Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
That is not to infer that he does nothing in the back, because there are boxwoods there that must be trimmed. If I want to make my husband run, all I have to do is turn on the electric trimmer outside and he’ll yell from wherever he is in the house and ask me what I’m doing. The same effect occurs if I turn on his drill. Just the noise of revving it will get him running. It’s actually kind of fun. He once heard me turn on his band saw in the basement, while he was on the phone with Hannah upstairs in the kitchen, and was home in fifteen minutes from across town. It’s very effective.
But today we went to our favorite nursery, and I think, possibly, that Sam went a little nuts with the flower buying. He got bubble gum petunias, which are the exact shade of pink you’d expect, fuchsia and white vincas, and begonias, which confuse the crap out of me. Technically, they’re perennials, but people grow them as bedding plants—think marigolds—and so people expect them to die like annuals. So if we lived in Florida or Hawai’i, they would be perennials, but because we get snow, they die like annuals.
It’s just ridiculous.
There are also fern baskets out front and pansies, which operate the same as the begonias, and we have some papyrus grass which I like and Sam hates, and of course all the boxwoods. Sam is also considering redoing the path leading to the front door from the gate, but he’s waiting until the end of May when his son returns to really get into that. At the moment, my husband is spreading mulch in the beds, so the entire front yard smells like a cross between dirt, freshly cut wood, and manure. It will look nice for maybe eight hours, if we’re lucky, before it’s covered in leaves, twigs, and assorted debris. I get that the mulch offers nutrients, but aesthetically, it’s a bust.
In contrast, the backyard, where I am, smells like lilac. I have two large flowering ones that make the walk from the porch to the driveway utterly lovely. Once my grandiflora roses come up, it will smell even better. The variety I planted is called a Fragrant Plum, and they’re lavender in color, like the lilac. I also have actual lavender, so really, it’s like heaven once everything blooms. There’s a lot of greenery in the back, the trees are enormous and ancient, and Hannah puts in her herb garden on the side of the house every year.
The limelight hydrangeas line the chain-link fence that faces the driveway, as that area gets the full sun they need. In the back, there’s a wooden fence that faces the neighbors behind us that’s six feet high. Planted in front of that are assorted hostas, and some of them are immense. It’s very shady there, and even though Sam put in a path, it still gets muddy when it rains. We tried creating a tropical rain forest, but once winter came, that was the end of that. My peonies look really good this year, but whenever Sam sees them, he sort of grimaces. He likes the roses, but apparently the peonies are no good. I don’t really care what he thinks—on the subject of flowers—I’m just trying to make it beautiful for Mother’s Day, as everyone is coming to our house for our regular brunch. I need everything to be perfect because of what happened a few weekends ago.
Sam and I went to dinner at his parents’ house, and Regina dropped the bomb on everyone that she and Thomas had named Sam executor of their estate. Now logically, that made sense. Sam’s the oldest. But I also get how the decision could rub others the wrong way.
The issue is that everyone thinks that his parents like us, me and him, best.
“Of course they like us best,” Sam grumbled at me on the way home. “Why wouldn’t they? You and I are the only ones who haven’t been divorced.”
“Samuel Thomas Kage,” I gasped.
He groaned loudly.
“Your parents don’t give a damn that all their children have been divorced except you. Why would they when they’ve all found true love the second––”
“Or third,” he chimed in.
“Or third,” I amended, “time around.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Sam, lots of people get divorced, fall in love again and it’s better the next time around. Since when are you so provincial in your thinking?”
He growled that time.
“Well?” I prodded him.
“I’m not, you know I’m not.”
“Then?”
“Fine. They like us best because they like you best.”
I flashed him a grin. “Well, that I believe.”
His chuckle made me shiver, because really, Sam Kage laughing was a treat. Always.
“And we both know that Hannah will divvy up my mother’s jewelry correctly and make sure that everyone gets their fair share.”