Chapter Seven
Aidan was grounded to the perimeter of the cabin for his outburst at his dad. His knuckles on his right hand were bandaged tightly by his mom’s deft fingers. He thought it was just as well that he was punished. He didn’t want to go anywhere with his dad who had simply ignored the root of their argument in the forest. Of course, all that his dad relayed to his mom was the part about Uncle Quinn. Not a word was said about the accusation Aidan had flung at his father.
Besides, thought Aidan as he twirled his trusty pocketknife around in one hand, Uncle Quinn is so fidgety all of the time.
Aidan didn’t know if his uncle’s twitches were really some kind of side effect from his cancer or if Quinn was just a weirdo; he was still considering the idea that Quinn was a junkie off his fix. Either way, Aidan felt uncomfortable around him and usually found a reason to leave the room when Uncle Quinn came in. Sitting at the dinner table, watching a man wither away and die was not Aidan’s idea of a good time or a worthwhile chance for family bonding.
As he sat on the front porch overlooking Winchester Lake, Aidan mindlessly whittled away at a stick he found in the brush pile, his hands effortlessly working the knife into the soft, green wood. The movement of hand and knife set him at ease as the spring wind ruffled his hair and clothing. Yellow pine pollen danced through the air and coated the world in its golden film.
The rest of his family was out with Uncle Quinn, visiting the local drugstore for groceries.
Aidan enjoyed having the late afternoon to himself, sitting on the porch with one leg propped up, working at something of no consequence. For a moment he was stuck back in an old photograph from the family album—the summers they used to spend at their old cabin near Redfish Lake. He and his dad used to be king anglers, reeling in one rainbow trout after another in the predawn hours at their favorite fishing spot.
I miss those days.
Aidan dug the blade deeper, gouging out more of the curling tree flesh, the intricate pattern he crafted, etched more clearly in the length of stick.
His mind wandered to the animals’ chittering and rustling through the treetops. He heard a faint caw break through the dreamy melody. Aidan thought about the crows. Everywhere he went there seemed to be crows of some kind—almost like seeing seagulls everywhere even if it’s nowhere near the water.
It did not just bug him that he kept seeing the black birds, but what plagued him was that they all seemed to look the same. And there was always just the one.
As he was about to drift off into daydreaming about the best trap to set to catch the stalker bird, Aidan heard a faint rumbling.
He looked down at his stomach.
The noise grew louder, coming from behind the cabin and on the main road. It was much too loud to be his parent’s minivan. He peeked around the corner and spied. Flying around the last bend and headed toward the cabin, a pickup truck’s massive white-walls kicked up a billowy dust cloud.
“Great. Rednecks,” Aidan groaned. “So much for a quiet afternoon.”
He stood and dusted himself off, ready to participate in conversation with the locals. Hopefully I can understand them. He laughed to himself as he pictured their toothless mouths gumming words at him.
Aidan figured that if he were to tell them that Quinn was out, then they would just get back in their pickup and leave.
As the park-ranger-green truck swiftly approached, he could see there was only the driver on board, and the back of the truck was overflowing with greenery. Faster and closer it came, but the truck didn’t seem to be slowing down or starting to stop. And it was coming right for him as he stood gazing from the porch—closer, closer!
Suddenly, he made his decision and leapt, trying at least to save himself because the porch was a goner. He tucked and rolled as best as he could, but fumbled his landing.
Thud! He slammed flat on his back.
The truck came to a squealing halt only feet from his covered head, the remaining dust cloud from the crazed driver settling all around. The gurgling engine stopped.
Screeeeeech!
The driver’s door flew open as Aidan remained prone on the ground. His eyes darted to catch a glimpse of the maniac he was sure would come around the truck and end his life with a rusty pitchfork. But instead of the heavy plodding of work boots, Aidan saw strappy, flat sandals and perfectly painted crimson toenails and silver anklets jingling under a smiling sun tattoo.
The feet rushed over, noises pinging and panging everywhere, and Aidan peered up to see an astonished woman looking over him like some kind of hillbilly angel. She was murmuring something, but he couldn’t take it all in—her curly blonde hair, dimpled cheeks beaming down at him.
“Wha?” he mumbled, sitting up and not even bothering to try and brush the dirt off anymore.
“I said, Are you okay?” Amused, the woman offered her porcelain hand and helped hoist him back to his feet, gently patting the accumulated dust off of his shoulders and hair.
“Uhm, yeah. I’m fine.” He was surprised he could even speak, having seen his pathetically short life flash before his eyes only moments before.
“I really didn’t think you’d jump like that! I mean, I like to make an entrance, but boy, I never expected one like that!”
She fanned herself after the exasperated half-apology, and Aidan realized that this woman was not just some hillbilly angel like he originally thought. Between her broomstick skirt and obviously bra free chest, this woman—more like girl—reeked of Bohemia.
Must be patchouli in the air – or something like that.
“You’re Aidan, right?”
He glanced up from eyeing her, stumbling to recover. “Uhm, yeah. That’s what most people call me. And you are?”
