nothing to do with you! I’m not looking for anything. You’re a complete surprise. I might’ve done this even if—” He shook his head, looking embarrassed. “You just seem like a very nice person, that’s all. And you complimented my flowers. This divorce—it’s long overdue. It’s not our first separation. And no, I haven’t been known to mess around on the side. I have a couple of sons. Stepsons, actually. I wanted to keep their lives stable for as long as possible. They’re seventeen and twenty. I think they understand we should be divorced and that I’ll always have a home for them. If they don’t know they can count on me by now, they never will. I’m not going anyplace.”

“And their mother?” she asked.

“She loves them, of course,” he said. “Maybe because they’re boys, they’re closer to me. Or maybe it’s because their mother is hard to please.”

“Oh God,” she said. “It is not a good thing that we have this in common.”

“You’re separated?”

“Not yet,” she said, hesitantly. “I have a difficult situation. I’m not ready to talk about it. But can you tell me about yours? Unless it’s too...” She shrugged.

He settled in, sitting on the bench with his coffee. “Okay, I’ll give you the short version. I’ve been married twelve years. We lived together first. The boys were four and seven when we met. They have two different fathers. Disinterested fathers. Pamela wasn’t married to either of them. They hardly came around and when they did, they took only their son, not his brother. That just didn’t make any sense to me. They’re adults. Don’t they realize little boys would be upset by that? Feel left out? Have self-confidence issues? So if I knew one or the other was coming to get his son I tried to have something planned for the one left behind. It didn’t take much—just a little extra time to throw the ball around or play a video game. Just attention, that’s all.”