CHAPTER 7
That night and all the next day, I dug. The weather turned, sun shining with vigor, and my skin turned pink and then mottled red. I didn’t care. I kept at it, even when Mr. Eckhardt threatened to call the police (he didn’t), and Mrs. O’Shaunessy from down the block warned me to call the utility company before I dug farther, or I might hit a gas line (fingers crossed!). The dirt patch grew, amoebalike, its perimeter uneven but spreading. When Monday morning arrived, I was sore and sunburned, dirt in every crevice of my body. Trey asked me if I was having some kind of a breakdown, and if he could film it if I was. I told him I didn’t know, and I’d think about it.
I was so exhausted I sat in front of my computer screen, staring at the Seth-manipulated image of caramel gelato. Something wasn’t right about it, but my brain, muddled and dirt clogged, couldn’t figure out what it was.
Midmorning, Lukas tapped me on the shoulder, just as the sunshine of an idea began to burn through my brain fog.
“May I have a word?” he asked, overly polite, and I felt like the headmaster had called me into the hallway. I followed him to his minimalist, Instagram-ready, feng shui–approved office, where he sat, spine straight as my garden hoe, in a swivel chair seemingly constructed from wrought iron, duct tape, and the tears of young art and design students.
“We scored a meet and greet at Landon Cosmetics later today,” Lukas announced.
I flopped down on the overstuffed white couch in front of his desk. “That’s fantastic!” Landon Cosmetics was a retro-inspired line of lipsticks, glosses, and cheek tints, the packaging all done up in old-school movie posters from the ’40s and ’50s. Headquartered in downtown Chicago and helmed by Trinka, a gorgeous woman who could double for Dita Von Teese, Landon would be a major client for a suburban agency.
“I feel really good about this,” I added, taking in Lukas’s youth, his glossy looks, his carefully chosen attire, the rightness of him. It filled me with equal parts pride and shame. His father sweated through every dress shirt he owned, and had tufts of hair growing out of his ears, but I loved every messy part of Big Frank. Could I grow to love Lukas’s perfection if it worked for the company? Big Frank wouldn’t have gotten one foot in the door at Landon Cosmetics. I had to admit that Lukas seemed to know what he was doing.
“I could join you,” I offered, trying to keep my tone casual.
Lukas smiled tightly. “That’s what I wanted to discuss with you. I am going to take some creatives with me, but I’ve chosen Seth, Rhiannon, and Byron.”
“But I’m more experienced,” I said, fully aware of how defensive I sounded. “I know this business, and I know how to talk to people like your dad did. I can draw them in.”
“Look at your hands,” Lukas said, his voice clipped.
My gaze dropped to my filthy, ragged fingernails. I quickly flipped my hands over and saw dirt embedded in the whorls of my fingerprints.
Lukas clucked his tongue. “And your suit.”
Crumpled, stained, smelling faintly of BO.
My face burned. I’d never been such a wreck at work. How did I get to this point? “I can run home for a few minutes to freshen up.”
He shook his head. “We’re leaving in a few minutes.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, suddenly feeling as though I had failed him. And Guh. And myself.
Lukas’s expression softened. “I don’t want to pry into your personal life, Paige, but Petra Polly has a wonderful chapter on underperforming employees—”
Wait a minute. “I’d hardly say I’m underperforming.”
Lukas paused, one eyebrow creeping up to meet his receding hairline. “Really? Because what I see is someone who is letting her personal issues affect her day-to-day performance. I can’t take you with me because one look at you and Miss Trinka will think we aren’t up to the task. Rhiannon is quirkier than Zooey Deschanel with a side of ModCloth. Seth and Byron look like matching hipster salt and pepper shakers—one light, one dark, one bearded, one not, both flannel. She’s going to love them.”
“So, she doesn’t love older people? It’s a retro company—she adores the past.”
“Vintage, yes. Spent and exhausted, no.”
I crossed my arms over my middle, hiding my hands. “This conversation sounds vaguely discriminatory.”
Lukas sighed. “Oh, Paige. It’s not that they’re young, it’s that they care. I’m wondering how much you do.”
“More than you know,” I said with what I hoped was conviction. I’d been devoted to Giacomo for seventeen years.
Lukas stood and shrugged into his too-tight leather jacket. “I’m glad,” he said while he mussed up his hair. “I don’t want you to be one who goes. Sincerely. My father really liked you, and I do, too. That gelato ad is . . . coming along nicely.”
“Thanks.” Was he being sarcastic? Sincere? I wasn’t sure.
Lukas patted my arm, choosing sincerity. “How about you run the office for the rest of the day? We won’t be back until after closing hours. Miss Trinka likes to hold forth. She likes a salon.” He opened the door, and I saw Rhiannon, Seth, and Byron waiting outside like eager little puppies. Before they took off for greener, more glamorous pastures, Lukas turned and said to me, in a low voice but audible enough, “Read Petra’s book, chapter 8. I think you’ll find it enlightening.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, wondering exactly what I was being grateful for.
