Eyeing the hedge, I crumple the note and shove it into the pocket of my pajamas as I make my way back to the kitchen for my first cup of coffee of the morning.
If this is any indication of what life is gonna be like here, I’m gonna need all the caffeine I can get.
THREE
Bex
“So,” the man standing behind the counter starts, pushing his glasses up his nose as he squints my way. “You’re saying that you want someone to come out to your place and trim back a hedge?”
Only in a small town can you run out to do some errands and slip into a conversation at a hardware store that may help you find a landscaper. Well, fingers crossed.
I nod. “That’s exactly it.”
He gives me a knowing smile. “I may know someone. Where do you live?”
“On the old Main Road, near the intersection of Highway 50.”
“Not a lot of houses out that way.” The man’s mouth twitches. “Are you on the front of the old Porter farm?”
“The old Porter farm?” What does he mean? “I know it’s a Porter who lives there now.”
“That’s Austin and Levi Porter’s grandparents’ old farm,” the man acknowledges as he finishes ringing me up. “Mr. Porter passed away a few months back and left the place to Mary, Austin’s and Levi’s mother. You must be in the house that is at the front. I know it was for sale not long ago.”
“Yep, that’s me.” And only in small towns can you have a chat turn into a who’s who in the area, with the local storekeeper informing you of your property’s history. This guy is better than Google.
“If it’s the hedge I’m thinking of, the one that gives the farmhouse at the back some privacy from your property, then no.”
My head tilts to an odd angle on its own. “No?”
“No,” he repeats himself, looking at me woefully. “I don’t know anyone who will touch that with a ten-foot pole.”
Yet things seemed to be going so well. “Why?”
“That boxwood hedge has been around for as long as I can remember. The family must have planted it there years and years ago for it to be as high as it is. I think it was six feet tall the last time I saw it?” he muses, scratching his chin.
“And that is exactly why I need to trim it back.” I pull out my wallet to pay for the painting supplies in my cart.
The older gentleman shakes his head. “Ain’t no one gonna come and take that job on, I’m sorry to say.”
“You’re kidding.” I’m truly baffled. “Why?”
“That hedge was like the Holy Grail to Mrs. Porter when she was alive. She was the only one who trimmed it back. After she passed, Mr. Porter took it over, but I’ve got no clue who is taking care of it now. Must be Austin?” He shakes his head again. “That’s the other hurdle. Between you and me, we’ve all seen how unhappy Austin’s been since that injury. With the legend of that hedge being so precious––coupled with the fact that the owner of it is now, let’s say, tough to deal with––I think finding someone to take care of it may be a mission.”
I never thought I’d have to go outside of the local area for something like this.
“So no one will do it?”
“You can try, but I’ll be surprised if you can get anyone on board to help.” He looks at the cash register. “That’s seventy-nine dollars and twenty-four cents, please.”
I swipe my credit card and ponder the fact that the one thing standing between me and the view of my dreams is an ancient boxwood hedge that I’ll probably never get anyone to help me do anything with.
“Oh, don’t listen to him,” someone in line behind me says, handing me a business card. “I’m a gardener and would be happy to come by and take a look.”
I glance down and see the name on the card. “Thanks, Eric,” I say as I slip the card into the back pocket of my jeans. “I’ll give you a call very soon.”
“Good luck to both of you,” the man behind the counter snorts. “As the saying goes, ‘May you go with God.’”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes and keep my attention on my new friend, Eric. “Seriously. Thank you.”
