The mild weather of approaching spring made me wish my garden was better tended. It looked awful. The tulip bulbs were struggling to emerge beneath crabgrass and English ivy, which had pretty much taken over everything. My camellia bush was so invaded by kudzu, I couldn’t tell the snaking vines from the branches. I had gone out for an early morning run. It was so pleasant entering into the day that way being welcomed by birds. There was a cobweb on my rose bush coated in dewy gossamer. Everything looked fresh and new, clean and green. While I was tying my shoes, I thought about the copper Mister Birdbath my Mom had given me for Christmas. It was still in my attic because I had no idea how to hook it up to a water line. It was too complicated. I remembered getting a brochure in the mail last week called The Neighbors’ Stamp advertising various household services like tree cutting, plumbing, painting, etc., which had all been approved by the people who lived in Oakhurst, the historic district where I lived. Maybe I could find someone to hire to spruce things up a bit.

It was so hard to manage everything without Tom. Even though it had been almost two years since we broke-up, I still occasionally remembered with a jolt of pain how difficult our divorce had been. Until he came in late one night from a business trip to California, I had had no idea our marriage was not reasonably happy and healthy. When he told me he had fallen in love with Miriam, the woman who had redesigned our kitchen, I was completely shocked, almost catatonic. I wasn’t angry. That didn’t happen until later. I didn’t scream and throw things like I’d seen so many times in movies. I didn’t cry either; in fact, I was close to laughter. The thought of Tom with Miriam was enough to pitch me into hysteria. Miriam was aggressive, short, pencil thin, and she had the most grating voice I’d ever heard. I imagined her redheaded tilt and hyena laugh. Was she Tom’s type? How could it be? I was tall, blonde, and even though I’d always been athletic, I was still curvy and voluptuous. In broken confessional tones, Tom said that they’d been having an affair with for almost a year and had finally decided to take it to the next level. That was when I got mad. What a prick? I resented the deceit far more than the infidelity.

Even though, I had had offers, I had not dated anyone since our split. I hadn’t met anyone who rocked me enough for me to take a chance. I was okay with it. Sometimes I ached with loneliness, ached with the desire for someone’s touch. I did not miss sex as much as I thought I would. Sex with Tom had never put me over the moon, but I had always liked sexual connection. I think what went on in my head when Tom made love to me was much more intense than what was really happening. My work and my friends fulfilled me. I liked living in North Carolina. It was not anything like Monterey where I had grown-up. Everything here was lush and green and open. The ravine near my house looked like a jungle. Though California had the pretense of openness, most of the people I encountered there were fake and consumed with the way things and people seemed and looked. I had always been the type to go for essence because it was the best use of time and energy. When we learned that Tom was being transferred to Chapel Hill to head up a new sales division for Elon Pharmaceuticals, I started doing research on North Carolina. The first thing I read was the state motto: Esse Quam Videri, which was Latin for “to be rather than to seem.” I liked the sound of that and Chapel Hill looked like it would be a nice place to live, a thriving university town that balanced the hippy and academia vibe. My job as freelance speech pathologist would fit in nicely there and it was close to Duke, one of the main research centers for autism in the country. I had worked a great deal with autistic patients trying to discover various ways to help them communicate with the outside world.

It had not taken us long to explore Chapel Hill and realize that Oakhurst was where we wanted to live. The house was modest, but the yard was huge. Out back was a multi-level deck that could be accessed from the patio doors and from the balcony off the master bedroom. When Tom left, there was no question and thankfully only a brief debate over who would keep the house. Even though I was glad, it was a cumbersome endeavor and sometimes too much for one person.

By the time I got back from my jog, it was half after eight. I was sweaty but I felt invigorated from the workout. I went into the kitchen and made a pot of French roast coffee. That would really get my heart going. I found the vendor brochure under a stack of papers I was going to take to the recycle bin. I flipped through it, looking for gardeners and landscapers. There were about a dozen and they all sounded the same: Green Thumb, Garden of Delight, The Paisley Pansy. On the last page was one more entry. I almost missed it because it was mixed in with the plumbers and electricians. It said: Handy Ma’am and below that Go for Value, Not Cost. That sounded good to me and I liked the idea of hiring a woman, of course I was assuming it was a woman. I picked up the phone and dialed the number. I got an answering machine with a deep, pleasant, but feminine voice that said, “Sorry you missed me but I’m sorrier I missed you – I haven’t joined the cell phone legion, so please leave a message and Handy Ma’am will call you back within twenty-four hours.”

