Change of Heart (The Flanagan Sisters, #2) (4 page)

Carly smiled. Her mother’s “garden” was more like a small scale farm with almost every food imaginable grown in it.

“I must admit, gardening’s not my strong suit. The garden is mostly grass in various stages of shock.”

Carmen tutted. “A garden adds to the serenity. You
must
have one. I can help you if you like.”

“Mama, not everyone loves gardening like you do,” Zita said.

Evan grinned at her. “Some advice would be great. I’m renting, but the agent said I can plant the two empty garden beds at the front. I don’t know where to start.”

Carly suspected her mother wanted to know more about Evan, and this was her way of finding out.

“Jack and I have news,” Bridget spoke up.

“You’re getting married!” Carmen exclaimed.

Bridget rolled her eyes. “No, Mama. We’ve bought a house.”

“Well, it’s a step in the right direction,” her mother muttered.

Carly smiled. “That’s great, Birdy. Where is it?”

“Pearland.”

She’d speak with Bridget later to see if they needed any financial help.

“What’s it like?” Zita asked.

Bridget described the house, and by the time she was done, they had all finished eating. Carly helped her mother clear the plates and the younger girls stacked the dishwasher.

“Come and see my garden,” Carmen invited Evan. “You can tell me what you like.” She turned to Carly. “Carolina, you must come too. You have not seen the latest changes.”

There was no point arguing. She walked past Zita on her way out and her little sister gave her an apologetic smile. Zita’s turn would come soon enough.

***

E
van was amused by Carmen’s unsubtle way of keeping Carly and him together, but he was pleased. He’d had a slight attack of the guilts after Zita invited him to lunch, hoping he hadn’t been too forward in getting what he wanted. He didn’t know what Zita had told her mother, but it seemed like Carmen was scoping him out to make sure he was good enough for Carly.

He was looking forward to seeing the garden. The fence line between their properties was thick with bushes and trees, which didn’t allow him to see further into the yard. Following Carmen outside, he then stopped in shock. Garden wasn’t the right word for what he was seeing. It was an oasis, a food paradise, a productive farm. Everywhere he looked there were colors and textures, but more than that, it was lovingly tended. There were no weeds, no sick or straggly plants, there was just health and vibrancy. He wanted to paint it. Acrylics would be best to catch the intense colors.

“Are you all right?” Carly asked, stepping up next to him.

He nodded. “This is amazing.” He took Carmen’s arm and said, “You must be a dryad or a garden sprite.”

The older woman chuckled, but waved him away.

“I mean it,” said Evan. “I’d very much like to paint it, if you’d let me.”

Carmen gaped. “This? My little
finca
?”

He wasn’t sure what a
finca
was, but he nodded. “It’s beautiful. It’s nurturing.”

Carly’s mother lowered her eyes and patted his hand. “
Sí
. You can paint it, if you would like.”

“Thank you.” He was itching to get his sketchbook now and do some preliminary sketches.

“Carly, show him around.” Keeping her eyes lowered Carmen went back inside.

Oh, hell. “Have I done something to offend her?”

Carly was silent a moment. “You’ve touched her,” she told him, gesturing for him to follow her. “Not many people understand what her garden is to her, but you did. You’ve got a knack for seeing more.”

“It helps to be observant when you’re an artist.” He wasn’t sure what to make of the speculative look on her face. Changing the subject, he asked, “So what does she grow?”

“It would be easier if I told you what she doesn’t grow.” Carly laughed and he liked the carefree sound of it. This was the first time he’d seen her relaxed.

“Some of the fruit is from El Salvador and other places in Central America. She likes to help the girls feel at home. There’s a big greenhouse over there for the tropical food.”

Zita had told him a little about the foster girls and their circumstances and he’d wondered how comfortable they would be with strangers. It was obvious from the lunch that they felt right at home.

“Mama also grows vegetables. She says the stuff you buy in supermarkets has no flavor.”

