Five years later

The drive home was dull and fairly calming after a busy day of indoor recesses, noise, and chaos—no real traffic, no unexpected stops or detours. Gareth shivered, the minivan's heater cranked out warmth slowly and miserly. This didn't particularly bother him. Turning onto his street made him shift uneasily in his seat, however, thinking about what might await him at home.

Everyday he tried to fool himself into thinking that Leeann might be a bit better, happier, something nicer...and everyday he was sadly disappointed. In his worn leather messenger bag on the seat next to him sat the crinkled bundle of papers he needed to grade for the following morning—spelling tests from his grade seven class—and his favourite green marking pen, but there was little chance he'd get to them anytime before ten pm, there was, as always, just too much to do.

His three children, as much as they were fantastic, were a lot of work and their mother wasn't really a fan of any of it. Mothering did not come at all naturally to her. While Gareth was quite content to leave partying and the clubs behind in his early university years, Leeann didn't have that experience, barely having graduated high school. She had already given birth to Daisy, the product of drunken tryst at a random party, when she was eighteen, and took on too much way too young to have much of an early adulthood. As a result, Leeann often went out in the evenings now. Gareth wasn't a fan of it, but to keep the peace, he bit his tongue. 

Besides, arguing with Leeann never went in his favour.

He pulled the older model minivan into the slushy driveway of their rented bungalow and tried to paste a smile on his face, although it was difficult because it was obvious that it wasn't going to be a good night. Daisy, his ten year old step-daughter, was sitting amidst discarded cigarette butts out front waiting for him, pulling on her pigtails, chin resting on her knees, and looking far more disheveled than she had this morning. Her book was resting next to her and her coat was open showing that she'd made a hasty exit. Not good for a February afternoon.

"What's up, sweetie?" Gareth asked, voice full of concern, as he climbed out of the vehicle.

"Franny's sick," Daisy frowned, taking his lunch bag from him, being helpful, as she observed Gareth had a lot of school work to bring in.

"Oh." This was a semi-regular occurrence. His brow furrowed. "What's wrong today?"

"I think Mommy gave her eggs again," Daisy said quietly, almost a whisper, before she opened the front door and slipped inside without a sound. 

It was in Daisy's nature to warn him, but she could never handle the wrath of Leeann. She would be safely hidden in the closet before the shit hit the fan. Although caring and helpful, Daisy was an anxious little girl, and seemingly much like Gareth's disposition even though they weren't blood related. Both of them spent most of their time avoiding Leeann's wrath. Living on eggshells was not a fun experience for either of them.

"I don't care if you're going to puke again," Leeann's shrill voice came bellowing down the hall from the back of the house. "You're going to clean it up. NOW!"

Gareth could hear the great, gasping sobs of his five year old daughter echoing off the bathroom walls. Even if she wasn't ill due to consuming eggs, she was so worked up now that vomiting was inevitable. Leaving his grading by the front door, Gareth pulled himself together and waded into the mess, trying to control his gag reflex due to the sour odour. There was a pile of sick in the hall by the bathroom, and just beyond was Leeann, dragging Franny by her cherubic curls towards it. Franny gripped the doorframe like a vise, terrified of both her mother and touching the throw up on the threadbare carpet.

"Leeann, please," Gareth tried a conciliatory voice, "I'll get this. You look like you're on your way out." 

 And indeed, she did. Her skin tight outfit was impeccable, if not a little bit inappropriately revealing for a mother of three--a spouse and mother of three, sort of. There were no rings involved or a ceremony, but Gareth and Leeann had shared a household and bed for six years even though there was certainly no love between them.

"Of course I'm on my fucking way out. Then this little shit decides to up and puke again, and almost hit my shoes." Leeann tapped her foot in annoyance, drawing attention back to the nasty pile and her spiky, black, six inch heels. "I'm not missing my Girl's Night simply because your kids are spoiled brats."

