THE FLOWER GARDEN
THE FLOWER GARDEN
-by DARYL G. KRUSE-
Millicent Spencer braced one hand against the side of the house to steady herself as she rose with stiffening muscles
from kneeling in the rough soil of the flower garden. Arching her shoulder blades to ease the ache in her back, Millicent looked down with distaste at her futile efforts at gardening. Why am I bothering with this, she thought angrily? It's not my flower garden. It's Jacob's.
. . Her ex-husband was passionate about gardening, especially flowers. Each Spring, he planted an exotic array of colors,
completely encircling their home with blossoming irises, tulips, tiger lilies, roses, peonies, daisies, hollyhocks--so many
varieties she could never remember them all. In spite of her reluctance to admit it, Millicent did admire the flowering display. . . once they were in full bloom, but her
appreciation ended there. Jacob had often invited her to take interest in the care of the garden but she was always careful to
arrange other matters more to her liking.
. . For Jacob, gardening came easy. He moved with an effortless grace and with a secure knowledge of botanical marvel. He would kneel in the soil for hours, working with reverent regard making ready the early spring flower beds. Close at hand was a wide variety of gardner's implements: trowels, spades, small hand rakes, seed packets and bags of pungent fertilizers. His toys,
thought Millicent. Jacob was always happiest working in the soil for his precious flowers.
. . In late spring and into early summer, when the
flowers flourished with delicate blossoms of multicolored tints and hues, passersby would stop to admire their beauty and congratulate Jacob for his successful efforts. He took immense pride in the fact that his flower gardens were the envy of the entire neighborhood.
. . But not this year, most likely. With disgust, Millicent threw the trowel down into the dirt. She had accomplished little in the past hour except to suffer a few abrasions on her knees and an ever increasing vexation about every aspect of gardening.
With the back of her gloved hand, Millicent wiped away the sweat that formed on her forehead and brushed back a few limp strands
of hair that hung down over her eyes. The heat of the sun in the clear blue spring sky felt oppressive, draining her energy.
Rivulets of perspiration trickled slowly between her breasts and continued downward over her belly, stopping only at the waist
band of her shorts. Her anger grew when she peered at the widening stains of perspiration on her expensive floral tank top. The flimsy material stuck to her back and her skin began to itch, the irritation clouding her senses.
. . Millicent's thoughts kept returning to her humiliating experience in court a month ago as she was granted her final
divorce. God, she thought, Jacob must have thought he was doing her a favor. He had deferred to her every demand with an air of
resignation. That was irksome enough for Millicent, but his patronizing attitude infuriated her still further. He just sat
there, looking at her with eyes of pity.
. . The court had granted Millicent everything she had demanded in the final decree: the elegant three bedroom house and
everything within, titles to the British racing-green Jaguar and the late-model blue Lincoln. It was also stipulated that
Millicent receive monthly living expenses and a generous cash annuity. Her attorney had excelled himself, listing every asset he
could think of. Still, Millicent had felt no satisfaction. Her pitiful husband--correction: ex-husband--hadn't seemed to care
that almost everything he had worked for during their twelve years of marriage now belonged to her.
. . As if that humiliation was not enough, she also felt betrayed by the indifferent attitude shown by the black woman judge who ruled on the final decree. Millicent could sense her disapproval all through the proceedings.
. . Well, hell with her, hell with them all! The settlement was only fair. It was hers. She had every right to her demands.
Besides, Jacob didn't even seem to care enough to put up a fight.
. . Millicent again eased the sore muscles in her back as she considered the barren flower bed at her feet. No doubt it
was the only thing Jacob regretted having to give up. Too damned bad! It was hers now, hers to do with however she wished. Maybe
she'd tear up all the flower beds and plant grass instead. Or replace them with decorative rock, anything. But not now. It
was too damned hot now to worry about.
. . A sudden terrible thirst came over Millicent and she craved something cool and refreshing. Scraping her feet back and forth on the grass to make sure her shoes were rid of disgusting garden dirt, she turned and headed for the cool darkness of her air-conditioned home. As she passed through the living room into the kitchen, Millicent stopped at a hallway mirror to assess her
appearance and couldn't help but again survey with approval the wealth of the possessions that now belonged to her alone.
. . Opening the refrigerator, Millicent's hand paused a moment near a pitcher of ice water, then quickly moved beyond to the familiar clear glistening bottle she preferred. What the hell, why not, she thought! Millicent placed the tall cold bottle of Smirnoff on the table along with a chilled martini glass and a small bottle of tangy cocktail onions. She poured the glass full with vodka and pantomined a quick splash of vermouth and dropped a pearl onion on top. Millicent quickly lifted the glass to her
lips and drank with greedy abandon. Within moments, she began feeling the familiar warm flush of the potent drink coursing through her body, calming her jangled nerves and easing the soreness in her back and neck. Thoughts of Jacob's flower garden lapsed into faint memory. Quickly finishing her first martini, Millicent again reached for the vodka bottle and poured herself a second drink. Savoring each sip, she began planning the remainder of her day. First, she would strip off her hot, sweaty garden clothes and take a long soothing bath, followed by a quiet, pleasant afternoon nap. She began compiling a mental list of male friends who might be persuaded to escort her to a late supper at some small, out of town restaurant. Millicent made her decision and headed for her bath.
. . Jacob's precious flower garden would just have to wait until another day. If ever.
Daryl G. Kruse © 1999
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