Butterfly Ginger Read online

  Butterfly Ginger

  By Stephanie Fournet

  Blue Tulip Publishing

  www.bluetulippublishing.com

  Copyright © 2015 STEPHANIE FOURNET

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  BUTTERFLY GINGER

  Copyright © 2015 STEPHANIE FOURNET

  ISBN: 978-1-942246-56-5

  Cover Art by P.S. Cover Design

  To Mom and Dad

  Thanks for giving me character so I could write characters.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Now

  NATE BRADLEY ROLLED ONTO HIS BACK and stared at the ceiling. The glowing face of his alarm clock read 2:12 a.m., and as he did most nights, Nate weighed his options. Get up and sketch or stay still and hope that sleep would return.

  If he got up, chances were good that Lila would see his light and come down. She’d want to play Blackjack or listen to jazz or talk about Richland. Those three things. Nothing else.

  And while Lila Bradley could manage on only four hours of sleep, her son could not. Not with six elms to plant and three crews to oversee in the morning. And even though Lila had a job at the moment and worked an early shift at Albertson’s, she wouldn’t yawn once. The woman seemed to draw energy from the air like a resurrection fern.

  Nate turned onto his side and resolved to stay in bed. Housing his mother in the apartment above his detached garage made some things in his life easier — he knew she was safe, and he knew she couldn’t get into too much trouble without him noticing — but it also meant that on a good day, he only went about ten hours without encountering her, and sometimes ten hours wasn’t long enough. If he could get from sunset to sunrise without engaging Lila, he’d take it — even if it meant trapping himself in bed and blinking in the darkness.

  He could always lie there and make notes on his phone or check to make sure his job schedule was up to date and his greenhouse orders were lined up, but that would only keep him awake longer. Instead, he closed his eyes and pictured the job on Hugh Street. It was an older home, and the pine trees that had once lined the corner lot had been cut down after lightning took out the first two.

  The owners had been smart to remove them. Fifty or sixty-year-old pines could topple in a Category 1 or 2 hurricane, but the yard was stark without them, and the couple who lived there missed the afternoon shade. The Chinese elms he’d ordered would fill in the space nicely, and they wouldn’t take too long to leaf out and shield the family’s deck.

  Nate’s mind turned to the front corner of the lot, an overgrown patch beneath a juniper and a young water oak. Without choosing to, he pictured butterfly ginger filling the space. He used the fragrant perennial with its deep green leaves wherever he could — in shaded pockets of landscape where the height of the ginger wouldn’t crowd out the rest of his design. It would work on the Hugh Street job.

  And the whole block would smell like Blythe.

  Nate drew in a slow breath through his nose and shut his eyes tighter, his mind conjuring the honeyed scent that now belonged to her alone. It was like a chord in a song, low and high notes harmonizing together a kind of floral spice and nectar flavor.

  And like always, the memories came.

  Her dimpled smile. The way she tilted her head when she laughed. The pleasure of her teasing. The sound of his name on her voice.

  It had been six years, and none of these had faded. He’d expected them to. He’d counted on it, but they hadn’t.

  And on nights when he couldn’t sleep, Nate Bradley would let himself sift through his memories of Blythe Barnes and the six weeks they had together, hoping sleep would come before he got to the last one.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Six years ago

  “CAN I EAT IT, MR. NATE?” Chloe asked, holding up a finger-sized pod of okra dusted with topsoil. Nate took the fruit and put it in the plastic bag with three dozen others. Sweat tickled the tip of his nose, and he wiped it against his shoulder. The mid-July heat was oppressive — even at nine in the morning.

  “Not until we wash it, Chloe. Too many germs,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the five-year-old. After two summers working at Tiny Hands Daycare, Nate knew the value of funny faces.

  The child wrinkled her nose to match and giggled.

  “Germs? Like poop and boogers?” she asked with wide eyes.

  Laughter shot through him just as Mrs. Ester Clabeaux stepped off the back porch of her Victorian home.