"I hardly think Franny got ill because she's spoiled," Gareth sighed, without thinking, then instantly regretted his words.

Leeann's reaction was immediate and loud, "How did I know you'd take those fucking brats' side over mine? How did I fucking know?" 

She released Franny's hair with a yank, causing the child to fall to the ground, then Leeann swung her closed fist into Gareth's jaw. It wasn't the first time she'd hit him, and she was quite talented with a right hook. Gareth knew he'd have to take a sick day tomorrow just to wait for the swelling to reduce enough for him to be seen back at school.

"When I was young you ate what was offered and you were thankful you got fed, no matter what it was. There was no 'I don't like that' or 'it'll make me sick.' You fucking ate it or else," she lectured making a whiney voice when imitating the children. It was something they'd all heard before. On the 'or else,' Leeann spun back towards Franny, her now open hand cocked. 

Gareth panicked, but distracted her by quickly saying, "I'm sorry, Leeann," knowing it was too little too late, but at least keeping her from slapping their youngest. As far as Gareth knew, Leeann only ever hit him and he intended to keep it that way.

"You'd better fucking be," Leeann spat with fury. "I'll be back later and this shit better be clean." She gestured wildly with her arm before stalking off towards the front door, hips swaying and shoes beating a terrifying tattoo down the hall. She grabbed her coat and purse, already digging for a cigarette. Stopping at Gareth's bag of grading, Leeann gave it a swift kick to emphasize her anger, papers disgorging into the living room, before slamming the door on her way out of the house.

"Daddy..." Franny's illness weakened voice tapered off as she began to retch again, making it to the toilet just in time. Sitting on the bathtub behind his youngest daughter, Gareth rubbed her back in gentle circles, trying to comfort her as she emptied the remaining contents of her stomach. With his other hand he held back her curls.

"It's okay, honey, just let it out. You'll be okay," Gareth said softly, gently, knowing that she'd be fine soon, if indeed this bout of vomiting was from eating eggs.

"She said they were special, she told me she made them a different way," Franny whimpered, wiping her sloppy mouth with the back of her hand before he could stop her.

Inwardly, Gareth fumed; this was the third time in the last four months Leeann tried this tactic. She felt that Franny's reaction to eggs was her being fussy, not the allergy that Gareth was sure she had—the same one he'd had as a young child. He'd outgrown it when he was a teen, something Leeann used as evidence that he'd probably just been difficult too, spoiled—like their youngest child. And yet another reason Leeann used to keep their kids away from his parents; they might be too doting and ruin the children, just like they'd "ruined" Gareth.

Outwardly, Gareth didn't want to appear to be saying bad things about the children's mother, that just wasn't appropriate in front of the kids no matter what Leeann said about him, but inside he was swearing up a storm. "I'm sorry, Franny. Just try not to eat any next time. I'm sure you'll be able to have them when you're older."

He leaned over and flushed the toilet, since Franny seemed to be finished for now, gave her another reassuring pat, then set about to clean the mess Leeann had left in her wake yet again.

"Daddy?" Gabe's voice tentatively called from behind his closed bedroom door as Gareth kneeled down with the paper towels and spray cleaner.

"Yes, Gabe?"

The door opened a crack and one of Gabe's large greenish-brown eyes peeped out into the hall before his arm extended, a paper clutched in his hand. Looks wise, he was the spitting image of his father and Gareth's parents were always amazed at how much alike they appeared. "Could you sign this for me?"

It was a notice of testing for educational difficulties. Gareth was familiar with the form, as he saw them often at work, and he was happy that Gabe's teacher was taking his concerns, and the education of his son, seriously. He'd been asking for the testing for weeks, even though Leeann disagreed. Leeann just felt that Gabe needed time to mature a bit, while Gareth felt there was something more going on. It was yet another bone of contention between them. 

Thankfully the paper only required one parent's signature.

"Sure, Gabey, I'll be in after I get this mess handled, okay?"

