The Girl in the Garden by Melanie Wallace

Author:Melanie Wallace
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

1977

Sam

WHEN LEONARD CAME into the kitchen and said nonchalantly, You might consider taking some time off, it’d do you good, Sam suspected that Claire had spoken to the man. And shortly after Leonard left, there she was in his stead, having no right so far as Sam was concerned to enter his domain. Claire stood without saying a word, just leaned against the stainless steel counter not yet dry from being wiped down, silent and waiting and watching him, ignoring George altogether—the man was mopping with his back to them, working the same corner he’d been swishing that mop over, swaying over, for the last ten minutes. She folded her arms, remained without saying a word until Sam finally shook his head, then averted his gaze and went on about what he was doing, actually much of nothing—the pots and utensils were clean and hung, the dishes and trays cleaned and stacked, the glasses drying in the dishwasher—in order to avoid her eyes. She had, Sam knew, a way of getting what she wanted not because she was argumentative or even insistent but because she was, at least from what he’d witnessed, unbelievably patient, impossibly present in an implausibly unobtrusive way. He knew Claire wasn’t leaving, that she’d be there, leaning against that counter with her arms folded, waiting for him to speak when he finally finished doing what didn’t need to be done. She’d stand there statuesque and motionless, although maybe she’d have crossed an ankle since he’d last looked, for as long as it took for him to acknowledge her, even if that meant the rest of the day or until hell froze over. So Sam wiped down both sinks and then the gleaming tiles behind them, finally folded and racked the dishrag and put both hands on the edge of a sink, hung his head and sighed before pushing off and turning around, then leaned back and mirrored her stance by folding his arms and an ankle and cocking his head.

No, he said.

That’s probably the wrong answer to the wrong question.

Doesn’t matter.

Of course it does.

Sam glanced over his shoulder, said: George, you’re wearing that corner out, try stepping back some. Claire still didn’t look at George, waited again for Sam to give her his full attention and he knew that she knew he couldn’t put her off forever by commanding George to move a few feet back now and then and rewarding him with a nod whenever he found a new patch of floor to clean. George did as he was told, casting a grin over his shoulder, and began crooning Jeepers Creepers, where’d ya get those peepers in a croaky, off-key voice so low that anyone within range could only be thankful he could barely be heard. Sam looked at the ceiling and closed his eyes, shook his head, faced her again and saw that Claire wasn’t bothered: George never annoyed her, and Sam—despite his own recalcitrance—knew he also couldn’t, that most likely no one ever

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