“How are the migraines?” Jo asked quietly.
Nessa wished she could report that they were improving. But the truth was, she’d spent most of the day in her darkened bedroom. She’d been leaving Harriett’s potions unconsumed, hoping she’d finally understand the message that the headaches were trying to send her. The pain felt like a writhing ball of chaos, static composed of unintelligible voices. Sometimes, when she listened closely, it would seem as if a single word or thought might break through. But then, just as quickly, it would sink back under and be lost in the din.
Nessa looked up to see Harriett looming over her. She handed Nessa a tiny bottle of green gunk. “Drink it,” she ordered, and watched as her command was obeyed. Then she took a seat at the fire and turned her attention to Jo. The unearthly golden glow had returned to Harriett’s eyes.
“Did she mention the weeds?” Harriett directed the question at Jo.
“Sorry?” Jo responded.
“Claude,” Harriett said. “Did she mention the Scotch broom?”
“As a matter of fact, she did,” Jo told her. “Apparently, the plants have taken over the Pointe. Claude asked if you might be willing to help with the problem. I’d be really grateful if you did, Harriett. I know you hate the people out there, but I’d consider it a personal favor.”
“Are you able to contact her?” Harriett asked.
“Sure,” Jo said. She’d copied the phone number from Claude’s membership file into her contacts.
“Tell her to have someone meet me on Jackson Dunn’s dock at eight tomorrow morning.”
The Day Harriett Finally Opened Her Eyes
Harriett lay on her back in the garden, gazing up at the chaste tree. She’d watched it grow from a seedling, and earlier in the year, it had achieved a glorious adulthood. Only a few months before, it had worn a corona of lavender blossoms. Now those blooms had withered, fallen off, and returned to the soil. The berries had been harvested, and the tree had disrobed for the winter.
The air was warm for October, but a frost had settled over the garden the previous night, and the ground beneath her still held a chill. Her robe was close at hand, tossed over a nearby bush, but she never reached for it. Harriett liked nothing between her skin and the earth. That summer, she’d discovered that a different world lay beneath her. One busier than the city at rush hour, yet as tranquil and dark as the shore just before dawn. She could feel mycelium weaving a net just below the surface, the roots of the plants pushing ever deeper, and earthworms slipping like silk through the soil.
She’d purchased marijuana for the first time three weeks earlier. She’d smoked it with Chase many times in the past, but had never liked the way it slowed her down. Back then, she had enjoyed pot like a forced vacation—begrudgingly, one eye on the clock. But for the first time in decades, Harriett had nowhere to go and no one to meet. And all she wanted, more than anything, was to bring the world to a halt.
Harriett had pushed herself after Chase left in August. She figured she’d leaped higher hurdles than him in the past. She intended to throw herself into her work and make Max recognize her as the partner she’d long been. Then, before she could settle on the perfect words, the announcement was made. Max’s dream partner would soon be joining the agency. After months of pleading, he’d finally persuaded Chris Whitman to relocate to New York from London.
Harriett had tried digging a hole for her disappointment as she had in the past, but this time, it refused to stay buried. Instead, it grew tendrils that wrapped around her and squeezed. By the beginning of October, she had found herself barely able to function. That’s when the pharmacy called to tell Harriett that her birth control prescription was ready for pickup—and she realized she hadn’t had a period in more than four months.
Already injured, Harriett found herself floored by the insult. She’d avoided pregnancy her entire life. For reasons she hadn’t shared with a soul, she’d never once contemplated procreating. Now Harriett’s husband was busy trying to knock up another woman—and her own traitorous body was ordering her to close up shop. It wasn’t as if she wanted her period back—and she still had no desire for children. But she wanted the fucking option, and now, in an epic act of cruelty, the universe had denied her even that.
The day after Max’s big announcement, Harriett bought two ounces of pot and declared she was taking a few weeks off. She had every intention of driving down to the Carolinas, where the beaches would be warm. Then she’d popped out to the garden to smoke a joint, and everything around her had come to a stop. Three weeks later, she still hadn’t left.
After she fired the landscapers in September, Harriett let the garden grow wild. Chase had always kept it clipped and pruned within an inch of its life. Now that Harriett was free, she figured the garden should be, too. The vegetation ran riot in no time, and she found she loved nothing more than to sit back and watch. No longer restrained, the dainty rosebushes around the perimeter revealed their true natures, redirecting their energy away from blooms and into extending their stems and taunting trespassers with their thorns. The pretty little perennials engineered to delight the human eye found their flower beds pillaged by hardier species to whom the earth truly belonged. Stoned, Harriett existed on the timescale of the plant world. Her companions were slow, but now she could see they were sentient, intelligent, and very much alive.
Once the sidewalk in front of the house had disappeared from view, she often heard passersby talking about her. Even when she was out of sight, she seemed to be very much on her neighbors’ minds.
“Has anyone checked on her lately?” she overheard a woman say.
“She’s lost her damn mind,” someone else diagnosed.
“Brendon Baker will get her all sorted out,” a man told a companion.
“Milo told me she’s gonna get eaten by cats,” a child weighed in another day.