  “Nate Bradley, are you teaching that child to talk such talk?” Mrs. Ester asked, raising a gray eyebrow at him, but her eyes still gleamed. The 70-something-year-old was usually as soft as cotton candy to everyone — children and adults alike — unless bad manners were involved.

  Nate’s laughter died in his chest, and he coughed, clearing his throat. Chloe and the five other children in the garden stood up straight in Mrs. Ester’s presence, not out of fear, Nate knew, but from the wish to impress her.

  “No, ma’am. We… I—” Nate stammered, standing taller as well. “I was just explaining that we need to wash the okra before we can eat it.”

  Mrs. Ester pursed her mouth and nodded, seeming to trap her own smile as he squirmed.

  “Indeed, we do. Just as we need to be careful what we reward with our mirth,” Mrs. Ester murmured to him as she walked across a garden row with surprising grace and speed.

  “My, my, you children have been doing a wonderful job!” she gushed, taking the full bag of okra from Nate and giving it an admiring smile. “Who wants to take some home to their mommies and daddies?”

  Six hands shot up. Chloe. Walt. Isabelle. Connor. Grace. Noah. The Morning Glories, as Mrs. Ester called them.

  “Me! Me!” each child echoed. Nate grinned at their pride. He felt exactly the same about growing something on his own.

  “Well, there’s plenty for everyone,” Mrs. Esther reassured. “Now, it’s time to go on up to the porch and wash your hands. Mrs. Katherine will have lemonade and graham crackers in the kitchen, and then you’ll go into the art room with Miss Blythe.”

  “Miss Blythe? Where’s Miss Maddie?” Chloe asked, curious, but already following Mrs. Ester and the other children out of the garden.

  “Miss Maddie’s gone on vacation and won’t be back for two weeks, but you’ll like Miss Blythe. She’ll be helping you finger paint today.”

  “Finger paint!” Connor crowed. “I love finger painting!” And he took off for the porch in a run.

  “Mr. Nate, you look like you could use a lemonade before the Rainbows come out,” Mrs. Ester remarked. “Why don’t you come inside for your break?”

  Nate usually sat in the shade with his new iPhone and a bottle of Arizona Green Tea, but the lemonade sounded pretty good, and a few minutes of air conditioning would feel great before he met his last group. He could work outside year round without complaint, but the occasional break on a July or August day made it easier.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Ester.” Nate brushed his dirty hands on the legs of his jeans and followed the kids up to the porch.

  The cast iron trough sink on Mrs. Ester’s porch was meant for children, and at eighteen, Nate had to practically fold in half to wash up. He dried his hands on the paper towel Mrs. Ester offered him and stepped into the cool of the kitchen. He watched his group slide onto one of the be
nches of the long farmhouse table as his next class came in through the hall.

  And then Nate got the shock of his life — because behind them was an angel.

  Nate blinked and blinked again. If she wasn’t an angel, she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen — in real life or on TV, and she looked as calm and joyful as any angel he’d ever imagined, smiling down at the children who ran ahead of her. Her hair was a kind of golden brown that fell past her shoulders in thick waves like caramel, and when she tucked it behind her ears, he could see splatters of paint along her wrists.

  “Settle down for grace, now children,” Mrs. Ester instructed.

  The twelve children immediately obeyed, squirming only a little as they tucked their clasped hands to their chests and bowed their heads, looking fiercely prayerful.

  “It’s time for us to have a treat.

  Bless the food we’re about to eat.

  Blessings come from God above

  To share with everyone we love.”

  The girl’s smile grew, two dimples appearing on either cheek as she listened, and Nate had the startling thought that he was looking at someone who was lit with life. Just then, she glanced up from the children, and their eyes met.

  He felt the muscles in his stomach bunch, and his first instinct was to turn and rush back outside because it wasn’t normal to want to look at someone as much as he wanted to look at her. He’d actually found himself taking a step back, but her eyes pinned him with the bluest blue. The color of hydrangeas or phlox.

