Two
When Kate was a little girl, every Saturday would be a girls-only shopping day with her grandmother. Her parents, who’d worked in a cannery, were either working second shift or putting in overtime, so Kate had spent a lot of time with her grandmother Wanda, who’d become her de facto babysitter.
Saturdays had been Kate’s favorite day. The two of them would put on pretty dresses and silly hats, wander through downtown, then go back to Grandma’s house with their newfound treasures. Sometimes, they’d stop in the library for a stack of books or linger at a café for a very grown-up-feeling cup of hot cocoa. On the way home, there was always a visit to the bright and busy farmer’s market. Her grandmother would take her hand and they’d weave their way through the crowded stalls, past glistening jars of local honey and squat containers of sweet strawberries. If she closed her eyes, Kate could still hear the vendors hawking rhubarb jam and freshly picked tomatoes.
One year, when Kate was five, Grandma had bought her a plant from a wizened and hunched man in a stall at the back of the market. A trio of tiny garnet flowers had peeked up at Kate from a small pot of rich, dark soil. The earthy scent of the dirt had mingled with a whisper of vanilla, all coming from this tiny, delicate life in her hands.
Her grandmother had bent in front of her, her blue eyes crinkled at the corners. She’d tapped a petal, and the crimson flower had quivered a bit. “These are Wandas.”
“Like you, Grandma?”
She’d laughed. “Just like me. These are primroses. It’s a perennial, which means it comes back every year. They’re not named after me, but because they have the same name, they’re my favorite flowers. I want to teach you how to grow them, and lots of other things, because when you learn how to tend a plant, you learn how to tend yourself.”
At the time, Kate hadn’t understood what her grandmother had meant, but in the countless Saturday afternoons of her life that she’d spent at her grandmother’s house, seeding, potting, and nurturing everything from tomatoes to marigolds, the lesson had stuck with her. Even now, as Grandma Wanda eased into her nineties, she sprinkled bits of wisdom into every conversation.
Kate loved her something fierce and sometimes hovered over her like a worried hen. In the last year, Grandma had slowed down some, and her older house was beginning to need some expensive repairs, like a new heating system and a plumbing fix for the kitchen. Grandma lived on a limited income, and every time Kate came over and saw the house, she vowed to pay for those things with her next contract. It would have to be a good contract, though, with a hefty advance.
“You are such a good granddaughter,” Grandma said when Kate stopped by on Tuesday afternoon, bearing a container of homemade butternut squash soup. A short, spry woman with bright blue eyes and a fondness for turquoise reading glasses, Grandma Wanda’s effusive spirit belied her nine decades. Kate stopped by several times a week to check on her and bring homemade food. “You must have read my mind. I was just thinking about your soups today.”
Kate laughed. “You’re always thinking about my soups.”
“That’s because you are such a good cook.” Grandma patted her cheek. “You need a man who appreciates that.”
Over the years, Grandma Wanda had tried fixing Kate up with the cashier at the supermarket, the owner of the gas station on the corner, and her friend Edna’s nephew. Most days, Kate was buried under a deadline and didn’t even have time to date. She’d fallen in love once—and had learned the hard way that it wasn’t a mistake she wanted to repeat. Maybe someday she would again, but that day was not today.
“I don’t need a man. I need another book contract.” Kate glanced at the darkening sky before she ducked inside the house. She’d forgotten her raincoat again. The predicted thunderstorms and snow showers hadn’t come yet. Maybe if she could get in and out of Grandma’s house quickly, she could get home before the skies opened up. The early part of spring in Seattle could be anything from cold and slushy to wet and rainy, but Kate still more often than not forgot her jacket.
“Come, come,” Grandma said, waving Kate down the hall toward the kitchen. The heating system kicked on, clanking and growling its way to warm air coming out of the vents. “We’ll heat up the soup and talk. I want to show you what I’m planting this week, and we’ll transplant your seedlings. You should see the tomatoes!”
“That heater is still giving you fits?”
Grandma laughed. “I think that thing is older than me. When your Grandpa Jack was alive, he had it running like a well-oiled machine. But now, it’s getting worn out and ready for replacement. I’m hoping to get one more winter out of it. But don’t you worry about me. Nothing makes me feel better than some hours in the dirt.”
On any other day, Kate would have hurried through lunch to get to the greenhouse at the back of Grandma Wanda’s house, but after the run-in with Loretta and two weeks of bugging her agent about needing a new contract, the dark day outside matched Kate’s mood. “I’m not really up for all that, Grandma. I was just dropping off the soup.”
“Nonsense. Gardening will take your mind off your troubles.” Grandma put the soup into a pot, set it to simmer, then ducked out to the greenhouse and returned with a tray of seedlings. “Just look at these lovely little guys.”
Kate bent down and marveled at the infant plants, only a couple of straight leaves right now, still too young to form the serrated edges of a mature tomato plant. She and Grandma had sowed the seeds a couple weekends ago, part of Grandma’s early start for her garden. “The seedlings need to be thinned.”
“That they do.” Grandma smiled, as if she knew all along that Kate would say that. She turned off the stove, and a minute later, the two of them were up to their elbows in potting soil in the greenhouse. The small glass building attached to the house was warm, the panes dotted with condensation. Built by Grandpa Jack when Kate was a baby, the greenhouse was a testament to his love for his wife and her love of plants. Pots of delicate orchids lined one shelf, while an army of Wanda primroses in bright blues, yellows, and deep reds marched along the wooden table. The vegetable garden seedlings occupied the space beneath the pitched panels of the greenhouse roof, soaking up all the sun they could.
For an hour, Kate and her grandmother thinned the tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and other seedlings they had started in tiny pots a couple of weeks earlier. Soon, it would be time to move them into large pots that would sit on Kate’s deck, and the rest into Grandma’s half-acre garden. The work was simple and satisfying, with the earthy scent of life hanging in the air.
“I’m glad I stayed to do this,” Kate said as she scrubbed her hands in the corner sink. The two hours of gardening had eased the stress between her shoulders.
“I’ve always said there’s nothing a little dirt under your fingernails can’t fix.” Grandma leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Is something troubling you? You’ve been awfully quiet.”