Every Fall for the last three years, Marigold would invite Giselle and Jake over for the first fire of the season. The circulation of air in her bungalow was poor at best so the kitchen window needed to remain popped open while the fireplace was blazing, even in the cold of winter. It was for this reason that she reserved its usage for special occasions throughout the colder months of the year. After waiting all day to have her release papers signed and giving numerous, exhausting police statements, Marigold was more than ready for a relaxing evening at home. Despite the protests from the trio, she managed to convince them to come over for several hours at the end of a day that was long and tiresome to say the least.
Everyone had questions about Marigold's miraculous recovery, of course. It was very difficult for her to bring everyone back to their usual rapport after they were reunited and her struggles didn't end there. Weary of watching his sister beg for privacy all day, Jake felt compelled to use his authority to fight in its favor. Not only had she cheated death, but a sensationalistic segment on the local news as well thanks to her always persistent brother. Jake and Giselle were supportive of her decision, yes, but longed to know the truth along with the rest of the baffled hospital staff.
As for Tavington, the entire situation not only silenced and humbled him, but made it nearly impossible to sever him from Marigold's side. While Jake boasted of his arguments with the doctors to Giselle in the kitchen, they sat at close proximity on Marigold's couch in front of the roaring fire.
"You led the dragoons to victory in all of those battles and still couldn't gain Lord Cornwallis' approval? Why?" Marigold repositioned her head on his chest.
After making sure that neither Jake or Giselle could see, Tavington cradled Marigold's head in one hand and stroked her hairline with the other. "I believe," he whispered, grinning as she shut her eyes and nuzzled into his touch, "that no man could ever gain his approval. Unless, of course, that man was a Great Dane!" They shared a brief laugh. Being able to look at his struggles from a humorous angle was a new development; something that he had undoubtedly learned from Marigold and her small but fierce support system.
"That's right he had pooches. Well, I think the real question is what did they think of you?"
"They were barking mad about me, of course, just like your Moxie," he joked. Although in truth, he'd never paid much attention to anything other than his own tact whenever he and Cornwallis conferred.
Jake's work phone sounded loudly from the kitchen and there was a shift in atmosphere. He exchanged a word or two with Giselle before crossing to the living room. Marigold and Tavington remained still. Surely, they would be susceptible to ridicule if they were caught in one another's arms.
"Okay, Concierge Tiddledywinks! Hands where I can see 'em!" Giselle's deliberate (and let's be honest- ridiculous) butchering of Tavington's name had clearly caught on.
Tavington followed his order with a sigh, but Marigold remained where she was. This was out of defiance, in part, but she was also too content to move. The heavy medicine that she had been prescribed was more out of precaution than anything. Releasing a gunshot victim without any form of painkillers wouldn't only come across as unusual, but negligent on the hospital's part. Jake and Giselle assumed the medication had knocked her out, but Marigold and Tavington had a secret. Even if Jake and Giselle knew, they wouldn't understand for surely this concept only existed in poetry. Very simply, his heartbeat and touch were the only drugs she needed. He alone brought her back to life and he alone would nurse her back to health.
"Is she out?" Jake asked, gracelessly perching on the couch's thick arm. When Marigold didn't move, he proceeded with his elaborate, pop-culture infused interrogation that only Officer Jake Casey could deliver. "Okay. Now, I can be unpleasant than pleasant or pleasant than unpleasant, take your pick." Tavington blinked. "Unpleasant than pleasant it is. I have to head downtown and clean up this shitstorm that my sister started when she refused to give a complete statement. Thanks to an eyewitness and some smudgy fingerprints, my hardworking boys and gals down at the station figured out that it was the Baako Brat on the sidewalk with the handgun. Don't look so confused, I'm sure they have Clue back in Merry Old England. Tim Curry was in the movie, for crying out loud!" His eyes dropped to Marigold and his glare softened. "Now that I think of it, I probably shouldn't mention "Clue" around Mare, she'll have you watching it on repeat and you'll be whistling a weird hybrid of "Sh-Boom" and "Shake, Rattle, n' Roll" for the next two weeks. Anywho. You're probably wondering how this involves you? Of course you are. See, Cadet Tumbleweed, my sister is a rare little jewel. She tricks herself into finding the good in shitty situations and shitty people. Even when in reality there isn't any good in them at all. If the Waterford Police weren't so ruthless with their investigations, that little weasel would have slipped right under our radar. You may be in the circle of trust right now… don't say you haven't seen "Meet the Parents" because that would make you a damned Martian… but if I ever discover that you are anything other than the perfect saint my sister believes you to be, I will have you flown to D.C., strapped to the strongest lie detector on the planet and my brother will single handedly extract every sin you've ever committed. Steal twenty bucks from your Daddy's wallet when you were five? We'll know. Popped your sister's gerbil in the microwave and blamed it on your snot-nosed baby brother? Gotcha. All that nasty crap you did at that state school fraternity to prove you were a Macho Macho Man? Mare has a well-loved Village People LP somewhere if you're ever in need of a brain bleed. Where was I? Oh, yeah. My bro-ha will have you writing about it in complete sentences with Max-Fischer-grade calligraphy-"
"Message received Jake," Marigold moaned, she could feel Tavington's heartbeat quicken and decided that he needed some mercy, "now tell him something pleasant and skedaddle."