  Nate froze.

  He was keenly aware of the dirt on his neck and the pit stains under his arms. He sensed that he didn’t have the right to be in her sight without showering twice, and even then, who was he to lock eyes with her like this? He was just reminding himself that he was somebody’s bastard when everything changed.

  Because she blushed and looked away.

  She blushed, and now she held her bottom lip between her straight teeth, looking even more self-conscious than he felt. And the part of him that was all bastard became a gentleman as he reached for the lemonade pitcher on the counter.

  “Lemonade?” he asked, already filling one of the plastic cups.

  She glanced up again, and Nate thought he saw relief.

  “Thanks,” she said, and she closed the distance between them. Nate made sure not to let his hands brush hers when he passed her the cup. But in all honesty, that was exactly what he wanted to do, let his hand brush hers.

  She wore jeans with a pink and orange madras shirt over a gray tank top. Even though the clothes looked softened with wear and were loose fitting, Nate could see that she was long and lean. Willowy.

  “Where are my manners?” Mrs. Ester piped up, halting with a box of graham crackers in her hands. “Miss Blythe Barnes, this is Mr. Nate Bradley. He’s in charge of our garden project. Mr. Nate, Miss Blythe is filling in for Miss Maddie in the art room.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, smiling shyly and extending the forbidden hand to him. Nate took it and felt a reckless smile steal his face.

  “You, too,” he managed, aware only of the press of flesh against his palm and the way his heart sped up as her smile caught up with his. He released her hand first before he could linger, and he poured himself a glass of lemonade.

  Blythe leaned against the counter and seemed to watch Mrs. Ester and Mrs. Katherine serve the children, and Nate did the same. He took a sip of lemonade and wished for something to say.

  A painful ten seconds passed.

  “So, you work in the garden?” she asked him, tilting her head to take him in.

  Nate nodded quickly, grateful for the cue.

  “Yeah, this is my second summer with the daycare kids, but I’ve kept up Mrs. Ester’s yard for a while,” Nate said, still nodding stupidly.

  “Oh? You cut her grass?” Blythe asked innocently, the blue of her eyes distracting him from the clamminess of his palms.

  “Um… yeah. I work for my… dad. He has a lawn and landscaping business,” Nate said in a rush. He held his breath and waited for Blythe to react.

  For four years, douche bags at St. Thomas More had teased him about his work/study contract. He and Richland maintained the grounds at the school in exchange for tuition. Nate had hated it. After just one Saturday of cutting the grass while the football team practiced, the starting place kicker had pointed him out in the cafeteria, telling everyone in earshot that Nate and his dad did the kind of work “our families pay Mexicans to do.” For months, assholes asked him if he had a green card. Some just referred to him as “Green Card.”

  After that, Nate had begged to go to public school. Richland’s idea of a compromise was to let him mow the campus on Sundays when there wasn’t football practice. And Nate owed the man too much to make trouble. After all, he’d married Lila and given him a name, adopting Nate when he was four.

  “Well, it’s cool that you know about gardening and stuff,” Blythe said, pulling him out of his bitterness with her smile. “I think it would be neat to grow your own vegetables and have a yard full of fruit trees.”

  “Why? Are you a vegetarian?” he said it with a laugh, and he watched her frown for the first time.

  “Yeah… I am, actually.” Those blue eyes turned guarded, and Nate cursed himself.

  Recover, you idiot. Recover.

  “My… uh… dad’s doctor says he should become a vegetarian,” Nate stammered and tapped his chest. “Blockage. He’s had two stints put in.”

  Blythe’s frown softened to one of concern.

  “Your dad should become a vegan. A plant-based diet can reverse heart disease.” Then she rolled her eyes. “I want to be a vegan, but my parents won’t let me.”

  Vegan? Nate wondered. Isn’t that just another word for vegetarian?

  “Still, I’d like to see them try to force me to eat eggs when I go to Tulane.” Blythe’s blue eyes turned steely with determination.