“No, thank you, Paige,” Lukas said. “I see your value, but I’m wondering if you do. ‘A good employee is a confident employee,’” he recited.
“Petra, huh?”
“Not Petra,” Lukas said, a wistfulness in his tone. “Big Frank.”
“Lukas left me in charge, and I say it’s okay.”
It was four o’clock. Lukas and his creatives were gone, and I was trying to get Jackie and Glynnis to leave early so we could go to the farmers’ market.
“I don’t want to go there,” Jackie whined. “It makes me feel bad about my life choices.”
“We’re supposed to stay until five,” Glynnis said, eyeing the wall clock. “What if Lukas comes back? Won’t we get into trouble?”
The old Paige would have reacted the same way. The new Paige grabbed a hand from each of them and pulled them to standing. “It’s a field trip. We need ideas, don’t we? Let’s go bombard our minds with possibilities!”
Glynnis frowned, but Jackie quirked a smile. “I think Petra covers that in chapter 9,” she said, her smile turning into a grin. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Dandelion Girl, perched on a stool behind her table, noticed us immediately and started waving.
“That woman has a carrot in her hair,” Jackie whispered.
“I kind of like it,” Glynnis said.
Just another week into the season, the market was already more bountiful. Endless rows of boxed strawberries stretched out before us, their aroma sweetening the air. Green onions, new potatoes, asparagus, and rhubarb—the beauty of the produce had me wondering, what could I grow? I had plenty of dirt. The only area I was lacking in was experience, but how hard could it be if a woman who used a carrot as a scrunchie could do it? Eccentricity aside, she seemed like the type of person who’d be willing to help even someone like me.
Dandelion Girl hopped off her stool and began to pack up. At this hour, the greens had begun to wilt, and a handwritten sign was hastily posted beneath them, Cheap! Cheap! Two-for-One Deal!
“What’s the deal?” Jackie asked her.
Dandelion Girl smiled. “However much you’re willing to pay. I don’t want to pack those up again. In another five minutes, they’ll be free.”
“I can wait that long,” Jackie said. “I’m gonna go for a smoke. When I get back, I want some of those.”
“People still smoke?” Dandelion Girl teased.
Jackie pulled a cig from her pack and stuck it behind her ear. “That they do,” she said, and went off to find the small patch of cement dedicated to those who did.
Glynnis walked off to marvel at the flower displays. Dandelion Girl continued to load her truck, watchful for anyone who came by but completely focused on her task. I stood there, toying with a strawberry, awkward as a middle schooler at her first dance.
“Are you gearing up to ask me out?”
I was so spaced out I was completely unaware she’d come up next to me. “What?”
“You look like you want to ask me something important.” Dandelion Girl’s tone was light, her sense of humor still present, but there was an underlying seriousness to what she was saying. She put her basket of strawberries down and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well?”
My earlier confidence shriveled up like her lettuce. I felt foolish, and old . . . very old. But it felt good to dig in the backyard, and I didn’t want to stop. “I’m trying to plant a garden in my backyard,” I explained, still wondering if that was what I really wanted to do. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. I kind of . . . just started digging and kept going. I’ve got a large plot now.”
Dandelion Girl snapped into professional mode. “What’s the square footage?”
“I don’t know. It’s . . . big.”
“How big?”
“Approximately the entire length of the house, and then going back a ways. I could measure it, if you need specifics.”
She smiled. “You just dug up your backyard out of the blue? I like that.”
I took that as encouraging. “What if I brought a photo with me on Thursday, and you can see what I’m dealing with?”
She fished around in the pocket of her housedress and found a chewed-up pencil and a slip of paper that looked like a receipt. “Tell you what,” she said, handing them to me. “You write down your address, and I’ll stop by on my way home. It’s better if I see your mess in person.”
I bent to write my details, but then I hesitated. Was I about to give my address to a stranger wearing a carrot as a hair ornament?
“My name is Mykia,” she said, amused. “And I don’t need to come over if you’re uncomfortable.”
“I just wasn’t sure what I was doing after work,” I said, lamely trying to cover my suspicions. I scribbled my address and handed it to her. “I’m sure you’re a very nice person,” I blurted, my face warming.
Mykia slid the paper into her pocket. “Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
She was kidding, right?
“Why don’t you invite your work buddies, too?” she said. So Mykia was not only an alchemist, she was a mind reader. “Those two can help us measure.”
“I’ve never had a plant that didn’t die,” I admitted.
“I kind of figured that. Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Everything can be learned, you know? Some people learn sooner, others later. Not a big deal if the outcome is the same.”