Earl has joined the blondes’ game of rummy, and Helen and Nancy have arrived and taken his place in the shade by the shed, poking their fingers into trays of soil on the long wooden table and sprinkling seeds into the holes.

“So, I meant the beds on the left facing seaward, not looking inland from the far end,” Earl offers gently as I heft the mixture of hydrogen peroxide and water out of the shed to clean the pitchfork.

“I would have figured—” I was going to say that I would have figured it out, that I could tell I didn’t have it right, but they’re all looking at me or kind of tutting.

And then Nancy chimes in, trying to be helpful, changing the subject. “Couldn’t be any worse than the number the mice pulled on my onion bulbs.”

“Store them in gravel; that’ll keep the mice out,” Agata offers.

“And they don’t germinate?” Ruth asks.

“Mine never do.”

“Funny we still get these occasional bursts in mouse activity, way out here. Must be strong swimmers!” Grace says in a half giggle.

“Stowaways.” That’s Nick, back from rescuing his ravished crop. I try to work faster without doing a half-assed job and having someone yell at me again. “They make their way out here, bed down, make their nests real nice and cozy. Even an island won’t keep pests out completely.” He gives me a pointed look.

After an embarrassed pause, Ruth makes a play and wins the hand. Earl notices that the sun has shifted and pulls his basket of vegetables over into the shade while Grace deals again. She calls to me as I turn to leave. “Going already?”

“Yeah.” I could use this opening to explain, but I’m afraid if I bring it up, everyone will just start interrupting me again, and if I get any more frustrated I’ll lose it completely. “Yeah, I have to . . . emails. Loads of emails to deal with . . .”

She smiles underneath her shielded eyes; her seat is in the sun now, too. “Good to see you out in the garden. Green is good for the eyes.”

I smile to thank her and she meets my eye for a moment before she takes up her hand of cards and starts arranging. I can feel Nick glaring but I hold in tears until the terrain slopes, forcing my steps into a jog. And even then I only cry a little.

Chapter Eight

Out of the green and into the dim stillness that hangs in my house, almost the color of smoke. The blue light from my laptop seems to make the living room chilly rather than any brighter. Or maybe I’m just still shaking from the garden. Fuming even. I was just trying to help and that fucking septic hemorrhoid . . . And over nothing, seriously nothing at all . . .