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"Cut backs," Mel said, rocking on the balls of her feet. "You understand how these things go." She tried to pat Phillip's arm in consolation when putting up March's schedule after the first week of February. Brian didn't even bother to tell Phillip himself. The conversation turned itself over and over again in his mind; it was yet another example of his failures.

Phillip just nodded and went about his business. There was no point in arguing, especially not with Mel. Don't shoot the messenger and all that. He knew that no one else's hours were being slashed, furthermore, he knew his place at Bentman's was precarious as soon as the original owners retired a few months ago. The childless couple sold the family greenhouse and nursery business to their nephew, Brian, who might be business savvy, but didn't know anything about plants or their care. He also didn't care for Phillip very much. In fact, Phillip was pretty sure Brian found him distasteful in every way judging by the puckered look on his face whenever they interacted.

Phillip was, by all intents and purposes, considered odd by many people. He dressed with care and was well groomed--even thought to be attractive, with his dark eyes, chestnut hair, and muscled physique. Until they tried to talk to him, that is. 

To say he wasn't particularly personable was an understatement. He knew plants and the climate well, he understood about soil types and fertilizers, but he didn't initiate conversation, nor would he try to sell anything to the customers that they didn't need. He would honestly tell people when the plants they wanted wouldn't grow where they wanted them to, and that frankness angered his new boss. While the elderly owners had appreciated Phillip's knowledge and praised him to the heavens, the new owner most decidedly did not.

Just last week, Brian had been furious when Phillip refused to sell a couple a fruit tree for their yard. It was a tree that required a pair to produce fruit, a south facing exposure with particularly loamy soil, and regular pruning to keep its shape. With an informative question or two, Phillip deduced they were ill-equipped to care for the tree. Instead, Phillip informed them that a nice flowering shrub might be a better idea. Happily, they took his advice, pre-purchasing the shrub for the upcoming planting season. At the time, Phillip was quite pleased that he'd actually remembered to suggest something more appropriate, but Brian didn't see it that way.

Sell the customers what they want, not what you think would be better. There's a difference of $250 dollars from the tree they wanted to the crap you sold them, Brian had raged at him after closing, his face red and dried spittle making crusty white patches at the corners of his lips. The heat of the greenhouse also wreaked havoc with Brian's business suits, making him more crabby as the day went on, spots of sweaty damp evident on his expensive dress shirts.

Everything about Phillip rubbed Brian the wrong way in the two months they'd worked together. Brian was a man's man, or at least he thought he was, and not only did Phillip not seem to have that 'killer instinct' that made for big sales, he didn't engage in manly discussions (whatever those were, although Phillip suspected they were about sports and breasts) and seemed to carry himself in a precise manner that Brian felt was just weird. But what appeared to bother Brian the most was how highly his great aunt and uncle had spoken of Phillip, their "best" employee.

Phillip tended his own seedlings in the potting shed around the side of his house after work while he thought. He was mulling over his options as well as deciding where his new sprouts would flourish. The front yard of his modest raised bungalow was a featured stop on garden tours in the local area, and he was rather proud of the design which had been his own vision. His parents always had a green thumb, which Phillip inherited, and gardening was something he and his mother did together through the years until her sickness got the better of her a few years back.

The rich, aromatic soil acted as a salve to Phillip, and the routine of transplanting seedlings calmed him. For now the only option was to tighten his budget, but more drastic measures would have to be taken, and soon. Certainly looking for a new job was in order, as distasteful as that was. Phillip had worked at Bentman's since high school, a job offer coming after Mrs. Bentman saw him working in his garden twelve years ago. It was his first job, and the only job Phillip ever had. He knew every inch of the greenhouse like the back of his hand, but things change. And Bentman's certainly was changing—not for the better, in Phillip's opinion.

This is the first chapter complete. Just a word, I don't give warnings, but there isn't anything too painful or torturous here. Thanks for reading and whatnot! Next update should be Wednesday.  :)  JJ