Part 6 (1/2)
”Right . . .”
”Is it a gift?” she asked as she taped the ”hood” loosely around the plant.
”Yes, as a matter of fact.”
”Well, whatever you do, don't leave it by the front door. That would kill it for sure.”
”Right.” He hadn't realized a poinsettia was so temperamental.
”Does the person you're giving it to have pets or small children?”
”No.”
”Good. Poinsettia leaves are poisonous if ingested.”
”Yeah, well, I doubt she will eat it.”
The woman laughed.
Garrison was tempted to tell the woman he had changed his mind. Who knew a simple plant could be such high maintenance? Almost as bad as a houseful of cats.
”Well, I hope she enjoys it. It's really a lovely gift.”
Garrison carefully picked up the plant. ”Thanks. I hope I can get it safely to her.”
She waved her hand. ”Don't worry. I probably made it sound worse than it is. Just be careful with the cold air.”
He hurried the delicate plant out to his car and, fastening the seatbelt around it, he quickly started the car and cranked up the heat. As he drove to Cara's house, he wondered what he'd do if she wasn't home. At first he had hoped she would be gone so that he could leave it on her porch. Now he wasn't so sure. Perhaps he could leave it with a neighbor? Or else he could take it home with him. Except that it might poison the cats.
Feeling a bit silly and uneasy, Garrison pulled into her driveway and carefully extracted the plant from the car, hurrying to take it up to the front porch where he rang the doorbell. When no one answered, he looked down at the bundle in his arms. He longed to just leave it, but the image of Cara discovering a dead plant on her porch was definitely not a good one.
”h.e.l.lo?” a male voice called from the house next door. ”Are you looking for Cara?”
”Yes,” Garrison said eagerly. ”I have something for her, but she doesn't seem to be at home and I don't want to leave it on the porch.”
”You can leave it with me if you like.” The guy waved him over. ”Cara and I are good friends. She's usually home, but Monday is her day to go into the office. If you like, I can take it over to her when she gets home.”
”Great!” Garrison hurried over to the tan house next door. ”I'd leave it on her porch, but the flowers can't handle the cold.”
”Are you a delivery man from the florist?” The neighbor glanced over at the old Pontiac with interest. ”That doesn't look like their usual van.”
”No, I'm just a friend of Cara's.” Okay, Garrison knew that was a stretch. ”A relatively new acquaintance actually.”
”I'm David Landers.” He smiled as he extended his hand.
”I'm Garrison Brown. I live a few blocks from here.”
”Nice to meet you, neighbor.” David appeared to be about the same age as Garrison, but unlike Garrison, this guy oozed confidence.
”Yeah. Thanks.” Garrison held out the plant. ”And thanks for taking-”
”Why don't you come on in?” David opened the door wider.
”Okay.” Garrison was pleasantly surprised at this unexpected hospitality. ”I didn't realize poinsettias were so fragile when I bought this.”
”No problem.” David closed the door and pointed to a gla.s.s-topped table in the foyer. ”Just set it there for now. I'll get it to Cara as soon as she gets home. Probably around five.” He grinned. ”I like having an excuse to run over and see her whenever I can. When she first moved in, she used to come over here a lot to borrow stuff. It's her first time living in a real house and she'd need a potato peeler or some basil or whatever. I didn't mind a bit. After she got settled, I missed her visits so I started making up reasons to pop in on her.” He chuckled. ”But we're beyond that now.”
”Right . . .” For some reason Garrison felt uncomfortable hearing this.
”How do you know Cara?” David gave him an overly curious look.
Garrison gauged his answer. ”We met on the street just last week. And then my neighbor took me over to Cara's for Thanksgiving-a get-together for the single folks in the neighborhood.” He studied David closely, trying to calculate his age. Somewhere between thirty-five and forty, he would estimate. ”I don't believe you were there.” He glanced around the homey-looking room. ”But maybe you're not single.”
”I'm divorced. Three years last summer. And I would've gone to Cara's little s.h.i.+ndig, but I had a previous commitment with my family in Spokane. My parents wanted to see Jackson.”
”Jackson?”
”That's my son. I have full custody of the kid. Jackson just turned eight.” He called over his shoulder. ”Hey, Jackson? You still in the kitchen? Come on out here.”
A young boy came shyly around a corner, peering into the living room.
”Say h.e.l.lo to Mr. Brown.” David looked uncertainly at Garrison. ”It was Brown, wasn't it?”
”Yes.” Garrison smiled at the boy. ”h.e.l.lo, Jackson.”
”He-h.e.l.lo,” the boy said with uncertainty.
”Mr. Brown brought a plant over for Miss Wilson,” David told his son.
Jackson just nodded as he moved toward the staircase, nervously grasping the banister with one hand. ”I-uh-I'm going-to my room.”
”Okay,” David said easily.
”Nice to meet you, Jackson,” Garrison called out as the boy scurried up the stairs.
David frowned. ”I like to give him every opportunity I can to interact.”
”Sure.” Garrison pretended to understand, although he wasn't completely sure what David meant.
”Because, as you can probably see, Jackson has difficulty conversing,” David continued quietly. ”They say he's got a social anxiety disorder. But things got worse when kids at school started teasing him. So I took him out. I don't mind homeschooling so much since I work from home anyway. And Jackson is really bright. But I do worry about his social interaction. I wish he had someone his own age to talk with.”
Garrison nodded, realizing that he could probably relate more to David's insecure son than to the self-a.s.sured dad. ”Yeah, that would probably be good for him.”
”I'm thinking about getting him a dog for Christmas. Although I need to make sure our budget can handle it. It hasn't been exactly easy getting my home business up and running. And I know dogs can be expensive. But it might be worth it . . . for Jackson's sake. Not that a dog can carry on a conversation exactly.” David pulled back a corner of the brown paper hood to peek in on the poinsettia. ”Pretty.”
”How about a cat?” Garrison said suddenly.
”Huh?” David's brow creased as he pushed the paper closed again. ”A cat?”
Garrison quickly explained about Gram and her cats and the need to re-home them. ”I still have this Seal Point Siamese. About eight years old. Nice and big. And she talks all the time.”