Evan didn’t pay much attention to what he ate, as long as it wasn’t too unhealthy, but he had to admit the meal he’d just eaten had been the best one he’d had in a long time. “Does she have an excess of food?” The garden beds went on and on.

“Sometimes. If she does, she gives it away. She’s quite active in the migrant community and some of them struggle to make ends meet.”

“How does she afford it all? Does she get government assistance? It can’t be cheap to care for all those girls and keep the property running.”

Carly scowled, her lips pursed together. “Casa Flanagan is run by my charity. We don’t take handouts, but we do support these children who have fled for their lives.”

“That’s fantastic,” he said. “The children need a strong support system once they’ve been accepted into the US.”

She sighed. “Not all of them have been accepted.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re running a trial for the government. Our latest three girls are waiting for their applications to be processed.” She plucked a leaf from a nearby bush and held it up to her nose. “There’s been a lot of discussion that children shouldn’t be kept locked in detention centers for months while waiting to be assessed. Casa Flanagan has been chosen as one of the organizations to run a trial to explore if keeping the children in the community can work.” She shredded the leaf and threw it into the garden bed. “There are many people against it, arguing the kids could be dangerous and escape into the community.” She waved her hands around, her tone angry. “They have no idea what the kids have been through, and we’ve got seven more weeks to prove it can be done.”

She was fiery, passionate, so worked up.

She was magnificent.

Just listening to her talk about it made him want to support her. No one liked to be imprisoned.

“Have you seen enough? I think Mama mentioned dessert earlier.”

“Sure.” He followed her back to the house. There was far more to this woman than he’d ever imagined.

In the kitchen, Zita was making a fruit salad.

“Did Mama tell you Evan wants to paint the garden?” Carly asked Zita.

“No. She came inside and went straight upstairs, said she needed a minute’s peace. ”

“Should I go and talk with her?” Evan asked.

Carly shook her head, giving him a small smile. “No. She’ll be down soon.”

“And she’ll be demanding you get started on the painting,” Zita added.

He smiled. That he could handle.

“Come through to the dining room and we’ll have dessert.” Zita picked up the bowl and motioned for him to follow her. “Dessert’s ready,” she called.

Footsteps thundered down the stairs and the girls trooped in. Alejandra was carrying a baby.

“He’s awake,” Carly said, and ran her hand over the baby’s head, cooing at him. Her whole demeanor softened and she lost the stiff façade. Evan found it fascinating.

She was someone else he’d love to paint. Not as her corporate image, but here, maybe in the garden, as she was at home. The softer, more vulnerable Carly. But it would take some time to convince her.

It was lucky he knew how to be patient.

C
arly was desperately hoping Evan would leave soon, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He sat chatting with her mother, explaining what process he would go through to paint the garden, and Carmen was hanging on his every word.

She was pleased to see her mother so excited, but Evan put Carly on edge. She couldn’t quite work out who he was, what he wanted. Everyone wanted something.

She didn’t like the way he examined her, like he was trying to figure her out. It made her uneasy. Part of the problem was that he’d invaded her home, the space where she could be herself.

“Carly, do you think we could go soon?” Bridget asked. “Jack’s got to go visit one of the other refineries tomorrow and it’s an early start.”

“Sure.” It was the excuse she was looking for. They all stood and started saying their goodbyes.

“It was nice seeing you again, Carly,” Evan said.

She didn’t trust herself to speak. She wasn’t sure she agreed with him. Instead, she nodded and headed to her car.

***

W
hen Carly got back to her penthouse apartment, it felt emptier than normal. Usually after a visit to her mother’s she was pleased for a bit of peace and quiet. Today it felt lonely. Her only company was the fish in the large aquarium in the wall, and they weren’t much for conversation.

She dumped her purse on the table and wandered over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave her a view over the city. It was immense. Way below, cars moved here and there, and people were specks on the sidewalk. She sighed and went into her walk-in-wardrobe to take off her high heels and change. After a shower, she put on her one indulgence – comfortable, yet highly dorky leopard-print footie pajamas. If any of her business associates ever saw her in it they wouldn’t believe their eyes.

