Chapter 6

Six

They sat at the umbrellaed table by the pool where Roz had already placed paper plates, silverware, and linen napkins alongside a platter of ham and pimento cheese sandwiches. There were also individually bagged chips, deviled eggs, potato salad, and pickles to choose from. It wasn't too fancy—a blend of old-school southern niceties and modern convenience. Still, it was a lot of food.

He's a big guy , Pedro thought. Swimming laps early. He's probably hungry.

Titus pulled a chair out for him, which was a little odd, but considering how the day had played out so far, Pedro went with it. After he sat, Titus hurried around the table, seating himself. He unfolded a napkin and tucked it into his shirt.

"Oh." Pedro stood, quickly reaching for the t-shirt still tucked in his jeans.

"You don't have to wear that on my account."

"My parents would be mortified. They would never allow me to eat at a table shirtless—especially as a guest."

Titus poured iced tea into their plastic tumblers. "Sounds like they raised a good son. Sorry about the plastic cups and paper plates, but there are kids here. Don't want to risk breaking glass this close to the pool."

"You have children?"

"I do. A boy. Tucker. Do you like kids, Pedro?"

"Very much. For a while, I wanted to be a teacher like my father. He taught high school."

"Here in the States?"

"No, in Chiquilá. It's in Mexico, by the sea."

"Sounds beautiful," Titus eyed dreamily.

Like you .

"It is. Politically, not so much, and there's a lot of crime. My mother still lives there, though. Once I'm able, I would like to bring her here, to the States, as well."

"That's very noble. Again, you're a good son."

"Her life has been hard. I want her to enjoy the rest of it without worrying. I send her money for now."

"That's very sweet of you. And Silas Compton is assisting you with this?"

"Yes. Mr. Compton has been very good to me."

"I'm glad to hear it." Titus smiled briefly, then broke eye-contact, reaching for his cup. It was a routine, conversational gesture, but Pedro instantly missed the warmth of those eyes on him. He also sensed something had shifted. Minute, but there. Titus seemed agitated, as if wanting to say more but holding back. What did come out of his mouth was nowhere near what Pedro was expecting.

"I owe you an apology."

For spying on me from your bedroom window?

"What on earth for?" Pedro asked. "We just met."

Titus's face flushed, eyes darting away shyly. In that moment, Pedro glimpsed the child within the man. "I just do. I—I regret the way we met this morning. That swimsuit–"

Pedro chuckled involuntarily. At the sound of his laughter, Titus's eyes found him again, accompanied by an embarrassed, yet endearing smile. "See. You know exactly what I'm talking about. I had no idea that suit was see-through."

"It's OK. Really. You were alone and not expecting me. This is your home. You have every right to wear whatever you want."

"No, sir. That is not the way to meet someone, flashing your junk like the prize bull in a pasture. I don't want you to assume that's my way of showing you who's boss. It's a dick move—pardon the pun—and I am not like that at all. I promise."

"I believe you." Pedro knew this already, though, not from the apology. Titus was clearly kind and unassuming, the kind of man that held doors and pulled out chairs. He had just been caught off-guard. And the more Pedro considered it, the guiltier he felt. After all, he had been the one that kept looking down and?—

?Dios mío!

–the one that had intentionally put on a makeshift burlesque show while mowing the lawn.

"Honestly," Titus said, "I'm just glad it was you–another guy , that is–and not my kids or Roz I was flashing. Talk about mortifying."

Pedro resisted the urge to reach for Titus's hand. "Well, it's between us, I assure you. What was it you said? Everything inside the gate stays–"

"–inside," Titus finished. "Thank you for understanding."

"Please don't worry yourself about it." Pedro continued to downplay. "It was nothing."

Only it had been something. Something quite memorable, to say the least.

"Speaking of behind the gate, you've seen the yard now. Any ideas yet?"

Pedro set his sandwich down, grateful for the change of subject. "Yes. A few. Some of your—" He wasn't sure what to call them. Technically, they weren't trees or shrubs. "—your upper topiaries are getting way too high, obscuring the second-floor windows. You don't want that."

