very small and wiping away tears with a piece of paper towel.
“I’m sorry.” The man blinks. “These damn onions.”
“I thought my mother had said something to upset you.” Michael laughs and shakes his hand. “I’m Michael.”
“I know. Your mom’s been telling me all about you. I’m Daniel.”
“Nice to meet you, Daniel. And forgive my asking, but aren’t you the new tenant?”
“I am.”
“Why are you in the kitchen dicing onions? Aren’t you supposed to be down at the beach, or at the whaling museum or something? Relaxing and being a tourist. Not cooking.”
Daniel laughs. “Believe it or not, I love cooking. Nan needed some help and frankly she’s been keeping me entertained with wonderful stories all morning.”
“Don’t believe a word she says.” Michael grins as Nan looks at him fondly.
“It’s lovely to have you home,” she says. “Isn’t my son gorgeous? ” She turns to Daniel with a smile as Daniel flushes a deep, dark red and turns away to wash his hands.
Oh my, she thinks. Perhaps I have misread the situation somewhat. And deep in thought she leads Michael out to the porch to sit down and catch up properly.
Lizzie and Stella jump out of the car and run up the driveway as Daniel opens the front door. His heart lifts as he bends down for them to jump into his arms.
“Daddy!” they both cry, covering his face with kisses, one girl in each arm, their little arms linked tightly around his neck.
“Oh girls,” he says, his smile so wide his face is almost hurting. “It’s so good to see you.”
He looks up to where Bee is standing awkwardly in front of the car.
“I’ll pick them up at five,” she says, coldly.
“Can we make it six?” he says. “I’d love them to have dinner here. Please, Bee. I haven’t seen them for a week.”
She pauses, then nods. “Fine. I’ll see you at six.” And barely looking at him she gets into the car.
Nan watches from the window, her heart aching at the pain she sees. There is something so familiar about Bee’s pain, the loss, the anger. Something so heart-wrenching about seeing it played out on her doorstep, Daniel’s joy at having his daughters back, the pain of a marriage ending in divorce.
Daniel had told her they were separated, and when Nan asked if there was a chance they would get back together, a chance this separation was temporary, an opportunity for them to sort out their differences, he had shaken his head adamantly.
“It’s over,” he had said.
“And does your wife know that?”
He had closed his eyes to block out the pain. “We haven’t said those words, but I think she knows.”
“Do you know what you are looking for?”
“I’m getting there,” he had said with a small smile. “But right now I’m not looking for anything. I’m just looking to spend as much time with the girls as I possibly can.”
Nan watches as Daniel leads the girls around to the garden, to play in the old rowboat that sits at the bottom. It must be very hard, she thinks—realizing that his situation is not as simple as she first thought, not after she glimpsed the way he looked at Michael—it must be very hard to lead a life in which you are not being true to yourself.
Understandable, to take the easy route, to do what is expected of you, to follow conventions, although Nan has never done anything for anyone other than herself.
Not that she is selfish, but she has always lived true to herself, hence her reputation as an eccentric. That poor Daniel needs to be honest with himself, she thinks. As long as he lives in denial he’ll struggle, and as she wanders into the kitchen she suddenly has what she thinks is a wonderful idea.
The garden center is quiet, the pots of hydrangeas lined up in the front wilting in the heat. Nan parks her bike at the side and walks up the alleyway, admiring the picturesque herb garden they have planted as inspiration, stopping to pet an old ginger cat rolling on his back in a patch of warm sunlight on the path.
“Nan?”
“Jack! Lovely to see you.”
“And you, Nan. What an unexpected surprise. How’s your vegetable garden this year?”
“Wonderful. That fence we put up worked wonders. No deer at all. Sarah and I have been gorging ourselves on lettuces, peas, cukes and tomatoes. But they’re nearly over.”
“I’ve still got masses of tomatoes here. Like tiny bunches of grapes and as sweet as candy. You ought to