“Why, Aid, I’m your Aunt Holly!” And with that she pulled him in for a tight squeeze, mashing him against her chest.
He never felt so awkward in his life.
“I can’t believe you jumped like that! It was just like watching a stuntman,” she beamed from ear to ear, full of sunshine and joy.
Too much joy, thought Aidan. What kind of person almost scares someone to death in order to make an appearance? Wait. I know. A crazy one.
“Well, you mind helping me take some of these plants to the greenhouse?” She threw her thumb at the back of the pickup.
He knew he couldn’t tell his aunt no. Was he just supposed to sit there and watch her make a bunch of trips back and forth? Besides, he was already in enough trouble with his dad and he didn’t dare anger the one person who probably had not yet heard about his outburst.
“Sure.” Aidan tossed his folded pocketknife and whittled branch onto the porch and followed Holly to the back of the truck.
“Sure you mind? Or sure you’ll help?” she teased.
“Well, obviously I’ll help if I’m following you!” he joked back.
“I appreciate it.” She heaved the tailgate down and hefted the first potted plant into Aidan’s waiting arms. “Greenhouse is in the back of the yard. You’ve probably seen it in the clearing.”
Aidan simply nodded and trudged to the backyard.
So much for a relaxing afternoon alone.
The greenhouse’s cloudy windows and tufts of weeds surrounding its perimeter did not leave Aidan much to hope for in helping Holly. What screens still existed on the exterior were shredded or dangling from their corners. The bricks in the pathway leading to the dirt-smeared door laid askew, corners of faded red leaping from the earth to trip a daydreaming walker. Aidan imagined what it once was—a tightly knit herringbone pathway from the back of the cabin to the greenhouse. A clearing to the right revealed a timeworn square of weed strewn bricks and a dilapidated grey Adirondack.
Holly turned the rusty knob and the door swung inward.
Aidan was overwhelmed with light beaming through the topmost crystalline panels, reflecting off intricate runs of pristine silver pipework
that hung down over row upon row of pots and trays exploding with greenery. Plumes of vibrant flowers peaked over and under lengthy boughs and dinner-plate leaves.
“Big, isn’t it?” Aunt Holly closed the door behind them, keys dangling from one hand while her other arm cradled a clay pot filled with an oversized fern.
“Yeah, I’d say so. Bigger on the inside than it looks from out there.” He continued staring around the vast building.
“You can set that down over there.” Holly motioned with her chin toward the table next to a cast-iron sink.
After the final load was transported into the greenhouse, Holly led Aidan around on a tour of sorts. While she did not go into the specifics of each plant type, she showed Aidan down the center aisle and simply pointed out how each area of the greenhouse was arranged—by color.
“Scarlet, coral, gold…” Her finger traced each section as she named them. “Of course, some are not in bloom yet,” she stopped and held a massive variegated leaf, “which is normal. Wouldn’t want them to show all of their blooms in here and then get to the store missing all of their beauty.”
He wondered if organizing plants by hue was at all an accurate way to organize a greenhouse, but he figured she was the one who was still in business. All that Aidan ever accomplished in his Horticulture Class was growing a lima bean plant to maturity. After three failed attempts and the help of some hidden Miracle-Gro.
As he stared about at the glass walls and ceiling, he realized that the greenhouse did not seem as revealing as he assumed a virtually clear building would make him feel. He had imagined that being in a greenhouse would be the closest experience to how a goldfish must exist, but it was really more like being in your own private jungle. Baskets dangled from some of the waterlines, vines splayed up from enormous pots on the ground, and the tabletops were packed with various stages of growth.
“Over one-hundred-years old.” Holly beamed like a proud mother. “Quinn and I have been working on it for a while—pretty much just focusing on what has to be done to keep the nursery going—but when we have some free time we try and gussy it up a bit.”
He wondered how the greenhouse could have been built that long ago, considering that one-hundred years earlier Idaho was still mostly wilderness. Besides that, how would an enormous greenhouse, that was almost big enough to play soccer in, be planted in the middle of such an old forest? He shrugged the thought from his brain—maybe the structure was moved onto the property from somewhere less remote or constructed piece by piece.
“Well, it looks pretty nice.”
What kept his attention locked, however, were the pipes that hung overhead. The intricate lines reminded him of his eighth grade science project which tried to demonstrate more efficient ways to channel hot water through residential buildings.
“Quinn installed this system before he got sick.” Holly stared up at the ceiling along with Aidan. “This,” she touched the nearest reach of pipe, “is his pride and joy. This system sends water and any type of nutrients directly to the plants. I can even switch different sprayers on and off, customizing what each and every plant receives. Not bad for such a small operation. He put these in ten years ago—before he even met me. Heck, before I was out of high school.”
Aidan had to give Quinn credit. He may be a crazy skinhead, but at least he had the brains to rig up piping.
“He did this all by himself?”
Holly proudly nodded.
“Why? I didn’t know he even liked plants—besides, you know, farming.”
