Tribute

couple of ornamental trees.
    She straightened to take a steadying breath, and looked over at the broken stump of one of her dying trees. That breath caught. Her body trembled, that same combination of sorrow and fury. Black paint defiled the old stone wall with its ugly message.
    GO BACK TO HOLLYWOOD BITCH!
LIVE LIKE A WHORE DIE LIKE A WHORE
    “Fuck you,” she said under her breath. “Goddamn it, Hennessy, fuck you.”
    Riding on pure fury now, she stormed back to the house to call the police.
    WITH BLOOD IN HER EYE, Cilla warned every one of the crew that anyone who mentioned the trees or the wall to Steve would be fired on the spot. No exceptions, no excuses.
    She ordered Brian back to the nursery. She wanted two new trees planted, and she wanted them planted that very day.
    By ten, when the cops had come and gone, secure that her threat would hold and that the crew would keep Steve busy inside, she went out to work with the mason on cleaning the stone.
    Ford saw her, scrubbing at the stone, when he stepped out with his first cup of coffee. And he saw the message sprayed over the wall. As she had done earlier, he left his coffee on the rail and jogged down to her in bare feet.
    “Cilla.”
    “Don’t tell Steve. That’s the first thing. I don’t want you to say a word about this to Steve.”
    “Did you call the cops?”
    “They’ve been here. For whatever good it does. It has to be Hennessy, it has to be that son of a bitch. But unless he’s got black paint and wood chips under his goddamn fingernails, what are they going to do about it?”
    “Wood . . .” He saw the stumps then, swore. “Wait a minute. Let me think.”
    “I don’t have time. I have to get this off . Can’t risk sandblasting this stone. It’s too harsh. It’d damage the stone, the mortar, do as much harm, potentially, as the stupid paint. This chemical’s the best alternative. Probably have to have the wall repointed, but it’s all I can do.”
    “Scrub at the stone with a brush?”
    “That’s right.” She attacked the C in BITCH like she would a sworn enemy. “He’s not going to get away with this. He’s not going to soil or damage what’s mine. I wasn’t driving the goddamn car. I wasn’t even born, for Christ’s sake.”
    “And he’s eighty if he’s a day. I have a hard time seeing him chopping down a couple of trees and tagging a stone wall in the middle of the night.”
    “Who else?” She rounded on Ford. “Who else hates me or this place the way he does?”
    “I don’t know. But we’d better work on finding out.”
    “It’s my problem.”
    “Don’t be an ass.”
    “It’s my problem, my wall, my trees. I’m the bitch.”
    He met her hot glare with a cool stare. “I wouldn’t argue with the last part right at the moment, but as for the rest? Bullshit. You don’t want to tell Steve, fine. I get it. But I’m not leaving. I’m not heading back to L.A. or anywhere else.”
    He grabbed her arm, pulled her back around to face him. “I’m staying right here. Deal with it.”
    “I’m trying to deal with this, and with having my best friend leave when he can hardly walk more than five yards at a time. I’m trying to deal with making a life I didn’t even realize I wanted until a few months ago. I don’t know how much more I can deal with.”
    “You’ll have to make room.” He cupped her face, kissed her hard. “Got another brush?”

FIFTEEN
    C illa sweated over the long, tedious process most of the day, with breaks to handle scheduled work. She concentrated on the ob-scenities first as people slowed on the drive by, or stopped altogether to comment or question.
    Sometime during the process, the burning edge of her rage banked down to simple frustration. Why had the asshole written so damn much?
    She picked up the task again the next morning, before the mason or any of the crew arrived. Two new trees flanked her entrance. She thought of them as defiant now rather than sweet. And that pumped up her energy.
    “Hey.”
    She glanced around to see Ford, ratty sweatpants and T-shirt, standing on the opposite shoulder of the road with a red bandanna-sporting Spock quivering, but sitting obediently at his feet. “Early for you,” she responded.
    “I set the alarm. It must be love. Come over here a minute.”
    “Busy.”
    “When aren’t you? Honey, you can wear me out just watching. Come on, take a minute. I got coffee.” He held up one of the oversized mugs he carried.
    He’d set the