Grabbing her laptop, she curled up on the sofa. She didn’t really want to check her emails now, but if she didn’t it’d be more work for her tomorrow. She dragged them into categories: those asking for charity, those asking for investment, those asking for an appearance or endorsement, and then finally those that had something to do with her company. She flagged the appeals she was interested in, and her personal assistant Hayden would find out more for her. Then she read the business related emails.

She was about halfway through when she sighed and shut the screen. She’d had enough. There wasn’t a single personal email amongst the two hundred in her inbox, no friendly banter between colleagues, nothing but polite business speak.

Her cell phone rang and hope sprang that it might be one of her sisters. The caller ID was set to private and Carly debated whether to answer. But she had to, it might be important. With a sigh, she answered. “Carolina Flanagan.”

“Carly, it’s Evan.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“I hope you don’t mind me calling. Zita gave me your number after I realized I didn’t get the game developer’s contact details from you.”

She brushed aside the thud of disappointment. Of course. Why else would he be calling? Quickly she flicked through her email contacts. “His name is Basil.” She read out his phone number and email address. “Tell him I think your work would suit the game.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. Working on a game would be a new experience.” He sounded genuinely interested.

“
De nada
,” she said. She hung up before he could say anything else.

At least now she knew what he wanted from her. He’d got the business contact and she wouldn’t hear from him again. It didn’t bother her. She was always trying to help people on their journey.

It was just as well she wasn’t interested in him. She was way too busy for a relationship anyway.

She continued working, ignoring the ache in her heart.

***

T
he following day, Carly arrived at her software company, Comunidad, at seven in the morning. She settled at her desk with her coffee. This was the best time of the day. Most of her staff didn’t start until nine, so she didn’t have people wanting anything from her and she could spend an hour doing what she wanted to do – like working on the new app she hadn’t told anyone about.

Smiling to herself, she set her timer and got to work. She loved programming, loved working with the languages of computers to make them do what she wanted. At the moment she was working on an app to help people learn English. She had watched her mother’s foster children struggle for years, and her aim with this app was to make it fun – to enable families to learn together, or for individuals to do it themselves. It would have implications for her social media platform, Comunidad, as well. She’d developed the platform in college as a way for migrants to connect with one another, to help form a community in the place they had moved to. People could connect with others from the same country, or with those who spoke the same language. They could help each other, explaining traditions that may not be familiar, new foods, and share support systems that were available. It had been Carly’s way of helping people make the transition that she herself had found so difficult.

The timer’s sharp ring cut through the silence, and Carly blinked. The hour had flown by. Soon people would begin arriving, and she needed to be ready for the day.

Saving her work, she opened the planner her PA had sent her on Friday. She had her usual Monday meetings, a lunch appointment with the owners of a small software company who wanted her to buy them out, and she had an hour blocked out to visit the indie developer hub.

She smiled. Downstairs, she had a whole floor designated as office space for indie developers and entrepreneurs. She leased the space to them for an insignificant amount, and they had access to meeting rooms, office space, and once a day, a Comunidad developer to help them with any technical issues they couldn’t solve. It was such a vibrant hub of activity and she enjoyed being part of it.

“Morning, Carolina!” Hayden, her very efficient personal assistant, waved as he dumped his bag on his desk, hit the power button on his computer and then came and stood in her doorway. “How was the exhibition? Was it awful?” He sipped his coffee, his crisp white shirt contrasting with his dark skin.

Carly smiled at him. “There was one good artist.”

“Let me guess. You had . . .” He paused as he looked up, thinking, “three artists who asked you to be their patron.”

“Close. Two.”

He pouted.

“I told Isobella and Desmond they could send through their business proposal. I’ve sent you their details.”

Hayden’s grin was wicked. “How low did their jaws drop?”