Holly cocked her head to the side, “Aidan, didn’t your daddy tell you anything?”
Aidan looked at the floor, shuffling his feet so he wouldn’t have to look her in the face, “We don’t talk much.”
“Well, your uncle has been growing in greenhouses since he was in high school. I guess he used to win all kinds of state competitions.” She led him back to the front of the greenhouse and the tables where they set the new plants.
“Then it must be a good thing that he married you, right? Someone to help out since he’s sick?” Aidan knew there had to be a reason why someone so young married his unpredictable uncle. Now he had an idea that their marriage was one of mutual benefit.
Holly’s fingers fumbled with dusting stray clumps of potting soil off the marble counter. “Before he was sick, Quinn was already stepping out of the business. He wanted to spend more time out on his land. Live the farming life. Once the diagnosis came, the transition progressed faster than we thought it would. Now I’m pretty much running the place, and he’s finishing what will most likely be his last harvest unless he goes into remission.”
“My dad didn’t tell me anything about that. But he never really tells me anything anymore. He only talks to me to tell me what to do. He just barely told me about Quinn’s cancer.”
“Yeah. I heard about your little… tiff… this morning.” She said it so delicately that now Aidan felt embarrassed over the way he had acted. If he had known that his behavior would have been broadcast to everyone, he figured he would have tempered what he said at least a little bit.
Aidan wasn’t sure how much Holly had been told, or even if she had been told any of the details of the argument. If it weren’t for her relationship with Uncle Quinn, Aidan would spill about his dad’s affair. For some reason, he couldn’t stand that she thought he was just being unreasonable. But he knew it was not worth the price he would pay if his dad found out that he had divulged the information, so he just shrugged his shoulders.
“We sometimes don’t see eye-to-eye, that’s all.”
“I know it doesn’t help at all, but I can see where you’re both coming from. It isn’t much fun to work at someone else’s house while on vacation, but I think we can make it a little bit more hospitable for you and your family while you’re here. What do you think about that?”
Aidan eyed her with suspicion. “What do you have in mind?”
“Well, I’m working on a new project and your uncle needs some help clearing out some debris to make room for a second greenhouse. Maybe I can talk to your dad and you can help me out while he helps Quinn with the greenhouse. I could even pay you. Maybe even buy you some new computer stuff. How does that sound?”
Again, he shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Good, then it’s a deal. No more of you running your mouth or running off, and I’ll make sure you don’t have many opportunities to do so!” She busied herself with repotting a plant, carefully lifting the leaves as she grabbed handfuls of dirt and tucked the soil around the roots.
“Wanna help?” She wiped her nose with the back of her arm, her hands encumbered with her repotting, and indicated nearby plants with the swish of her head.
“Okay.” Aidan threw on a pair of gloves, burying himself in work, and the sound of Holly’s numerous pieces of jewelry jangling like a gypsy filled the otherwise silent afternoon.
Two-dozen plants and one hour later, Aidan and Holly finished repotting, placed the plants in their appropriate rows, and checked the watering timer.
“Business must be good, huh?” Aidan asked, prying for more information.
“As good as it will ever get, most likely. But your uncle thinks that if we expand our Icelandic line that business will boom.” She shook her head, dimpled cheeks making her appear younger as she restrained a smile. “I can only hope!”
As they turned to leave the greenhouse, Holly took what looked to Aidan like a ridiculously large syringe out of her canvas bag and inserted the slender needle into a nearby valve. Aidan could see the valve’s tubing lead to the watering system, fertilizing the plants.
“Time to go fix dinner,” Holly sang as she closed the door, turning the lock one, two, three times.
OCD freak. Aidan chuckled to himself. It seemed that the Tanner men preferred women with the same eccentricities.
Then Aidan’s mind flashed to the red-haired woman’s face from the restaurant and his st
omach dropped – who knew what she had that his father found so much better than his mom.
“Wanna help me tackle that, Aid?” She didn’t even look up from rustling about in the hemp purse slung across her torso.
“Huh?” He woke from his rambling thoughts.
“Where were you off at just now?” Holly teased.
“Soccer.” He reflexively sputtered. “Just thinking about how I miss the team.”
“Oh yeah, I remember your mom saying something about how you played keeper?”
She really was trying. “No, I’m sweeper. Not keeper. No biggie, though. So what were you asking me about?”
“Dinner. Do you want to help with that?”
“Sure, I guess.”
How could he say no to Aunt Holly? She was the first one to really take any time to talk to him. Their time together kept his mind occupied, keeping him from thinking about his argument with his dad and dark questions about Quinn.
The work, well, that was worth the tradeoff in Aidan’s mind. In fact, Aidan supposed that he actually didn’t mind working with plants. He preferred working with Holly in the greenhouse over working with Quinn and Dad anywhere, anytime.
If he was really stuck in Winchester for the week, he figured he would make the most of his time by steering clear of everyone else and taking every opportunity to help Holly. Besides, even though she was his aunt, she wasn’t bad on the eyes or his wallet.