"No. I love the scent when it's cool enough to open the windows—which is never, by the way! And it is a little weird seeing greenery outside your second-floor window. I'm also worried about them being so close to the house. Mildew? Rot? Maybe even termites."

"They need to be shaped more, tighter, and I'd like to bring them back down low."

"I'd been letting it go because I don't think Carlos was crazy about ladders."

"He's older, not as energetic with the task, perhaps?"

"I wasn't gonna say that."

Pedro grinned. "Because you are a gentleman."

Titus's eyes sparkled. "How would you feel about taking them out altogether? Starting fresh?"

Pedro caught just a whiff of innuendo there. Natural, though, not forced at all. "I like starting fresh," he said. "But I have a hard time doing away with old growth. I would rather transplant them, take that fragrance to specific areas, lower, maybe outside the screened porch. There are also some spots around the guest house. The beds there are pretty, but overgrown. I'd like to add some color, maybe mix some annuals in with the perennials."

"I think Carlos liked those perennial beds because they're less maintenance."

"I'm not at all opposed to working a little harder," Pedro said, seizing the opportunity for just a wee bit of suggestion himself.

"I'm glad to hear it. I was also thinking about maybe some new trees. Fruit-bearing trees."

"Yes. And more dogwoods, so when they bloom in the spring, you'll have contrast."

Titus cocked his head. "I'm impressed. You see the dogwoods, though they're long past blooming."

"Of course. You have several. And that fence around the perimeter… I would consider a mix of shrubs and trees—depending on how much you want to spend—all along the length of it, every other post. Many, many more azaleas, too, for sure."

"Money isn't a problem. I like the way you think, Pedro. I also like?—"

"Daddeeeee!"

A small towheaded boy ran up to Titus, embracing him. A girl, the same size and as dark as he was white, followed.

"Well, hey there, kiddos! How's your day going? Have you had lunch yet?"

"Just finished," said the girl. "Momma asked us to check and see if you needed anything."

"We're just fine, sunshine. Pedro, this is Shelly, and my son Tucker."

"Hello. Pleased to meet you two."

"Are you the new gardener?" Tucker asked.

"Yardman," Titus corrected.

"I am," said Pedro. "Are you going to help me plant some flowers?"

Tucker nodded, but Shelly shook her head. "Not now. We wanna go swimming."

"Nope," said Titus. "You just ate. Have to wait an hour."

Both children gave disappointed groans.

Roz came up behind them. "I told you two not to linger. Just to see if they needed anything. Hello, you must be Pedro. I'm Roz. We met on the intercom."

"Hi, Roz. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Same."

"How's the refrigerator now?" Titus asked.

"Much better. You got the magic touch, BB."

"Not always." He looked at Pedro. "But sometimes things just work out."

Roz cleared her throat. "All right, kids. Let's let these guys talk grass."

Again, the children protested.

"Tell you what," Titus said. "Give it an hour, and I'll even go swimming with you. We can do cannonballs and I'll throw you as high as I can."

Tucker's eyes grew wide. He looked at Shelly, who was equally excited. "Awesome."

"Awesome," Titus repeated. "Now, run along."

They did, Roz following. "Nice meeting you, Pedro."

"You too. And thank you for lunch."

She waved over her shoulder.

"Sorry about that," Titus said.

"No. I love it. They're adorable. And Roz?"

"She's Shelly's mom and Tucker's nanny—a close friend."

Pedro raised his eyebrows.

"Strictly platonic," Titus said, as if reading Pedro's mind. "Shelly and Tucker were born days apart. Roz was here helping me with Violet during the pregnancies. Once she saw me trying to handle a newborn on my own, she never left. I started paying her after Violet died. At first, she wouldn't take it. But I insisted. She's the most selfless woman I've ever known. I told her it would be no different from working anywhere else, only better because we knew and trusted each other. I could also ensure her a means of income with no need for daycare. It's been a mutually beneficial partnership for five years now and I'm about to lose her, which breaks my heart."

"Oh, no. Why?"

Titus shrugged. "The kids are getting older, and Roz's husband, James, has never much liked the arrangement."

