Cynthia Ellingsen

Cynthia Ellingsen lives in Lexington, KY and is a contemporary women’s fiction writer for Penguin-Berkley. Her first novel,  “The Whole Package”, is about three best friends who decide to open a scandalous business together. Cynthia’s second novel, “Marriage Matters”  is about a mother, daughter and grandmother who all get engaged at the same time and decide to share a wedding. “Marriage Matters” was selected by Romantic Times Magazine as a Must-Read in April, 2013.

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Excerpt from Marriage Matters,
by
Cynthia Ellingsen

June slammed the screen door shut. She strode past the trickle of her fountain, the busy buzz of bees and the hanging blossoms of the Peking lilac tree and stood at the edge of her neighbor’s
fence.

“Charley Montgomery,” she bellowed. “You get over here right this instant!”

Like a silver-haired jack-in-the-box, Charley’s head popped up over the fence. “Why, hello there,
June.” He wiped dirt on the front of his shorts and gave her an infuriating smile. “Did you want to borrow a cup of sugar?”

June pressed her lips together and frowned. Charley looked back, his light blue eyes twinkling. June found it absolutely outrageous that the women in her gardening group found this man attractive. The first time she heard this remark, June said, “Only if you like weasels.” Because that’s exactly what Charley Montgomery was. A weasel.

When he and his wife moved into the brownstone ten years ago, June had been fooled into thinking he was a nice man. It was not uncommon to see him and his wife bundled up in cardigan sweaters, walking around the neighborhood and holding hands. Charley rarely wasted his time with yard work.  He’d rake the leaves or prune the trees, offering the occasional compliment about June’s rhododendrons but he pretty much kept to himself. After his wife died, however . . .

Well.

Roughly a year after her death, June had been tugging away at some ivy when she heard a shovel striking the dirt. Turning, June saw Charley digging as though en route to China. June stopped what she was doing and stared, impressed at how quickly he worked. Especially for someone in her age category.

When he turned and caught her looking, June flushed. She certainly didn’t want him to think she was one of those nosy neighbors, so she gave a quick wave and headed inside. There, she drank an
ice-cold glass of tea and wondered what on earth he was up to.

Only when June was sure he had forgotten all about her, she spied on him from the kitchen window with a pair of binoculars. Charley Montgomery worked that barren piece of land until the mosquitoes came out. June went to bed chuckling over the idea that the poor man had worn himself out.

The next day, Charley was back in his garden before she’d even made her morning coffee. He was sweating and grunting, laying mulch like a hired hand. June didn’t know what to make of it. She kept an eye on his progress and narrated the adventures of Charley Montgomery on her evening phone calls with Kristine.

“He bought a crazy mixture of flowers,” June reported, peering through her binoculars to get a good look. “He must have picked them up at the local hardware store. Imagine.”

“Leave him alone, Mother,” Kristine warned. “He’s trying to deal with his grief. Just like you did.”

“Fine, fine. But this is not going to end well.” Not only were the flowers Charley bought completely unorganized, they were incompatible. The roots on those flowers would fight and eventually kill one another, trying to share the space.

June managed to hold her tongue about his lack of skill until that moment Charley watered his plants in the middle of the day. Of all things!  June could practically hear the water sizzle and burn on the
leaves. At that point, she decided to perform an intervention. Smoothing her wavy hair, June walked
over to the fence and rapped on it with her knuckles.

“I have something I would like to say.” This was more than June had ever said to Charley at one time. Normally, her greetings were, “Good morning,” or, “It’s hot today,” or, on rare occasions, “Hello,
Charley.” Building relationships with neighbors could be tricky, and June erred on the side of caution.

At the sound of her voice, Charley looked up from his pruning. Surprise flashed in his faded blue eyes.

 “Yes?”

June took a deep breath. “I noticed you’ve been gardening. And . . .” She proceeded to instruct him on what type of mulch he should have bought, what time of day he should be watering his plants and the difference between natural and chemical pesticides. She suggested he read some books, visit a nursery and get an education before trying to take on such a serious task.

Charley listened, wiping sweat out of his eyes, but he didn’t say all that much. In fact, the poor man seemed so impressed with her knowledge that he avoided eye contact altogether.

It didn’t happen overnight but eventually, Charley’s plants grew bigger and stronger. He started to say “Good morning, June,” and look her in the eye. Then one day, when a particular type of violets that were very difficult to grow came in perfectly, Charley walked over to the edge of the fence. As the sun shone down and the birds sang their summer song, he said, “You know, June. You might want to consider clipping back your roses. You’re not making room for the new buds.”

June almost dropped her spade. “I beg your pardon?” She sneaked a peek at her roses.
To her absolute and utter horror, Charley was right.

“I just thought I’d let you know.” He gave her a slight wink.
 
June was stunned. Pressing her lips together, she went back to digging in the dirt. She did not clip her roses back until it was pitch black outside and she was certain that Charley had gone to bed. With every snip, she thought, Tell me how to garden, indeed.

Infuriated, June shared the confrontation with Kristine over the phone.

“Mother,” Kristine groaned, “he was just trying to reciprocate. I think it’s sweet.” Then she laughed in
that way she had when she thought she’d gotten to the bottom of something. “Don’t worry. He’ll never have a better garden than yours.”
 
“What? Of course not!” June peered out the kitchen window. Even though the motion lights were the only thing keeping the area lit, Charley was still working away. He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts, black socks with sneakers and a flannel shirt almost exactly like June’s. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and his forearms were strong and tanned from the sun. “But mark my words,” June said, letting the curtain drop, “he’s certainly trying.”

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