He didn’t have to guide me much farther before I caught sight of what he must have been talking about. From the parking lot, it hadn’t been visible, but from what I could make out here, it looked to be a large area fenced in by honey-stained fence posts.
“A fenced-in yard?” I said, moving closer. “This is what you think I’m going to think is really great? I’m more of a fenceless yard type of person. Open spaces and no boundaries type of thing.”
Boone pinched my shoulders, still guiding me along. “The fences are to keep out the deer and other animals. I wouldn’t choose to have them either if it wasn’t necessary.”
“Keep the deer out of what?”
When we stopped outside the fence, Boone reached over the top and opened the gate. He invited me to go in first. I gave him a suspicious look before taking a hesitant step inside.
My second step wasn’t as hesitant. “A garden,” I whispered, twisting around to try to take it all in. I couldn’t though. Something of this magnitude couldn’t be taken in all at once. “You put in a garden.”
Boone answered by stuffing his hands into his pockets and shrugging.
The space was easily as large as the inside of the building. If I had to guess, probably twenty-by-forty feet large. Raised beds lined the perimeter, and tomato cages and trellises wound through the center rows. A rudimentary walkway of river rocks had been woven through the garden, and there was such an abundance of fresh fruit and herbs and vegetables, I understood how Boone had been able to feed so many kids so much fresh food.
“How has it stayed alive with the bank owning the property?” I crouched beside a healthy tomato plant bursting with hefty scarlet globes.
“Someone on the next property over may or may not be coming in and hand-watering it daily.” Boone moved around the garden, plucking a couple of weeds and dead leaves away.
The tomato was so ripe, I barely had to touch it for it to break free of the vine into my hand. “You live next door?”
“As next door as places are out here.”
Boone’s mom had lived, and I guessed she still lived, a few miles in the other direction. I assumed he wanted to be close to her without being too close. I’d been more of the mindset that I wanted to be far away from my family, as far as the country would allow.
“How long have you lived in your place?” I asked.
Boone continued pruning with his back to me. I was temporarily distracted from the plants by watching him. Before the past two minutes, I hadn’t known Boone knew what it took to tend to a garden. To keep so many different types of living things alive and thriving. I couldn’t figure out if that was my impression because he’d never outright admitted to not knowing the root of a plant from its flower, or if it was because I couldn’t recall a single living thing growing outside or inside his mom’s trailer, a stray piece of crab grass included.
“I bought it from my uncle when I was eighteen, but I didn’t move in until a couple years after that.” Boone shuffled down the row of herbs, tearing off little bits of each and collecting them inside his shirt pocket.
“Why didn’t you move in right after you bought it?” I remembered Boone’s uncle who’d lived out here—crotchety was the way most people who knew him described him—but I’d never known Boone had bought his house from him.
“I wasn’t ready,” Boone answered, continuing down the garden, getting farther away with every shuffle.
I stood and wiped the tomato with my dress. “Can I see it?”
He was quiet. I was almost convinced he hadn’t heard my question until I noticed him nod.
“I’ve got to get some fresh clothes sometime this week, right? Before your family realizes I really do own nothing more than the shirt I’ve got on my back.” His tone was light, but I knew there was a heaviness in his meaning.
I was just about to bite into the tomato and eat it like an apple when something flashed at the other end of the garden. The sun was catching something just right. My eyes watered from its brightness, but it didn’t stop me from moving closer. Every step I drew closer, the light became less severe, and it was bearable when I was a handful of steps back.
It was a sign made out of different kinds of metal and welded together by someone clearly skilled with a blowtorch. I’d only known one person in my life who could wield a blowtorch like most kids did a pencil.
“What is this?” I hollered at Boone, who was still fussing with the herbs.
When his head tipped in my direction, his back went rigid. “It’s a sign.”
I crossed my arms and continued to study it. “Thank you for that world-shattering revelation, but my question had more to do with what it says.”
“What do you mean?” Boone lifted himself up but stayed where he was.
“‘Clara’s Garden,’” I read. “That’s what the sign says.”
“It does.”
I couldn’t stop staring at the sign, puzzled over why it was there and what it meant. “Is that Clara as in me . . . or a different one?”
I saw Boone slowly making his way in my direction, but there was no urgency in his steps. “I’ve only known one Clara in my life so far.”