"Oh. I think I see where this is going."

"Yeah. It's unfortunate, but I get it. James has never cared much for me. He's a teacher and track coach at HOCO. That's Hoke County?—"

"—High School," Pedro finished. "I'm familiar. Mr. Compton talks HOCO football a lot."

Again, Pedro picked up on the tiniest shift in Titus's demeanor at the mention of Silas. They were quiet for a while. The silence grew thick, almost tangible. Abruptly, Titus swiveled his chair toward Pedro. "Look, I don't know how to say this, but there's something we need to address before you keep working here."

Here it comes , Pedro thought. What's with that little striptease show you gave in the middle of my yard? Are you some kind of pervert? There're kids here, you know?

"I—I want to… Oh, hell." Titus raised his hands to his face, sighing audibly into cupped palms.

No. This was something else. The handsome man before Pedro was clearly struggling to get words out. He took a moment, along with another deep breath, lowered his hands, and said, "I need to tell you something. I don't see folks often, so I'm kinda out of the loop when it comes to societal norms–for a lack of better words. I don't want to offend you."

Pedro eyed Titus, mildly concerned, bracing himself for some of the common and ridiculous bigotries he, a Mexican, had experienced since coming to small-town Georgia. He turned his chair, too, to where they were facing each other. "Well, for me, when I have something difficult to say, I find it best to just say it. If I'm going to be working here, Titus, I'd rather know now than be surprised later."

"Fair enough. But please promise me that if I ever say anything remotely–" He struggled for a word, "– sensitive , that you'll let me know. I assure you my heart is true, but even the noblest of southern lips sometimes say stupid things."

"That trait is not limited to the south, my friend. I know what you mean, though, and I promise."

Titus took another deep breath and began. "My wife died two years ago."

"Yes. Silas told me. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. As I mentioned, her name was Violet. We were young, our marriage so short-lived my memory of her fades daily. Occasionally, Tucker will remind me of her, though… a look, expressions."

Pedro gave a small smile, acknowledging. He was curious but uncertain of where this was leading.

"May I see your hands?"

Pedro raised his hands, slowly offering. Titus took them in his own, turning them so that they were face up. They were rough with callouses, and Titus circled the pads with his thumbs.

"You work hard. Your hands say so. I—I've never had to. My parents always had money. Everything's been given to me. I'm very fortunate. I was the star football player in high school, played golf at the country club. Guys envied me. Girls liked me. Folks like to be connected with money, you know?"

Pedro listened, still unsure of where Titus was going. One thing he knew was that he loved the feel of the man's enormous hands holding his own, massaging his palms with steadily determined thumbs.

"People think I'm reclusive because of her death, but it's not the only reason. When Violet became ill, I discovered who my real friends were, the ones who weren't a part of my life because of the money."

"And there weren't many."

"Three–Alden Abernathy, Barb Hawthorne, and Roz Underwood."

"I know Barb. She's my landlord. I like her very much. We're kindred souls when it comes to literature."

"I bet. I've known her the longest. We were raised together. She's practically my sister. But they're all like family, really. Alden was my friend and teammate in school. Now, he's my business partner. And you just met Roz. They come no better. She's an angel here on earth."

"She worries about you."

Titus cocked his head quizzically. "That's mighty perceptive of you. Tell me, P, are you that well attuned to others? Myself, perhaps?"

It was the third time Titus had addressed him by only his initial. Pedro's brows lifted, but his eyes fell to his hands, still held gently by Titus. "Maybe. I thought I was but, so far, you continue to surprise me. Everything since arriving here has been unexpected. And just now, when I thought I knew exactly what you were going to say, other words come out of your mouth."

Titus chuckled. "That's because I tend to yammer on when I'm nervous. Another southern trait, I suspect, weaving tapestries of conversation before getting to the actual point."

"Again, I don't think that has anything to do with geography."

"Probably not. Do you mind me holding your hands like this, P?"

"No. I think I might even be sad if you let go."

"Then I won't."

"Are you going to tell me what's on your mind?"

"I am. But I think you may already know."