Jake was obviously stumped. Not to mention, embarrassed that Marigold had outsmarted him.
"I don't know how you did it. Or what you did exactly. None of us do," Jake mumbled, looking at his sister lovingly. His thoughts were scattered, but seeing her as he spoke helped him along. "But you… thank you. That doesn't even come close. But- yes- thank you for staying with her today." He started to leave, but stopped in his tracks. The sharpness of this motion riled Moxie up and several seconds of adorableness ensued. "Oh, and Giselle is taking the guest room. You know, to make sure that Leopold stays on the couch. I want you upstairs, door locked, Moxie at the foot of your bed before the stroke of midnight, or you'll turn into a Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino, Missy! Can I get a 'sir, yes sir'!?"
They responded in unison and breathed a small sigh of relief when Jake left.
"He likes you." Marigold whispered, returning to comfort as Tavington's already strong embrace tightened.
Giselle stomped around in the kitchen for a while longer, draining Marigold's box of Franzia Sunset Blush bone dry. At exactly 11:55, she popped her curly head into the room and reiterated (with a light slur) Jake's instructions to the pair. Marigold had been lulled into a blissful doze and hardly stirred as Tavington carried her up the stairs and into her room.
"Moxie," he whispered as Marigold's loyal companion rolled into a ball at her feet, "I need you to watch over my Marigold tonight. Be her voice if anything out of the ordinary should happen." Unsurprisingly, Moxie gave a tiny blink and started to lick her paws. This would have to do.
Tavington spent the final minutes of the eleven o'clock hour in discomfort. He knew very well what had happened the last time he left Marigold's side. Funny as it sounds, he feared that she would be unable to function without him. This anxiety could be best described as parental. It was as if she had been born again that morning and leaving her alone was like leaving a newborn to sleep on its own on the other side of a darkened house. Before locking the door, the headlights of a passing car shot across her window. Tavington moved to shut the curtains, but Marigold stopped him.
"Don't. This is supposed to be our last clear night for a while."
He abandoned the window to kneel by her bedside, "Predicting the weather now, are we?"
She reached for his hand, giving it several tiny kisses between words, "No. Just another function of those magical cell phones that you see everyone carrying around."
"I'll surely have to obtain one," he said with a sideways grin. "You do have a lovely view of the stars from up here."
"Did you know," Marigold mused, "that starlight takes so long to reach the earth that most of the stars that are looking in on us right now have been dead for many, many years?"
"That sounds like the basis for a rather melancholy poem."
"Perhaps," she reached, reveling once more in the sensation of his heart against her hand, "or perhaps not. 237 years come January and here you are. Your beating heart against my hand is as real and unreal as every star in the sky. It's a miracle, William. Bittersweet, but a miracle nonetheless."
Of course, Giselle had to unravel the mood by stumbling through the doorway. "MareBear! OMG! It's your BFF Jill! What ever happened to Cingular, anyway?" She leaned against the wall. Moxie took her uncanny posture as an invitation to play and dashed across the room. "I just wanted to tell Creative Director Turntable that he is out past curfew and needs to return to the sofa-couch pronto."
"Thank you, Giselle," Marigold smiled, signaling for Moxie to return, "how about saving some of that razor sharp wit for tomorrow? Heaven knows, you're going to need it to teach high schoolers with a hangover."
An innocent kiss to the back of Marigold's hand slipped under Giselle's watch as they bid one another goodnight.
"Remember what I told you, Mox," Tavington whispered sternly before turning his gaze to Marigold, "until tomorrow, my beautiful one."
He hardly slept a wink that night. Half of his mind was preoccupied with listening for Moxie's bark while the other half battled against Giselle's snoring, the likes of which Gimli Son of Gloin himself would have envied. The sounds of cellphones were a regular occurrence in Marigold's home and Tavington was beginning to grow accustomed to them as well as their overall function, but they still made him jump when they went off. Shortly after the clock struck 5, Giselle's phone lit up. A repetitive snippet of Debbie Reynolds and Gene Kelly singing "Good Morning" filled the quiet space.
"Must be… 'Singing in the Rain', I believe," Tavington thought to himself, "no wonder these women share such a strong kinship."