“Hello, my name is Celia Tuttle. I live at 519 Winchester and got your name from Neighbor’s Stamp. I’m looking for someone to help me shape up my garden. If you do that kind of work and you’re interested, please give me a call at 387-9021. Thanks very much. I look forward to hearing from you.”

Good, that was done. I showered and got ready for work. I had a ten o’clock appointment at Duke with Dr. Augustus Tooley, director of the head trauma ward at Duke Medical Center. My day was busy. I had meetings back to back. I was exhausted when I got home. I saw the message indicator light flashing, but what I needed more than anything was a change into my blue satin robe, a cherry daiquiri and a quiet moment to enjoy the sunset and unwind from my day. I settled into my comfortable deck chair just as the light was fading. I loved my back yard. It had a privacy fence and I often felt like I was in my own little world out there. I was so relaxed I nearly dropped my drink. There was a light breeze blowing. It was much cooler now. I was in a meditative zone and did not even hear the wooden gate open.

“Mrs. Tuttle?”

I heard an unfamiliar voice and jumped.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Geneva Poindexter, The Handy Ma’am.”

I opened my eyes and standing before me was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. She had coal black hair swept back in a red bandana. She wasn’t very tall, 5’6” at the most, and she was very thin, but she looked solid and strong in her Levis and working boots. Her skin was like caramel.

“It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting anyone. Did I make an appointment with you?” I asked with a confused expression.

“No. You didn’t, but you left your address on my machine and I was just around the corner installing a ceiling fan. I called you back and said I’d drop by this afternoon. I’m a little later than I thought I would be. I hope it’s alright to come by like this.”

I couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. I had never been attracted to a woman. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, but whatever it was, it was new and big.

“I don’t want to disturb your cocktail hour,” she said looking at my drink. “I was just thinking we could meet and then perhaps set up an appointment later.”

“Oh, sure that’s fine. May I fix you a drink?” I asked. I don’t know why I offered. It was unusual for me to be so friendly toward a stranger.

“It’s tempting but maybe another time,” she said cocking her eyebrow, “though, I don’t usually say no to cherries.”

I smiled nervously. I thought she was flirting with me.

“I wasn’t sure this was the right house because it says Gandy on the mailbox.”

“Gandy was my married name. When I got divorced, I got my maiden name back.”

“Oh, I see,” she said. “How long were you married?”

This Handy Ma’am was bold!

“Too long,” I laughed. “I’ve been divorced a couple of years.”

“Are you from North Carolina?” she asked.

“No, I lived all my life in California -- Monterey.”

“It’s gorgeous out there. It’s almost too beautiful to take in. I always thought that that insulated California from the rest of the world in a strange kind of way.”

She was definitely not a typical blue-collar type. She had aroused my curiosity among other things.

“Are you from here?” I asked. “Would you like to sit down Geneva? Are you sure you would not like a drink?

“Born and raised,” she said. “I lived for a while in New York – in Greenwich Village, but I missed the south and came home after about five years. Okay, I guess I’ll have a drink. What is that, a cherry daiquiri?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Okay, that sounds good. It was so hot today.”

I went into the kitchen and poured what was left from the blender. I had made them very strong. I could smell the vodka.

She was still standing, leaning against the deck railing. It was easy to talk to her. I felt a huge urge to keep her with me. I was enjoying her company.

“What did you do in New York?” I asked, handing her the drink.

“I was a curator for a small museum that primarily featured glass works.”

She noticed the look of surprise on my face.

“Yes, I know it’s very odd to go from that to this, but they’re actually more alike than you’d think.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said.

“That’s okay. I’m used to it. But really both jobs involve making things beautiful and presenting them in the best possible way.”

“I can see that. I’ve never really thought about it like that before,” I said.

“Well, it’s just that society is automatically divided into blue collar and white collar. I never was sure where art fell within that.”

I noticed I was sweating. I never sweated, not even when I jogged. This woman – her presence, her demeanor, her beauty was really affecting me. It was one of the most intelligent conversations I’d had with anyone since I moved to North Carolina.

“What do you do Mrs. Tuttle?” She asked sipping her drink.

“Call me Celia,” I said.

She looked frozen and her brown eyes widened. Her whole body became as stiff as one of the deck boards.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Ahhhh, yeah. I’m fine,” she said. “Sorry, I think I’m having a little trouble with all this pollen.”

“Would you like to go inside? Would that make it better?”

“Well, I really ought to be going. I have to go over my schedule for tomorrow,” she said. She suddenly seemed quite nervous.

My disappointment was obvious and Geneva saw it, possibly felt it rising from me like smoke from a fire that was stubborn to catch.

