The Grounds

Roberta had been on her feet since nine that morning, and by a quarter past five her knees had filed their usual protest. She ignored them. Sixty-two years old, and thirty years as a park ranger before this job, taught a woman to ignore her knees.

She was tidying the tool rack in the conservatory potting shed when April stuck her head in.

"You done with the east beds?" April asked, pulling off her gloves.

"Done and mulched, thank you very much," said Roberta. "Somebody around here still takes pride in her work."

"Somebody around here is a show-off," said April, grinning. "Cain wants everyone in the break room before we lock up. He's got tea and, and I quote, announcements."

"Announcements! At five on a Friday?"

"That's what he said. God help us all."

The break room was the saddest little corner of Thornhill Botanical Garden, all threadbare couch and a kettle with a limescale problem, but it had a window looking out on the orchid house, and the orchid house at dusk was the single best thing about the whole place. Roberta settled on the arm of the couch because the couch itself had been colonized by Ellis, the night guard, who was already halfway through his thermos.

Cain came in carrying a tray of mugs. Thirty-three years old, head curator, sleeves rolled up, forearms of a man who actually repotted things himself instead of just emailing about them. Roberta had noticed the forearms approximately four months ago and had been pretending not to notice ever since. It was exhausting work, the pretending.

"Announcements," said Cain, setting down the tray. "One: the orchid auction got moved to the twelfth. Two: the sprinkler system on the north lawn is fixed, finally, praise be. Three: Ellis, your new shift rotation starts Monday."

"That's it?" said April. "I skipped book club for that?"

"You skipped book club for the free tea," said Ellis, not looking up from his thermos.

"You've got me there."

Roberta reached for a mug and found Cain standing closer than she'd expected, close enough that she caught his sleeve as she took it. Sorry, she said, and he said no problem, and the whole exchange took maybe two seconds, and she thought about it for the next twenty minutes. Ridiculous! She'd handled bear encounters with more composure.

*

Here was the thing Roberta never told anybody at the garden. The last man she'd been with, a botanist named Oliver, back when she was forty, had wanted to marry her. She'd ended it after eight months. Like she was a form he was filling out labeled Future Wife, Roberta, and every kind thing he said was a box getting checked. She didn't mind being wanted. She minded being wanted for the wrong reasons, for the resume reasons, for the she'd make a solid long-term investment reasons. So she'd told him goodbye at a trailhead and driven home alone and been fine, mostly, for twenty-two years.

Fine, mostly, right up until a certain curator handed her a mug of tea.

"You're doing the face," said April, dropping onto the couch beside her.

"What face?"

"The face where you're pretending you're not staring at the boss."

"I am doing no such face!"

"Uh huh." April blew on her tea. "Well. Since the boss is right there and we're all friends, here's an idea. You two should pretend you just met. Strangers! Meet cute in the orchid house. It'd be good practice for the volunteer mixer."

Roberta nearly choked. "April!"

"What? It's a classic. Two strangers, one conservatory, moonlight through the glass. Very romantic. Very Hallmark."

"April, I am sixty-two years old."

"And Cain is thirty-three and single, and I've watched him find excuses to be in the east beds for four months, so don't you dare play the age card at me like it's a wall and not a number."

Roberta opened her mouth. Nothing came out of it.

Cain, who had absolutely been in earshot the entire time, because of course he had, turned around with the slowest, most unhurried smile Roberta had ever seen on a human being. It was the smile of a man who had all evening and knew it.

"The east beds," he said, "are my favorite beds."

"See?" said April, delighted. "I rest my case. Go on, you two. Ellis and I will lock up the west wing. Take your time in the orchid house, it's closed to the public anyway."

"This is entrapment," said Roberta.

"This is tea," said April, and pushed the mug closer to her.

Ellis, from behind his thermos, said absolutely nothing, which from a former marine was basically a round of applause.

* * *

The conservatory at night was a different animal entirely. Glass walls on every side, moonlight pouring through, and the orchids glowing pale under the low emergency lights. Roberta walked in first and stood there breathing. She'd missed this feeling, night in a big quiet glass room. Twenty-two years since a trailhead and a goodbye, and here she was with her heart going like a kettle.

The door clicked behind her.

She turned around. Cain was standing by the entrance with his hands in his pockets, and he didn't come any closer, which somehow made it worse, or better, she couldn't decide.

"So," he said. "April's game. Are we playing it or not?"

"You're the boss," said Roberta. "You tell me."

"I'd rather you tell me."

Oh, he was good. He was annoyingly good. "Fine," said Roberta. "We're playing it."

He nodded, once, and then, and this was the part that made her stomach drop through the floor and into the compost, he stepped back out the door, closed it, and walked in again like a man arriving for the first time.

"Huh," he said, glancing around at the orchids like he'd never seen one before. "Beautiful in here."

"You're laying it on thick," said Roberta, and then caught herself. No. If they were playing, she was playing. She squared her shoulders and looked at him the way she'd look at a stranger. "Excuse me. Are you staff, or are you lost?"

"Staff," he said. "Mostly. You?"

"Just visiting." Her voice came out steadier than she had any right to expect. "I heard the orchids here are worth the trip."

"They are. The old ones are the best." He crossed the room toward her, unhurried, and stopped an arm's length away, and held out his hand. "I'm Cain."

She looked at his hand. She looked at his face. He was letting her pick the name, she realized. He was handing her the whole game, wrapped up with a bow, and waiting to see what she'd do with it.

Her own middle name was Vivian. Her mother had been the only person who ever used it, and always in a tone that meant trouble.

"Vivian," said Roberta, and shook his hand. His grip was warm and he held on a half second longer than strangers do.

"Vivian," Cain repeated, like he was tasting it. "Well. Vivian. What brings you to a glass house after dark?"

"A friend dared me," said Roberta. "She said I needed to get out more."

"Was she right?"

"Friends usually are. It's their worst quality."

Cain laughed, a real laugh, not the polite one he used in staff meetings, and Roberta felt something in her chest unlock that she hadn't even known was locked. The moon came through the glass and laid a long pale stripe across the floor between them, and outside, somewhere across the dark garden, April was presumably doing a victory dance by the wheelbarrows.

"So," said Cain, still holding her hand, apparently in no hurry at all. "Vivian. Would it be forward of me to ask if you'd like a tour?"

"Forward," said Roberta. "You're asking a stranger if she wants a tour, that's practically forward."

"I'll risk it."

"Well then, yes. Show me the orchids!" He let go of her hand at last, and she felt the loss of it like a missing coat pocket. He led her down the long aisle of benches, and he talked, and that was the surprise, that he could really talk. Not the staff meeting version of Cain, with the agenda and the minutes, but an actual enthusiast, tripping over his own facts. "This one here is a ghost orchid. See how the roots look like they're floating? They photosynthesize through the roots, isn't that absurd? It's like a plant that decided leaves were optional."

"Aren't orchids supposed to be fussy?"

"Oh, they're monsters. Divas. This one wants exactly 60 percent humidity and will sulk if you look at it wrong."

"Sounds like my sister."

Cain laughed again, and Roberta decided she would do something reckless if it happened one more time. She wasn't sure what. She had options. He moved along the benches and she followed, and somewhere around the fourth bench his hand brushed the back of hers. Then it happened again at the fifth.