Giselle's silhouette caught his attention in the next room. Like Marigold, she was thin as a rake, but her slept-on curls made her look like the distant cousin of one of those rolls of cotton candy on a stick that you can find at just about any theme park. She patted down her unruly locks and headed for the kitchen, phone in hand.
"Hiya, Hotstuff," she said into the receiver, "yeah, he slept on the couch. No funny business here."
Tavington exhaled slightly as he watched Giselle's peculiar rampage through Marigold's cupboards.
"God, yes. I would love that," Giselle continued, placing her hands on her hips, "all I'm finding over here is an Aeropress, espresso beans and legions of loose-leaf teas. The flower-petal-y kinds, not the normal ones. Those Portlanders turned that girl into a full-blown "Put-a-Bird-on-It" hipster, I swear. You know she damn near cussed out the poor clerk at Michael's for not having more birdhouse making classes? Hey, Hugh Jackman! Yoo-hoo!" She waved Tavington down. "Since I know you're chomping on the bit to check on your little chickadee, why don't you run upstairs and ask her if she wants a macchiato?"
She didn't have to ask twice. On top of the anticipation of seeing Marigold again, Tavington was more than ready to escape from Giselle's vile conversation on "that cell phone contraption". As soon as he cracked the door open, Moxie tore through the house and gave Giselle her typical (noisy) greeting. Marigold was on her side, sound asleep. Her positioning indicated that she'd drifted off while watching the display of stars through her bedroom window. He knew that sleep was a rare commodity in the fast-paced world that Marigold lived in. To disturb her peaceful slumber would be wicked, so he decided to grant her the rare gift of being able to awaken on her own.
"Miss Casey is going to sleep in today, she's still rather shaken from yesterday's events." Tavington explained to Giselle who was clearly displeased.
"Well, she'd better be up before noon. Jake and I are taking extended lunch breaks so the four of us- you heard me- can have a little chat with Principal Ballard. No macchiato for Mare." With a beep, she placed her phone face down on the kitchen table and sat. Tavington followed suit.
"Miss Casey's employer won't grant her a single day of rest? Even after…?"
"Now that I have you alone…" Giselle hoisted Moxie into her lap. This would have been normal if Moxie were a smaller breed. Of course, Tavington fought back a laugh. True, he fed them scraps from his table, but if Cornwallis had done anything like this with Jupiter or Mars, word would spread and King George's laughter would have traveled in echoes across the proverbial "pond" for many years.
Although her tone was fierce, it was difficult to take any semblance of words seriously that were delivered between a large collie's ears. As Giselle spoke, Moxie looked up at Tavington, wearing her usual smile and panting quickly. "I want to run something by you. That girl pours her heart and soul into everything she does and would give the pretty little knitted cardigan off of her back for any poor bastard that she meets. In return for her kindness, life drags her through the mud on a daily basis. She wakes up lonely, goes about her day lonely and goes to bed lonely. The only thing keeping her afloat other than Jake, Moxie and I is that gloriously tenacious little attitude of hers. She wants you in her life. As something more than a passerby, but as a constant. I don't know why, but I can tell. If you want to be her beau without receiving daily hell from Jake and I, you are going to have to put in the effort and become something more than a couch surfer in her ex-husband's flannel. What am I saying? We're still gonna give you hell, anyway." She took a deep breath and removed her wallet from one of her various reusable craft store totes. "Now that I've gotten that off of my chest, here is fifty dollars. Jake will kill me if he knows, so don't tell him. You have about five minutes to get washed up. You're coming with us this morning."
Politely, Tavington refused. But this didn't faze Giselle in the slightest. She stretched herself across the table, stuck the bill in his pocket and gave his chair a hard kick. He understood that she was trying to be helpful in her own peculiar way, but galivanting around town with Giselle and Jake while Marigold was asleep was the last thing he wanted to do.
"Madame, I must protest. If Miss Casey awakes to find that I am gone, won't she think…"
Giselle held up her finger and flipped her phone over on the table. "Good thinking. I'll send her a text explaining that you haven't bailed on her. Now, brush your fangs, do whatever you have to do. I'll meet you on the porch in five."
He rose tentatively. "You mean to say that you can predict the weather and send hand written messages through the house with those glass notepads?" Giselle said nothing and only stared in annoyance. Clearly, she knew what was best for Marigold and it was for this reason that Tavington decided to trust her although it left him with a heavy heart.
Giselle was still awaiting Jake's arrival when Tavington stepped outside. He looked slightly disheveled but would effortlessly pass as one of the more attractive men in Waterford nonetheless. He sat beside Giselle on the tiny step and grinned at her, awkwardly. Yet again, she reached into a nearby tote and grabbed something for Tavington. This time, it was a small, elastic band. Inevitably, it had several pieces of glitter on it, but they weren't too noticeable.
