Le Coeur du Jardin (Garden's Heart)

I looked across the street at a late-night diner. "Let's go get a cup of coffee. Put on your ring and let's go." I gave her the clean hanky I always carry. "Here, wipe your tears before we go in."

Kelley and I sat in the diner for the next hour and she told me everything about Sergeant John Tyler. She told me about the two assholes in her office, including her supervisor, that have been trying to get her to go out. Their constant badgering was messing with her mind. I convinced Kelley to talk to her HR department.

I took Kelley to her home. We made plans to have lunch the following Saturday, I wanted to follow up with her, make her understand she had to get those two leaches off her back and I was going to make certain she did.

About every three weeks we met for coffee and a sandwich. We just talked. Kelley told me the company ended up transferring her to a different division and reprimanded the two men. One day she walked into the coffee shop, the joy on her face apparent to anyone who looked.

"John will be home in two weeks!"

I congratulated her. Told her I was happy for her and I thought this would be our last lunch. She seemed sad about that; but understood. "Thanks for being my friend, Les. You helped me with those two cretins at work and you helped me understand how I could have lost the best thing in the world - John's love. You were there when I needed a true friend, I'll never forget that."

I'd miss her but had a good feeling as I left the restaurant.

I walked out of my office building, only to be confronted by a six foot-three mountain of a man wearing his desert fatigues. I recognized him from the photos Kelley once shared with me.

"Are you Thomas Lester?"

I didn't hold out my hand, figured I'd let him set the tempo of whatever happened next.

"OK if we go someplace to talk?"

"There's a bar four blocks south of here. I can meet you there."

"Right."

We each got in our cars, he followed me there. Inside, I bought the first round.

"Kelley told me what happened. I wanted to look you in the eyes and hear it from you. I have to tell you, it's bullshit coming home and hearing your wife confess to going out, looking to get laid."

"Well, it didn't happen, at least not with me and I highly doubt with anyone else. She had a moment of weakness. She loves you."

"So how come you didn't take advantage?"

"My ex-wife stepped out on me, hurt like hell. Couldn't do that to another guy, especially a man in uniform."

"You ever serve?"

"No, didn't have whatever it takes to put it on the line like that. Just glad there are guys like you willing to do it."

"I'm starting to think I'm nuts for doing it. Risking my life and my marriage over there, it would be different if anyone gave a rat's ass about the war. Been thinking of going back to school, I was studying to be an electrical engineer when I joined up."

"If you decide to go to Purdue, let me know. I have some contacts there and it might help if you decide to apply - it can't hurt." I gave him one of my cards.

"I don't think we can be friends, Lester. Can't look at you without thinking of Kelley almost cheating with you. I appreciate what you did, but I just can't."

"That's OK. I understand, but the offer still stands, even if we never meet again, I'll make the calls if you ask."

A little time passed as we drank our beers. John broke the silence. "You're a different guy, Lester. You pass up on bedding a woman like Kelley. You're sitting here, not asking me about my time over there - you can't believe how many guys ask, like it's something we want to talk about."

"I figure it's your right to talk or not. I'm not going to get any vicarious thrills out of hearing your war stories."

He finished his beer, shook my hand, thanked me for the beer and "everything", then walked out.

I received one letter from Kelley. John Tyler was leaving the service; they were moving to Texas where he planned to finish his degree at Texas A&M. They also planned on getting pregnant just as soon as he graduated. The letter included another 'thank you' from her. I wish them all the luck in the world. I hope they can be an example of how a person can be tempted and almost fall, learn from the experience and end up with a strong marriage. Despite my own history, I'm a hopeless romantic.

*********************

A month later someone was knocking on my front door early on a Sunday morning. I opened the door, surprised to find Gwen's younger brother standing there. Looking over his shoulder, I could see her father sitting in the car in my driveway.

"Les, Dad and I would like a word."

"Well Pete, you're welcome to come in, but your father is as welcome in my home as I was in his. Tell him to stay in the car, then you come on in."

Pete went back to the car and spoke to his father, I couldn't hear what was said, but the body language spoke volumes. I resisted flipping the old bastard off. Pete came back alone, I let him in and poured him a cup of coffee; I always liked and got along with Pete.

