Marvellous things
Chapter 4: Avant gardener
No matter how many times Crane asked, Abbie would not let him try out the chainsaw. Huffily, he helped himself to a rusty weed whacker.
'What are you trying to do here?' she asked him, lowering herself into a desk chair.
'The produce in the market looks absolutely nothing like the produce I am accustomed to. God knows what is done to those poor vegetables. I plan to cultivate my own,' Crane explained. Abbie dug her heel into the sand. She was not an expert by any means, but the soil didn't look conducive to growing food. She wasn't going to tell Crane that, though. If this kept him busy when they were not working on supernatural stuff then she was not going to interfere.
The number of times he'd called her over the last month were making here a bit antsy. Phone calls to discuss witness related things: okay. Phone calls to share trivial things with her: not okay. She observed how Crane was struggling with the weed whacker. She stood up to get them drinks, so he wouldn't spot her amusement.
Inside the cabin, she filled two tall glasses to the brim with cooled ice tea. She spilled nary a drop. Outside again, she handed him a glass. Cautiously, he took a sip. His hair was tangled and his face was shiny with sweat.
'What is this beverage?'
'Ice tea. It's what you drink after working in the garden. I think, I've never done that myself. We do it in movies, so it must be a real American tradition. Or I could get us beers?' she offered. He shook his head. A stray lock of hair got stuck to his cheek. A sudden urge to tuck it behind his ear startled her. She directed her gaze at the ground.
'Sweet but refreshing,' Crane assessed. He gestured at his future vegetable garden with his free hand. Looking at her, he smiled tentatively.
'Would you care to assist?'
'Nah, I'm good.'
'Suit yourself,' Crane shrugged. He handed her the glass back and, although Abbie tried to avoid it, their fingers touched. It didn't appear to faze him, but Abbie imagined that she felt a spark. Like being zapped with a tiny electric charge. It was less a physical shock than a shock to her system. Suddenly, Abbie found herself thinking about that annoying woman and what she'd said about Crane.
'That woman I interviewed a couple of weeks back...' Abbie blurted out. Crane peered up from the weed whacker that was giving him so much trouble. He does have beautiful eyes, Abbie thought, flushing. Crane looked at her intently. Almost as if he could see that she was flustered, which she knew he couldn't. Her skin tone made her embarrassment proof. She held his gaze and continued.
'You know, the one who couldn't stop looking at you?'
'Did she? I hadn't noticed,' he claimed.
'I bet,' she muttered. The urge to say something mean came over her. She didn't analyse it. Abbie had stopped analysing her feelings about and weird behaviour around Crane a while ago. She didn't like the conclusions.
'She said that you must have a blind barber and that you dress like a hobo.'
Immediately, she felt terrible. Jesus, what was going on with her? He was the kindest, most wonderful person she knew and how did she respond? By being a jerk.
'I'm sorry. She didn't say that. Not like that, anyway. I'm really sorry,' Abbie said.
'There's no need to apologise, Abbie. I'm fully aware that my attire is considered unusual. As is my... What did you call it? Ah, my hairdo,' Crane replied, using the word she'd taught him with obvious pleasure. Desperate to undo her awful outburst, Abbie searched for something nice to say.
'It might come back into style,' she insisted, which was not – quite – a lie. Fashion was always repeating itself. Or was that history? Either way, it didn't matter. She could tell by the delighted expression on his face that she was already forgiven. Crane was clearly versed in recognising and appreciating the spirit instead of the lousy gift.
'Thank you,' he said sincerely and Abbie responded by nearly curtsying. Being around him made her do the most ridiculous things. In the end, she settled for simply saying, 'You're welcome.'