"Put that hair back. The Fabio look won't do you any good where you're headed…"
"May I ask," he struggled with the elastic momentarily, "where I am headed exactly?"
"We're going to drop you off on Main Street. It's four blocks away, but I suggest paying attention as we drive so you can walk home. There's a cute little thrift store on the corner that opens early. I want you to pick out something nice to wear to Coffee n' San-tea. And some other articles of clothing that aren't Henry's because… you're embarrassing yourself, Boy. While you were getting ready, I pulled some strings and got you an interview with Tess at 8. Marigold and I used to wash dishes for her in high school and she'll more than likely hire you on the spot because she loves the stuffin' out of both of us. Just don't be late. I'd suggest getting a haircut first, but there's no saying how long it would take to rid you of that… Brillo Pad," with the way Giselle's hair looked at the moment, she wasn't exactly in the best position to pass judgement, but Tavington held his tongue beautifully. "We'll be coming for you and Mare at noon and if you're a workin' man the next time I see you, I'll personally see to it that you are properly cellphone'd. I'll also teach you how to use it so you can text Mare sweet nothings from your dishwashing station all day long. Are we jiggy?"
"I must confess, Madame, I haven't felt so susceptible to peer pressure since I was a young boy in Liverpool. But if the tasks that you have given me will make Marigold happy, there is simply no way that I can decline." The sleek black outline of Jake's car slipped into his periphery. This scene still made him a bit jumpy.
"Don't tell me I'll have to give you a driving lesson, too." Giselle moaned, collecting half of her totes and failing to conceal a smile when Tavington assisted her with the rest.
"You mean… in order to learn how to operate a horseless carriage? Must I?"
Giselle turned around on the lawn and belted out an astonishingly loud laugh. It was truly amazing, she was almost as amusing hungover as she was drunk. "We'll have to borrow Mare's crappy Subaru because there's no way you can handle the raw power of my minivan!"
As she stumbled into the passenger seat of Jake's car, Tavington wrestled with the handle on the back door. He could hear Jake and Giselle arguing over why he was impeding on their time together. Jake was just about ready to step on the gas and send him flying across the lawn when Giselle hopped out and opened the door for him.
The motion of the car was just as sickening as he remembered it. The scatterbrained argument that was taking place at the front of the cabin made matters worse for poor Tavington. He watched the neighborhood filled with tiny bungalows just like Marigold's whirring by and suffered terrible whiplash every time Jake came to a stop. Perhaps learning how to maneuver one of these monstrosities would benefit him after all; nobody could ever rival his skills as an equestrian and Jake clearly had no idea of what he was doing.
"Would you mind putting on another record, Mr. Casey?" He asked politely as Giselle turned up Sam Hunt's lively track, "House Party" to an ear-piercing volume.
Jake pushed Giselle's hand off of the stereo system and pulled a glistening CD from its narrow storage space. It wasn't much of an improvement. Jake tried and failed to rap along with Toby Keith's "I Wanna Talk About Me" and continued to swat Giselle's hand away periodically. Finally, the aggression ceased and they both settled on intertwining their fingers on top of the hand break. Clearly, a romance was blossoming between them that was just as strange and unique as they were. Tavington found comfort in the possibility that the chaotic rise and fall of emotions yesterday brought not only he and Marigold closer, but Jake and Giselle as well.
As the car slowed to a stop, Tavington realized that they were no longer in a neighborhood, but on a quaint, shop-lined street that was built on a sloping hill. Many of the shops were closed, but he could see a glow coming from the aforementioned secondhand store and its neighbor, Coffee n' San-tea.
"Okay, Leopold, this is where we leave you," Giselle chimed as she clicked off the locks, "Remember, your interview is at eight so keep an eye on the clocktower. Marigold lives at 17 Foxglove if you get lost. I doubt you will, it's a straight shot if you follow the park. Any questions?"
He had countless questions, to be sure. For the sake of appearing together, however, he shook his head and fidgeted with the door handle. Once it opened, he stepped onto the street. This was a strange sensation for the otherwise fearless Tavington. Navigating the sleepy, walkable downtown district of Waterford, South Carolina would prove a simple task for just about anybody. But in this moment, he felt as if he was riding into battle. His nerves and imagination were conversing as quickly and nonsensically as Jake and Giselle were on the car ride over. He considered everything that could go wrong in this strange new space. But at the same time, he longed to master it. The idea of becoming an asset to Marigold's hometown led him to a rapturous state. He felt strangely excited about piecing together the materials of his new identity at the secondhand store. He'd never dreamt of washing dishes for wages in his life, but the idea of bringing his earnings home to Marigold set his heart ablaze. He would surely succeed. He was Colonel William Tavington, after all! What could possibly go wrong?