Marriage Matters

Thirty-seven

The next morning, June woke up early. She still felt guilty about Charley, every time she thought of him tripping over that rake. The idea that he could have really hurt himself kept coming back to haunt her. As well as the fact that if he was gone, she would most certainly miss him. She leaned against the counter, staring out at his garden across the way.

Even though the man drove her absolutely insane, with his ridiculous inability to pick out flowers that were meant to thrive together and his reluctance to take her advice, she had gotten used to having him next door. She had even started to look forward to seeing him day to day. It made living in this big old house just a little less lonely.

Apologize, June, said a little voice inside her head. Make friends with him.

June walked to the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of juice. Taking a sip of the sweet nectar, a slow smile tugged at the corner of her lips as the perfect idea came to mind.

* * *

When Charley opened his sliding glass door, June was hiding in the shadow of his gazebo. She had just finished planting a yellow rosebush in his yard. It had taken some serious work to uproot that thing and transplant it over, but she’d managed. The roses were looking bright, cheerful and very much alive.

Partially hidden by a Japanese maple, June spied on her neighbor. He was carrying a plate of what appeared to be egg whites and toast, with the paper neatly tucked under his arm. As she watched, he strode back into the house, a spring in his step. He returned with a steaming mug of coffee.

Charley looked as fresh as always, his silver hair neatly combed and his face tanned from the sun. In fact . . . June narrowed her eyes. He seemed to be the very picture of health.

“Hold it right there.” June stepped out from behind the tree.

Charley jumped, coffee spilling over the edge of the mug and onto the ground. Blowing on his hand as though he’d burned it, he set the mug on the table and peered in her direction.

“June?” His voice seemed deliberately frail. “Is that you?” The man took a couple of hobbling steps in her direction. On his left foot.

Yesterday, and all of the preceding days, his injury was on the right.

“Charley Montgomery,” June roared. “You’re not blind. And you’re not injured anymore, either. You stop faking that limp this instant.”

Charley seemed to consider whether or not to press his luck. Then he smiled. Standing up straight, he strolled over to her with his chest puffed out like a peacock. “No, June. I certainly am not.”

Just then, she saw him spot the yellow rosebush over her shoulder. “You gave me one of your rosebushes?” he asked.

June gave a little shrug, pleased at the expression on his face. He rushed forward, admiring the rosebush from every angle. Bending close to a particularly flouncy bud, Charley breathed in deeply.

“My goodness, June,” he said, standing up straight. “This is really something special.”

June sniffed. “It is yellow, for friendship. But you’ll be lucky if I don’t rip it right back up by the roots. If your ankle is better, why on earth have you been acting like you’re still hurt? I have been worried about you for days.”

Charley put his hands in his pockets. “To be honest, I didn’t want you to stop being nice to me.”

A bird started singing in the tree and the sun rose up over the trees.

“Nice to you?” June said, surprised. “Whatever are you talking about?” Her hands were still covered in soil from the planting. Mindlessly, she brushed them off on her gardening pants.

Charley studied her with those clear blue eyes. The bird in the tree chattered away. “June, I think you gave me that plant because you felt sorry for me,” he said. “You’ve never done anything that kind before.”

June felt her face color in shame. She hadn’t been a good neighbor to him ever since his wife died, but it wasn’t her fault. Being around him unsettled her so. Even now, standing in the back of his garden with no escape, she felt decidedly out of her element.

“Or . . .” he said softly, watching her face. “Maybe you gave me that plant not to be nice, but because you felt guilty.”

“Why on earth would I feel guilty?” June demanded.

“Because camouflage doesn’t blend so well when you’re not hiding in the forest.”

June flushed down to her gardening socks. Had Charley seen her that night? As she stuttered, trying to think of a decent excuse, the man took a step toward her.

“I saw you, June,” he said. “Standing outside my window. You were spying. You wanted to see what Rose and I were up to.”

“I most certainly was not,” June said, outraged.

Charley’s eyes twinkled. “Didn’t you just get mad at me for lying to you?”

June had heard enough. Stalking by him in a huff, she was startled when Charley Montgomery caught her gently by the wrist. She didn’t resist, but allowed Charley to pull her close to him. “June, have you been spying on me?”

“No, I—” Her eyes flickered up to his. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Even though June was fuming, her breath was coming in short, little gasps. This was a very unfamiliar feeling, having a man holding her this close to him. She wondered if, perhaps, she should call for help. But all she could do was stare into Charley’s bright blue eyes.

“You have been spying on me for months. I’ve seen you at your kitchen window, with your binoculars.” His voice dropped. “You don’t know how many times I almost came over to your house and knocked on your door. Would you have let me in?”

“No,” June said. “I certainly would not have let you set foot inside my front door.”

“So, you see . . .” Charley gestured at his ankle. “I had to figure out a way to get you to step through mine.”

“You don’t mean . . .” June’s eyes widened. “Charley Montgomery, did you fake that sprain?”

Charley started laughing. “I most certainly did, June. I most certainly did.”

“Why, you . . .” She pulled back her wrist as though to hit him, but Charley was much faster.

Pulling her close, he pressed his lips against hers. They were soft and firm, and June was startled at the sensation; it was one she had not felt for more than twenty years. As Charley’s arms tightened around her, June heard birds chirping, bees buzzing and—she would swear to it—rose petals opening in the sun.