Page 26 of Out on a Limb
Phillip.
She led him across the green space, walking slowly as he pecked at a few places before shooting out a pile of crap and moving on.
Which was strange enough on its own.
But then Collette crouched down and used a plastic bag to scoop his mess up from the grass.
I’d watched her do it at least ten times in the past four hours. Maybe more.
Definitely more.
My eyes couldn’t seem to keep themselves away from her. Especially now that they knew she might be odd.
Collette tossed the bag of chicken crap into one of the cans stationed around the garden, before leading her leashed fowl back toward the main building.
Anyone else would be focused on the fluffy bird in a hot pink harness running along beside her. The ridiculousness of the whole scene.
Not me.
That bird was the least interesting thing about what I was seeing. Phillip didn’t have hips that swayed with each step he took.
And he sure as hell didn’t have thighs that could keep a man’s ears warm in the coldest of winters.
Not that I’d had to deal with any of that in a while. The winters or the thighs.
“What’s wrong with you?” Julia stared down at me, hands on her hips as she watched me finish trimming down the final plant in one of the beds mauled by the flock of chickens someone worked pretty hard to make sure found their way into the garden.
“I’m just tired of this bullshit.” I collected the damaged leaves and stems I’d removed and added them to the bucket I used to carry clippings.
“They’re just pissed we filed that noise complaint with the city.” Julia grabbed the bucket. “If I’d known how much it would piss them off I wouldn’t have pushed Collette to do it.”
I grabbed the clippers, shovel, and trimmers we’d carried from spot to spot as we worked our way through the areas that needed the most work. “They’re going to be the kiss of death for this place.”
It was a depressing thought. I’d moved here almost five years ago, leaving behind everything I knew for a position that seemed perfect for me.
And it was.
I loved working at the garden. Loved getting my hands dirty. Loved digging in and growing any and every plant I could find that would thrive in central Florida’s subtropical climate. For the first four years I worked here it was perfect. If I wanted a plant I got it. Didn’t matter what it cost or whether or not I was sure it would grow.
Mrs. Johnson made sure we had it.
She loved the garden. Walked it every day. Stopped and talked with anyone she passed. Didn’t matter who it was. Old or young. Employee or guest. She treated everyone the same.
Unlike her asshole husband.
“Unless we stop them.” Julia was staring across the space.
I followed her line of sight to see what she was looking at.
There was nothing there.
Her eyes suddenly snapped my way. “You ready to wrap up?”
I pushed up from the ground. “Yup.” It had been a long day of doing nothing that was supposed to get done, and I was exhausted in more than just the physical sense.
I was tired of worrying about my life. My future.
If the garden closed then my options were limited. There weren’t many opportunities for horticulturists. Most were with zoos or one of the historical estates scattered along the east coast. Unfortunately, once a person got one of those jobs they tended to hang onto it.
