Part 3 of a serialised story by Jess Knaus

A little startled, Penny replied, “uh, yes, yeah they’re gorgeous. Have they lingered around here for long?”

“Aw, a few months. Summin’s brought them down from up north. Change of weather, I think”, Maggie replied.

There was a brief pause, before Maggie drifted toward her back shed. Penny could hear her moving things around – the clink of paint tins, the drag of lawn mower tyres across concrete and gardening tools knocking together. She reappeared with a spade in her hand. Without a word she wandered over to a sunny spot on her lawn between the gums, observed the distance from the fence and began slicing a line into the grass, marking it out.

“So, what’s the best thing to start growing? Never grown nuttin before,” said Maggie.

Penny faltered for a moment, momentarily perplexed. Was Maggie starting a garden? Sounded like it. She quickly filed through the plant catalogue in her head, realising she needed something seasonally ready but also easy to grow for a first timer.

Spinach.

“Spinach is an easy one, if you like it,” Penny answered.

Maggie nodded, continuing to push the spade into the soil with her foot.

“Might need your advice along the way,” replied Maggie. “My husband was the one with the knack for gardening.”

Penny allowed that detail to settle, realising that Maggie, too, was a widow. She’d never seen a man at the house.

“Yeah of course, happy to help.”

---

The crying would come when she least expected it. Sometimes she’d wake in the middle of the night, for no apparent reason other than tears. Her body owned the moment against her will, allowing grief to rise to the surface and evaporate in her tears. Other times she’d be at the supermarket, pick up a can of beans and that was enough for it to start. She’d put the basket down, leave to go and sit in her car, releasing the pressure into the steering wheel.

After each cry out, her shoulders ached, her head throbbed and she needed water for the follow up thirst.

After regaining her breath, she’d wipe the salty tears from her vision, and try to resume what she was doing. But the bedded anchor in her heart never lifted.

---

“Yeah Malcolm died four years back, heart problems,” Keith explained.

“He was one of my mates, sad to say goodbye. Maggie has kept to herself. Wasn’t sure if she’d say hello to ya,” he finished.

Penny nodded understandingly. Explanations weren’t necessary.

Penny had barely spoken about Tom to anyone in town. She’d briefly explained his passing to Keith, but he didn’t push or prod for details. He knew enough from her short mention. He also understood the feeling – like a goldfish in a fish tank, trying to hide its favourite pebbles behind the seaweed. This wasn’t a public aquarium, and no one needed to know anything. Keith was trustworthy, Penny felt that.

Her days continued on quite peacefully- working, gardening and just being. At around 5:30pm one Saturday, however, her mobile began vibrating over on the bookshelf. She ran over and picked it up to see “Dad” displayed on the screen. She had screened many of his calls, unprepared to handle the conversation. Her father had a way of bulldozing things, she didn’t need that right now. But she needed to respond to something, so she swiped up to answer.

“Hi dad,” she said flatly.

“Hi Penny, I’ve been trying to get onto you,” he responded.

Nice to talk to you too, Dad.

“What do you want?” asked Penny, curtly.

His dislike of Tom was something she never quite moved past, especially when it led her father to suggest calling off their wedding. She wasn’t surprised by his actions, he’d been this way forever, but she was astounded that yet again here she was, witnessing her father attempt to control her decisions. Since their wedding, they had distanced themselves somewhat from him – there was no point being connected if all it meant was enduring his judgement.

Needless to say Tom’s illness and passing turned up the volume on some pre-existing sentiments. She laboured through the awkward interactions with her father – the uncomfortable hospital visits, the funeral, the packing to move. She was waiting for him just to say it all, say what she knew he thought. Get it out already. You hated him. I get it. He wasn’t right for me. I’ve heard it. You didn’t like any of it from the start. You’ve made your point clear. Are we done?

“I’d like to come and visit,” he commanded. Her father didn’t ask, he told.

Knowing this visit would happen sooner or later, she’d pre-prepared a response.

“What’s the point of your trip, dad?” she asked. I know what you’re doing dad.

He was caught off guard by her abruptness, the transparency she was forcing him to behave with.

“Uh…well…well, you’re my daughter and I’d like to see you.”

“So you can what dad? Tell me how you knew this would happen? Tell me we never stood a chance? Tell me I should have listened to you?” she jabbed.

He went quiet.

Penny sparked up again.

“Cmon dad what’s the real reason? You were right and I was wrong? Coming to rub it in my face?!” She realised she was now holloring down the phone as she paced the living room floorboards. They creaked under the pressure.

He hesitated.

“…I…I want…I want to say I’m sorry.”

Penny froze. Sorry?

“For which part dad? There’s plenty of moments to choose from.”

He paused. She was right.

“All of it.”

She’d stopped pacing, unable to speak for what felt like minutes.

“I’m not sure dad, I need to think about it.”

She wiped the hair off her forehead, spreading the sweat along with it.

“…of course. Of course,” he replied. “I’ll uh, I’ll speak to you soon.”

“Yeah. Yeah bye,” she responded.

---

“Who’s that?” asked Maggie, pointing at the cross as they both went about their gardening activities.

Penny looked up from the soil. She’d wondered if this question might come.

“That’s Tom, my husband,” she replied, returning back to her digging.

Maggie said nothing. But she understood – Penny could feel it.

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Photo by Dalal Nizam on Unsplash