Molly had built a terraced garden around the diner with fruit and decorative trees followed by a circular row of shrubs and lastly, flowers—colorful zinnias and daylilies.
“Hey, Mol,” said a man who had a sweat rag tied around his forehead and a leather bracelet wrapped around his wrist. “Your wheelbarrow’s in the back with the turnip starts.”
“Thanks, Harvey.”
“Want to have a drink?”
“No, not right now.” She spotted Creasemore at the far end of the lawn and walked slowly, but deliberately toward him, slung a fringed leather satchel across her back and smoothed down her hair, glad she was dressed in her favorite pair of plaid red pants and matching sneakers. She made a steady beam across the lawn. As she did, a funny thing happened: Samuel’s body tingled; it was like he was seeing himself from the inside out, as each one of his bodily systems came back online, digestive, circulatory, muscular and so forth, and before anyone could be embarrassed, his clothes appeared as well. Samuel danced around and sang a song of himself, kissing his hands, fingers, and knees over and over, saying, I love you, I love you, making it awkward for Molly to step past him and throw her arms around Creasemore, who was her old friend and lover. Samuel looked at his hands and waved them around. “Isn’t it wonderful? Look at my hands.”
Samuel ordered a decanter of periwinkle so they could celebrate his being de-ghostified.
“I feel I have to take some responsibility for your situation,” said Molly. “But I have to warn you. There may be side effects. You might blurt out things you didn’t mean to say.”
“Like what things?”
She shrugged. “Nothing much,” said Molly.
“No, tell me,” said Samuel. “I want to know.”
“Like…my name is Cathy, or do you want to play?”
“The important thing is you’re back, Sammy,”
Creasemore regarded Molly: the same gray-green eyes, curls of streaked hair, a nose that favored her left nostril. “Don’t you remember how Jensen tried to bribe the POK foundation into creating a spot for him on the board? How come you’re working for him here?”
But before she could answer, the Jensens emerged from a private gazebo together with Ronstone, the bully who had caused a ruckus earlier in the day. Molly recognized him, but couldn’t remember from where.
My name is Cathy, said Samuel.
“Don’t be silly,” said Jensen who saw the half-finished decanter of periwinkle on the lawn. “I see you’ve been enjoying yourself and that you also know our landscaper Molly. She’s done a bang-up job.”
Do you want to play?
“Yes, Samuel, my boy! I feel like shouting how wonderful it is to be on a new pathway to success.” Jensen shook his head and hurried away, chortling while Missus Jensen kept wiping her eyes with a handkerchief.