"You got Dad madder than a hornet out there; it won't be a pleasant drive home."

"Sorry for that, but if he ever cut me a little slack, I'd have done the same. Now that I'm no longer with your sister, I don't need to fake it. Why don't you tell me why you're here."

"It's Gwen. Dad and I came down yesterday to pull her out of that prick Brad's apartment; he hit her and bruised her pretty bad."

"I'm sorry to hear that; but what's it got to do with me? We've been separated for a year now and divorced for over six months."

"Dad and I were wondering if you'd consider taking her back. She cried all last night, kept saying she wanted to be your wife and made the biggest mistake of her life when she left you."

"I'm sorry to hear she got hurt, I honestly don't wish that on any person, especially one I once loved; but there's no way I'd ever get back with Gwen again. I could never trust her; she broke my heart in two. Where's she at now?"

"At the Holiday Inn. She couldn't face you, but didn't stop us when we said we were coming to see you."

"Again, I'm sorry. Good luck getting her into a safe place, but it won't be here with me." I rose from the table and held out my hand, signaling the conversation was over. Pete rose and took my hand; there was sadness in his eyes.

"For what it's worth, I can't blame you, but I had to try. My sister blew it, you're a great guy and always treated her right. I don't know what went through her head to mess that up. Bye, Les."

I didn't see Pete to the door, didn't want to see their bastard father again. I heard the car start up and pull out of the drive. It was the last time I ever heard from that family. Mutual friends let me know Gwen moved back north and got a job in Northbrook with Allstate.

There were plenty of opportunities to lick my emotional wounds with more than a dozen one and two-night stands over the course of the year following my divorce from Gwen. Most of these young ladies went home as satisfied, if not more satisfied, as me. Practice makes perfect.

*********************

I met Grace at a concert on the ISU campus. No, not a rock concert; it was a chamber orchestra from Chicago and the evening's highlights were the variations on La Folia by Salieri, Geminiani and other Italian composers. Sitting next to me in the audience was this tiny, pixie-like woman who reminded me of photos I've seen of Twiggy, Pattie Boyd and the other mod-Brit models. (My dad was a big fan of George Harrison and Eric Clapton.)

Grace started the conversation during the break by asking if I was enjoying the concert. I found out she was a graduate student studying Graphic Arts, played the cello and was willing to let me buy her a drink after the concert.

At a pub nearby, we had the drink, exchanging stories. You might think that given the name 'Grace', that she was born into a religious family, but that wasn't anywhere near the case; her parents named her after Grace Slick, Jefferson Airplane's lead female singer. She was raised on what one might call a commune outside Carbondale. She seemed extremely interested when I told her I lived in a farmhouse.

"Do you have a garden?"

"I'm surrounded by my landlord's corn fields. There's a plot of land, probably forty-by-forty that the previous renter used to grow vegetables, but I've never done any planting in the five years I've lived there. It's all weeds now."

"That's a shame, gardening can be very relaxing, almost spiritual; not to mention how great fresh food tastes."

We went on to other subjects until it was time to leave. I walked her home, got a nice cheek-kiss at her door and her phone number. She was different from any other girl I ever knew. I called the following day and we made plans to attend the opening exhibit of student artwork on campus the following weekend.

It was a great week at work; I received a promotion and a nice bump in pay. All the extra time I put in since my marriage imploded was paying off.

Saturday afternoon, I picked Grace up from her apartment. It was a beautiful April afternoon and I was tempted to suggest spending it at an outdoor patio drinking beer instead of indoors looking at student artwork. Thirty minutes later, after walking through the first gallery, I was sorry I hadn't suggested the pub; almost every piece, both the paintings and the sculptures, seemed to exist only to shock.

Grace was holding my hand and must have felt my reaction as I approached a three-panel triptych which could only be interpreted as Mary performing fellatio on each of the Holy Trinity; no genitalia were shown, but the artist's intent could not be any clearer.

If this piece of garbage was considered 'art' and something Grace related to, then our date would end soon without any chance of subsequent meetings. "I think I'd like to leave now."

Grace squeezed my hand. "Can we make up our minds after the next gallery? If you feel the same after that, we can leave."