  Tulane?

  Nate’s heart sank. Tulane’s tuition was $55,000 a year. Blythe was a rich girl. What would she think about his work/study deal at STM? Was she friends with any rich girls from his high school? The thought of her calling him “Green Card” nearly gutted him.

  “Wow…” This was all he could say. It felt like his mouth was full of sand.

  “Are… are you in college?” she tilted her eyes up to him with a kind of eager look, and Nate wondered if she was hoping that he didn’t plan to mow lawns for the rest of his life.

  “Um… no… not yet. I start at LSU next month,” he said with mock confidence. It wasn’t Tulane, but even the richest kids at STM went to LSU. Maybe she’d think it was good enough.

  “Cool. Do you know what you want to study?” Her smile was back full force, and Blythe looked at him with such interest that it hurt. He’d only been talking to her for three minutes, but he wanted to keep talking to her. Why? He didn’t know — because as soon as she found out what he was, what he came from, and how he lived, she wouldn’t want to waste her time.

  “Landscape architecture,” Nate offered, cautiously. He studied her face as her eyes lifted in surprise.

  “Cool… I mean… it sounds cool and creative,” she ventured, peering at him now. “But I don’t really know what a landscape architect does.”

  Her honesty made Nate smile. Maybe she wasn’t like those STM girls.

  “That’s okay. I don’t really know what a vegan is.”

  Blythe gave a startled laugh, her eyes sparkling and her dimples flashing at him again. A warm feeling spread across his chest.

  Oh, please do that again.

  “It’s someone who doesn’t eat any animal products,” she explained, her voice softening as though she didn’t want them to be overheard. As though it were a secret or something taboo. Nate allowed himself to lean in closer to her. “No meat. No chicken or fish. No dairy or eggs.”

  No protein, Nate thought, but he kept his mouth shut. Blythe seemed to read his mind anyway.

  “And bef
ore you say ‘no protein,’ that’s not true,” she said, squaring her shoulders as though she expected an argument.

  “I wasn’t going to say that,” Nate said, smiling at her spirit.

  Blythe arched an eyebrow at him and regarded him doubtfully. Nate shrugged.

  “I was thinking it, but I wasn’t going to say it,” he teased.

  Blythe narrowed her eyes, but he could see that she fought her smile. When his own laughter betrayed him, she punched him in the bicep. Kind of hard.

  “Ow!” he complained, giving her a scandalized look that made her laugh again. “Maybe you are getting enough protein.”

  He pretended to rub his arm to keep her laughing, but the playful punch thrilled him almost as much as her laughter. If she was a rich girl, she certainly didn’t act like any of those snobs from school.

  Mrs. Katherine set the box of graham crackers on the counter next to him, and Nate reached for it.

  “Can you at least have a graham cracker?” he asked, digging in the box and pulling out a light brown rectangle. She took it from him with a smile.

  “Last time I checked, meat wasn’t on the ingredients list,” she said, smirking.

  Nate read the box’s ingredient label with an affected announcer’s voice.

  “Enriched flour, sugar, graham flour (whole grain wheat flour)…” He paused to keep himself from laughing because Blythe had broken into giggles beside him, her chest and shoulders shaking. “Canola and/or palm and/or palm kernel oil, high fructose corn syrup, molasses, salt, baking soda… I think you’re safe. Graham crackers are vegan. Who knew?”

  Nate played it cool as though her laughing fit wasn’t making his day. He reached into the box and grabbed a graham cracker for himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten one, and no wonder. It tasted like cardboard.

  “Is all vegan food like this? How will you survive?” he asked, making a face that cracked her up all over again, and for this he received another punch in the arm. Nate had never been so happy to be hit in his life. “I mean it. These suck.”

  “Mr. Nate!” Mrs. Ester’s disapproving tone cut through Blythe’s laugher. Nate straightened up to face his boss, and Blythe sobered beside him. Mrs. Ester’s frown made him stiffen with shame.