“Well, okay, if you’re sure it’s alright. I feel like I’m intruding, dropping by unannounced like this,” she said.

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m enjoying your company. Being from California, I feel a bit like a fish out of water around here,” I said.

“What do you do Celia?” she asked.

“I’m a consultant for people who have speech difficulties.”

“You mean like stutters and lisps?”

“I have done a little of that, but most of my patients have autism. I’m called in to be part of a support network to help them function better in the world or as well as they can.”

“That sounds interesting. I’m sure it must be rewarding and at times difficult.”

“It is. I did the same thing in California and when Tom, that was my husband, got transferred, it was just lucky for me that it was to a place that had a major research center in my field.”

“You mean Duke?” She asked.

“Yes. They have an Autism Center there. That’s mainly where I work, when I don’t work from home.”

“You’re very white collar aren’t you?” she said, but it didn’t sound mean spirited, just true.

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

By now we were settled in at my big farm table and had finished our drinks. I went to the kitchen to get more and came back with a tray of bread and cheese and roasted peppers as well.

“I thought you might be hungry,” I said putting the tray on the table.

“You’re beautiful,” she said, “I mean that looks beautiful. Of course you do too. I’m sure you hear that a lot, you are quite beautiful. ”

“Thank you Geneva,” I said. “I don’t really hear it that much. I sort of closed off from that kind of energy when Tom left.”

“What kind of energy?” She asked.

Nothing got by her.

“Romantic, sexual energy,” I said.

“You seem pretty open to it to me,” she said cocking her brow again.

I wasn’t afraid. It was a new kind of feeling being attracted to a woman, but I felt comfortable within it and I looked at her head on.

“Are you a lesbian Geneva?”

“Yes, I am Celia. Are you?”

“I’ve never considered myself to be a lesbian before, but sitting with you at this table, I certainly do feel like one. Actually, I think I’ve been feeling that way since you walked through the gate.”

She got up from her chair and came over and kissed me deeply on the mouth. Her tongue and lips tasted like cherries. I wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted, but I was certain that time stopped or maybe it was my heart. Something stopped. Perhaps it was the mire of confusion in my head. The house I’d shared with Tom, and then inhabited by myself, for the first time felt like home. I returned her kiss with hungry want. She pulled me up from the chair and held me tightly in her arms. My heart pounded so hard within her embrace it seemed like the steady beat of a steel drum with the sweetest overtones I had ever experienced.

“I was stunned when you said your name,” she said. “After college, I worked as an apprentice at The National Museum in Prague. I fell madly in love with a woman who taught English there. She was also a volunteer for the Peace Corps. We were together for seven years. Her name was Celia.”

“What happened?” I asked stroking her hair.

“It was a freaky. Her heart simply stopped beating one afternoon. It was as if she’d given all she could. She was only twenty-nine. We were lying on the bed together reading a book about Van Gogh. She died in my arms.”

We were both silent but feeding on the power of our connection.

“Where’s your bedroom Celia,” she asked.

“It’s upstairs,” I said leading her to my room.

When we got there she lay me down and untied the sash and slipped the robe from under my body. Starting with my feet, she touched every inch of me, gently parting my legs and placing a finger on my swollen clit.

“You have a beautiful body. It’s so warm and pale. Everything about you seems to glow, she said.

She massaged my breasts and fingered my nipples until I felt I was teetering on the edge of a well of pleasure that was bottomless.

Perhaps it was instinct, or maybe just my ignorance of never having been with a woman, but I had the strongest desire to give her a blowjob, go down on her calloused hands. I took them into my mouth, caressed and licked them with my tongue, moved my mouth up and down on them the way I would a cock. She moaned with pleasure.

She stood up and slowly undressed in front of me. Her body was beautiful, tanned and muscular. Her stomach rippled with hardness. Though like her, I was in good shape physically, she was a striking contrast to my curvy paleness. She lay down on top of me. Her body felt like a warm fleshy cloak of protection. By turns, she kissed me tenderly and wildly. She put her hand between my legs and felt my river of wetness. It was like a slippery, silky sea. It had been a long time since I felt such desire. In fact, I don’t think I’d ever felt anything to this extent. She rubbed my clit in circular motions. At first she went slow and easy, but when I started arching my back, she pressed harder and moved up and down until she brought me to the most explosive orgasm I had ever experienced. I trembled with the after shock of a pleasure I had never known. She held me close. I started to put my hand between her legs, but she stopped me.

“It’s okay, Celia. I don’t really need to.”

We lay there together all night – soaking in the feeling of warmth and connection and mutual recognition.

We never even talked about my garden. But it felt, I think for both of us, that something deep within had been tended.