Our hands still joined; Grace pulled me into the next room. I looked around, almost reluctantly, but was pleasantly surprised by what I saw. This was art, at least from my perspective. Instead of art meant to shock and insult, it was art to uplift the spirit or make one think, not just scandalize. We walked through the room, pausing at each piece, comparing thoughts until we came to a painting of two nudes - a woman behind a man, walking down an open staircase. Although they were nude, my eyes were drawn to the faces. What were they thinking? Then I noticed the ring on the woman's left hand as she gripped the railing, the man's ring finger was bare.

I stayed, looking at this painting, until I glanced at the card to read the name of the piece and the artist.

"Oil on Canvas, Le Dernier Après-midi des Amoureux, by Grace Powell-Adams"

I looked at Grace. "You did that!"

Grace gave me the 'duh' look with her smile. "Yea, I know." She smiled, "Do you like it?"

"It's fantastic. Is the title French? What does it mean?"

"The lovers' last afternoon."

"Ah, now their expressions make sense. It's over for them. Why?"

"I can't decide. What do you think?"

I knew what I was thinking but wasn't ready to share. "I'll tell you later. Did you use live models?"

"Two other students. They spent hours on the staircase, posing. Let's go into the last gallery; I want to show you something else."

On the wall of the last gallery was the second of Grace's works. This was completely different from the first. It was an animation drawing of a giant fish tank filled with a hundred various fish and sea-creatures.

"My god, this is fantastic. This is something my niece would absolutely go crazy over. You are so talented. Why is all this great art back here and that crap in the first gallery?"

Grace laughed before answering. "Most of us think the professor who's curating the exhibit is using the shock value of the show to make a name for himself with the avant-garde set up in Chicago. We're fairly certain he's sleeping with at least one student, the guy who did the unholy trinity mess. I hope that doesn't make me sound bitchy."

"On the contrary, it just confirms your good taste. I hope you won't mind; I may send a letter to the University suggesting they at least switch out the galleries."

We finally made it to the pub and spent a few hours drinking, eating and learning more about each other. The more Grace shared, the more surprised I was by how grounded this young woman was, especially considering where she grew up. Grace set me straight.

"The commune isn't a sexual free-for-all. My parents were committed to each other and monogamous. I didn't lose my virginity until I was a freshman in college. You could count my partners on one hand."

"Yet your painting of the two lovers was so erotic."

"Well, don't confuse quantity with quality. Two of my past long-term lovers belong in the sexual Hall of Fame."

Not a thing a guy wants to hear. Grace saw the expression on my face. "I'm sorry Les, that came out wrong. Sex shouldn't be a contest, you know. It's about two people sharing. That's what I meant when I said those two should be in the Hall of Fame; they understood it wasn't about their pleasure or my pleasure, it was about our pleasure."

The evening was cooling down, time to go in.

"Les, would you mind if we cut it off early tonight? I need to finish a project due for class Monday. I shouldn't have even spent this entire day horsing around, but I really wanted to spend time with you."

I agreed, what could I do or say? It had been a fantastic first date and didn't want to spoil it. Grace asked if we could have dinner some evening the following week. We made plans for her to come out to my place Wednesday and I'd make dinner.

Wednesday, Grace showed up at five-thirty on the dot. She was most interested in the weed patch that once was a garden. It had a seven-foot tall fence around the perimeter to keep out the deer. Grace grabbed a shovel out of the garage and dug down along the fence. "This is fantastic; they buried the fence to keep the rabbits out."

Grace washed up, we ate the stew and drank the beer and I learned more about her. By the time we finished dinner, we discussed my reaction to her two lovers painting, given how my marriage ended and Grace apologized if the painting upset me. She filled in more blanks about herself, she would graduate with her Master of Arts in a little over a year. She spoke Italian and French, played the cello, was an accomplished artist.

"What don't you do?"

"I suck at sports. I'm a total klutz. I've tried tennis, softball, horseback riding, you name it; if it involves a skill, I suck at it. I can run and swim, but I'm the person in the back row of the yoga class falling over."

I did my best not to laugh at the image. Grace laughed for the two of us.

"It's hard to believe; I mean you must have eye-hand coordination to play the cello and paint."

