Black Rose

underestimated you like that.”
    “He knows enough that he got exactly what he was after tonight. The young woman he had on his arm? She’s very wealthy, and very silly. Chances are she’ll feel some sympathy, even some outrage on his behalf over tonight.”
    “Then she’s more than silly. She’s bone stupid.”
    “Maybe, but he’s an accomplished liar, and slick as a snake. I’m not silly or stupid, and I fell for it.”
    “You loved him, so—”
    “Oh, honey, I didn’t love him. Thank God for that.” She shuddered at the thought of it. “I enjoyed the attention, the flattery, and initially at least, the romance and sex of it. Added to that I had a raging case of empty nest, so I was ripe for plucking. My own fault that I went and married him instead of sleeping with him until I got bored, or saw what was under that pretty exterior.”
    “I don’t know if that makes it worse or better,” Stella said after a moment.
    “Neither do I, but it is what it is. In any case, he wanted to remind me he exists, that he can and does swim in the same social pond. He wanted, primarily, for me to be upset and to think about him. Mission accomplished. He has a need for attention, to have attention focused on him—for better or worse. The worst punishment I can give him is to ignore him, which I’ve done, fairly successfully, since he came back to Memphis. Tonight was a way, a very clever way, of shoving himself in my face, in my own home, in front of my guests.”
    “I wish I’d gotten there quicker. I was nearly at the other end of the house when I heard the rumbles. But I don’t see how anyone could get any sort of satisfaction out of being turned away, in public, the way I heard you turned him away.”
    “You don’t know Bryce. He’ll dine off the incident for weeks. Center of attention, and he has a smooth way.” Her short, unpainted nails tapped against her teacup. “Before he’s done, he’ll be the underdog. All he’d done was try to mend fences, to come by to wish me well, it being the holidays and all. And what had I done but rebuffed him, and humiliated his date—an invited guest.”
    She stopped a moment to suck back the fresh rage. “People will say: ‘My goodness, how cold and hard, how ungracious and rude of her.’”
    “Then people are idiots.”
    “Yes, indeed they are. Which is why I rarely socialize with them. And why I’ve been so particular in my friends. And why I’m very grateful to have one who would sit out here with me at this time of night, eating chocolate truffles while I feel sorry for myself.”
    She let out a long breath. “And damned if I don’t feel better. Let’s go on up. Get some sleep. We’re going to have us a busy day tomorrow, with the gossip sniffers slinking in along with the regular customers.”

    SOME WOULD HAVE called it burying herself in work. Roz called it doing what needed to be done and enjoying every minute of it. She loved winter chores, loved closing herself in for hours, even days in a greenhouse and starting new life, nurturing it along. Her seedlings, and cuttings, sprouts started by layering or leaf buds. She loved the smell of rooting compound and damp, and watching the stages of progress.
    There were pests and problems to guard against here, just as there were in life. When she caught signs of downy mildew or rusts, she snipped off the infected leaves, sprayed the plants. She checked air circulation, adjusted temperature.

    Any cuttings that showed signs of rot or virus were systematically removed and discarded. She would not allow infection here, any more than she allowed it in her life.
    It soothed her to work, and to remember that. She had cut Bryce off, discarded him, rid her life of that infection. Maybe not quite soon enough, maybe she hadn’t been quite vigilant enough, so even now she was forced to guard and control.
    But she was strong, and the life she’d built was strong enough to withstand these small, annoying invasions.
    Thinking of that, she finished her list of tasks for the day, then sought out Harper.
    She slipped into his grafting house, knowing he wouldn’t hear her right away, not with Beethoven soaring for the plants, and whatever music he’d chosen for himself that day booming in his headset.
    She took a moment, a moment that made her feel tender, to watch him work. Old sweatshirt, older jeans, grubby boots—he’d have been out in the field off and on that day, she realized.
    He’d gotten a haircut