Once You Go Back. 25

Previously, Buckey faced some local drama and temptation when a straight friend declared love. He took a long weekend to consider his situation. Being relieved of extraneous duties in town, he realized that making this garden spectacular and enjoying the company of his crew should be his primary focus. READ PREVIOUS CHAPTERS.

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The most exciting thing that happened any morning of that week was that a mouse was swimming in the sink when I woke up. 

Later that morning, at 7 a.m., Diego, horrified by my work list, put his hands on his hips, straightened his broad back, and tipped his cowboy hat up. Eyes wide, he looked like a character from a TV novella who might challenge me to a gunfight. In a full, put-on Mexican cowboy accent, he said, “I refuse to cut the flowers back. Refuse, I do. You insult me. You insult the salvias. They are beautiful.”

The jovens looked from Diego to me. “Settle down, hombre,” I considered what we could do. He was right and MissK was only here two more days, so best to let her leave with flowers in her memory. “We’ll prune the old camellias and azaleas all day and tomorrow, too. It’ll be boring, but she’ll like seeing us at the big house. Wednesday, we’ll work in the pond. In the water. But then we have to cut the perennials. Else, they’ll be too big by fall.”

Kiko now understood and even spoke English. The young brothers were fit, but Kiko had an athletic swimmer's build. He looked at the shorter, stouter Louis and said, “We don’t have bathing suits.”  

I started loading saws, pointedly didn’t look up when I said, “We don’t need them. She’ll be gone. We’re all men.” 

Louis and Kiko shrugged at this. It had been our habit last summer. Diego, the American, laughed like I was kidding. I thought of redneck Randy. He’d be up for skinny dipping. If he didn’t have a wife. In weak moments, I’d hoped he’d show up before dawn and climb in bed. But my only early morning visitor was the mouse who couldn’t get a grip to climb out of the dishwater in the sink.