They’d decided a long time ago to keep their individual politics from affecting their friendship. Not that her friend had any ideals or issues he wouldn’t compromise for the right price. She didn’t know what happened to the free-spirited young man he’d been in college, sneaking away from his tyrannical mother’s watchful eye and spurning his father’s racial bigotry with already enviable debating skills.
John remained idealistic until he died, despite terrible things he’d seen on the street. Park grew more interested in the bottom line. He could be witty and charming, always gave good parties to the right people, and had a soft heart for his family and friends. But he changed, became harder, more ruthless.
She suspected the three of them had remained friends more because of their shared past than what went on in their present lives. Sometimes those things happened. She always hoped something would open Park’s eyes one day. She realized she loved him for what he had been, not for what he’d become.
When her bag was packed, she called the front desk to let them know she was leaving. The concierge offered to call her a taxi since her rental car was blocked by the protest in the street. “No charge to you, of course.”
She thanked him and took a last look around her room. She’d already pressed her flowers into some damp newspaper and stuck them in a plastic bag for the flight. The food-filled gift basket she left untouched on the bedside table. Maybe they could give it to the next visitor.
Drawn by the angry scene on the sidewalk and in the street, Peggy walked outside to wait for the taxi despite warnings from the hotel staff. She watched the police load the angry protesters into vans. There weren’t many of them, but they were tough and resilient. They didn’t so much fight as resist. Most of the signs were lying in the street now, but several television cameras were videotaping the disturbance. She knew they’d scored some airtime for their cause.
The scraggly young man from Park’s room ran toward her, wild-eyed. He looked anxious to get away from the hotel. He carried a banner, dropping it at her feet. She couldn’t tell what it said anymore. The fat, wet snowflakes had blurred the marker he’d used to make his statement.
He was running from two policemen, who were yelling at him to stop. Peggy started to step aside until she saw the desperate yet determined look on his face. She wasn’t sure what made her put herself between him and the police. Maybe it was because he reminded her of her own intense son. Maybe she just got caught up in the moment.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, hoping to give the young man a chance to get away. Even though she seemed to recall it being a badge of honor to be arrested, she didn’t think he looked the type. He hadn’t lain down in the street with the others. Instead, he reminded her of a terrified animal.
“Get out of the way, lady. This is police business,” the first officer warned.
“Is there a problem?” She tried to take their attention away from their quarry. “It seems like you’d have something better to do than chase these young people.”
“I won’t ask you again.” The officer charged, almost running into her on the slippery sidewalk. “This is a police action. You don’t want to be standing around out here.”
Peggy couldn’t tell if the young man got away yet. She bent down and picked up the banner he dropped. “You can’t even tell what this says anymore. Give the boy a break. He was only standing up for what he believes in.”
“That’s it! I warned you!” The officer snarled as he snatched the banner from her. The next thing she knew, the police were lifting her and carrying her to the waiting van. The reporters took her picture as the doors closed on her. Another fine mess . . .
2
Jerusalem Artichoke
Botanicaclass="underline" Helianthus tuberosus
Family: N.O. Compositae
Common name: Sunchoke
The name of this edible plant is a misnomer, since it doesn’t come from Jerusalem and is not an artichoke. The name is from the Italian girasola articiocco, the sunflower artichoke, girasola meaning “turning to the sun,” and articiocco, “artichoke.” In the 1920s, famed American psychic Edgar Cayce extolled the virtues of this plant in treating many medical maladies and brought it to the attention of the public.
“SO THE POLICE ARRESTED you?” Sam followed through to the logical end of her story as Peggy explained why she missed her original flight home.
“Not arrested exactly,” she hedged. “More like detained. They didn’t press charges against any of the protesters. They held us for a few hours, then let us go when we promised to leave Philadelphia. Except for the man with the concealed weapon. They kept him.”
Sam laughed as he easily navigated through early morning traffic from the airport to the Potting Shed. “At least you don’t have a record. When you called me last night, I thought maybe I should send Hunter up after you. I hope the experience taught you a lesson.”
Peggy raised her eyebrow. “I didn’t need your sister’s legal defense, but thanks for thinking of me. Exactly what lesson is it that I should’ve learned?”
“Don’t always jump into things until you know what’s going on.”
“I prefer to think of it as a good deed. Those people had a righteous grievance. That company has no business looking for oil in an estuary!” Peggy’s words were as fiery as her once-red hair. Her green eyes gleamed with purpose.
“Yeah? What happened to the protester you were trying to save from the police?” Sam stopped at a red light and grinned at her, the sunlight catching in the golden strands of his long hair. “Did he stop by to say thanks?”
“I didn’t see him again.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked out of the side window. She shouldn’t have told Sam the truth about what happened. Really! She was fifty-two years old. If she chose to join in at a protest, she had the right.
“Case closed. You helped him get away from the mess he created, and the police nabbed you instead. You did what you always do: jumped in with both feet, and it put you in a bad place. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”
He was joking, of course. They had a long-standing, easy-going relationship that allowed them both tremendous freedom in what they could say to each other without making the other person angry. Peggy sighed and sat back in her seat. She could take the ribbing.
Sam pulled the pickup into the loading zone behind the Potting Shed. Peggy waited until he turned off the engine. “When did you become a philosopher? It must’ve been while I was gone, because I could’ve sworn you’re the same Sam Ollson who played that prank on his friend last week. Didn’t that put you on the dean’s blacklist for the month?”
Sam was a big man, more suited physically to being a construction worker than the surgeon he planned to be. His natural Scandinavian coloring and year-round tan made him look like a surfer. He had large hands that he used frequently to express himself when he wasn’t coddling plants or shoveling dirt. He shrugged his broad shoulders covered by a tight-fitting green Potting Shed jacket. “I’m only twenty. People expect me to do things like that.”
She burst out laughing at his excuse. “I’m over fifty. People expect me to do things like that. It’s only the middle-aged people who are supposed to be the sane pillars of society. I guess we’ll have to agree not to lecture each other.” She looked up at the back of the shop. It was early. Brevard Court wasn’t open yet to allow them in the front door. The big wrought-iron gate was still locked. But she couldn’t wait. “It’s good to be home anyway. Let’s go inside.”