"I get nervous. Don't even think about taking me out onto a dance floor. I'm a total goof, legs and arms flailing. I can't paint if someone's watching me. The only reason I can play the cello is because I learned to play in my room, without anyone watching."

"Didn't you have a music teacher?"

"My mom."

Grace looked at the clock on the wall. "I need to get back into town. But before I go, I want to ask you a giant favor. I'd like to plant a garden in your backyard. I'll do all the work, buy the seeds, do the weeding, everything. I'll share what I grow with you, you'll get to eat fresh produce."

We talked about the logistics, the parameters regarding my privacy, etc.; and when she agreed to my demands, I agreed to her request. Sure, the thought of fresh produce was appealing, but the thought of Grace hanging around for the next six months was what convinced me.

For the next two weeks, Grace would call me at work, get my OK to drop by and I'd come home to find her working in 'our' garden. She rented a rototiller one day; she was halfway through the plot when I pulled in. I asked if I could take a turn, she showed me how it worked and I finished it up. That Friday a load of organic steer manure was piled in front of the fence. All weekend we took turns wheelbarrowing it in and turning it into the soil, even though it drizzled throughout both days. When we finished, Grace surprised me by giving me a hug and a kiss. "I missed this so much since I left home. This makes me so happy, digging in the dirt, the smell of the soil. It's even better when the sun comes out, feeling its warmth on your body."

It was my first garden experience, but I knew what she meant. Over the years, I watched my landlord as his tractor plowed and harvested the corn, but I was removed from it all. Working this small patch of soil was a hands-on encounter with nature.

We went in the house and made sandwiches for dinner. I could tell something was on Grace's mind and I waited for her to bring it up.

"Les, my lease runs out in three weeks, right after finals week. My roommates are graduating. Would you consider letting me rent the second bedroom here? I'd pay rent and share in the food and utilities."

Grace's question saddened me. I was hoping to become more than a friend to Grace. We'd been dating sporadically; with her studies, the gardening and my recent promotion, free time was tight. Obviously, Grace thinks of me as a roommate/guy-friend, not in a romantic sense. But I liked her, a lot, and if this is how we spend time together, then I'd take it.

"Yes."

We sat and discussed the particulars; division of labor, how much she'd contribute to rent and groceries. I had to ask, "What about guests?"

She looked at me funny. "What do you mean by 'guests'?"

"Well, if one of us brings home an overnight guest. How does that work? I've never had a roommate except for my ex-wife, so the topic never came up before. How do you and your roommates work that out now?"

It looked as if Grace was about to cry. "We ask any guests to be respectful of the other roommates. It's never been an issue."

I decided to drop the subject. "I suppose you and I can work it out if it ever comes up."

Grace left soon after that. She said she'd be back next weekend to start planting.

Saturday morning started out warm and sunny, a perfect Spring day. I needed to do some work at the office and decided to ride my bicycle the ten miles into town. I left a note on the kitchen table for Grace before taking off, letting her know I'd be home by four and asked if we could have dinner together.

I powered up my computer - nothing. Then it hit me. The IT guys were doing an upgrade this weekend and I totally forgot. It actually made me happy - all was not lost; I had a nice early morning ride and I'd get a second one on the way home; and best of all, I could spend a sunny day in the garden with Grace. I shut the terminal down and walked out whistling a happy tune as I rode home.

Funny, the gates across the drive were closed and Grace's car was inside the gate. The garden is behind the house and can't be seen from the road. I put my bike on my shoulder and walked through the gap between the gates. I passed the house and looked into the garden. There she was, working with a hoe - stark naked except for her gardening boots.

Her back was to me as she worked the row with the hoe. I watched as she bent over to place seeds into the soil and cover the seeds with dirt using her hands. Her ass was a thing of beauty and I could make out the lips of her vagina. She stood back up and repeated the routine. My cock was getting hard, I resisted the temptation to pull it out and masturbate.

Grace had a shift dress hanging over a shovel stuck in the ground near her. It was probably there so she could get dressed if she heard the driveway gates open. It was time to back up and pretend I hadn't seen anything, she was my friend after all, not my lover. I took one last perving look at her ass, then turned to creep back and make noise coming back up the drive. I hadn't counted on the big barn cat behind me. I tripped over the cat, dropped the bike and fell face first to the ground.