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It was the eve of Christmas, and Melanie was five days overdue, enduring the discomfort that comes with late-stage pregnancy. Outside, snowflakes drifted gently down as she reclined on the couch, her belly large and pronounced. A small plate balanced precariously on her protruding bump. Everything had been meticulously prepared for this moment, a month's worth of readiness. Brimming with excitement, the children relentlessly inquired about the impending arrival of baby Ian, particularly Kirsten, who celebrated her seventh birthday in October. Since Grant's phone call from jail, he had fallen silent, leaving me to grapple with the conversation where I had inadvertently implicated him. While he knew my reluctance to harm Troy, he had a persuasive way about him, ultimately leading me to compromise my values. The guilt had consumed me in the days that followed, every doorbell ring or knock sending shivers down my spine as I dreaded the arrival of the police. Nevertheless, I had taken precautions. No one, not Grant nor anyone else, would jeopardize my budding romance or the imminent arrival of our baby. Later that night, I jolted awake at the sound of Melanie's gasp. "My water just broke!" Her voice trembled as she stood at the foot of our bed, her gaze directed downward. "All right, let's go!" I rouse the kids, who had their suitcases ready for this moment, meant for a visit to my parents when the time came. "Ian is on his way," Kirsten gleefully skipped toward the car. According to my watch, it was nearly 3:30 a.m., with Christmas looming just two days away. I silently cursed the timing. As we sped towards the hospital, Melanie's moans filled the car. "These contractions are really intense." "Hang in there, just a few more minutes." Upon our arrival at the hospital, the orderlies whisked Melanie into the Labor and Delivery unit. I handled the check-in process, and upon entering her room, I found a plump nurse with short red hair, thick-rimmed brown glasses, and green eyes examining the contraction monitor. "You're making great progress, Melanie. Contractions are strong, about every 4 minutes now. I'll call the doctor in to check on you soon," she assured us before departing. I glimpsed at her name badge as she left – Nurse Warner – and noted her thorough hand sanitizing routine. "Did you hear that? We're almost there," I said, gently wiping Melanie's perspiring forehead. "Would you like some ice chips?" She nodded, moaning once more. I hurriedly sought out the nurse, procured a cup, and filled it with ice chips. Upon my return, she grasped an ice cube, rubbing it against her forehead and face before downing the entire cup. "It's so hot," Melanie murmured, kicking off her covers. A doctor, not Melanie's regular one, entered the room. "Hi, Melanie. I'll be delivering Baby Ian today, as Doctor Bradford is on Christmas vacation. Let's check your progress, shall we?" Dr. Bradford donned latex gloves, his silver hair glistening under the bright light he adjusted. Towering in stature, he positioned himself and examined her, a warm smile gracing his face. "You're dilated to a 7 now, so it won't be long," he informed us, prompting another pained moan from Melanie. "It's painful. Can I get an epidural?" Melanie inquired, her voice tinged with desperation. The doctor's expression turned apologetic. "I'm afraid it's too late for that now. You're too far along. But, considering your progress, Ian will be here soon." Melanie sighed, closing her eyes, visibly attempting to regain her composure. Around twenty minutes later, Melanie uttered, "I have to push; he's coming." Her voice quivered with fatigue. I rushed out of the room to summon the doctor. He arrived promptly, examined her, and confirmed that she was fully dilated and ready to push. At 4:42 AM, Ian made his entrance into the world, his cries filling the room. He boasted a full head of dark brown hair, reminiscent of Jayden's birth. As I studied his tiny features, I couldn't help but notice the similarities – his nose and lips matched mine. The realization hit me like a thunderbolt. It was my birthday, and we had been intimate for the first time in a long while. She had done it as a birthday gift, but I had been oblivious to her affair with Troy. Ian might be my son.

It’s been a few weeks since Troy was found. His ex-wife was arrested a week ago when a necklace placed on his chest before burying him was found to have her fingerprints on it. Just like Grant said would happen, did, and now it may be months before anything commences, such as a trial. Melanie was nearly seven months pregnant and glowing. She seems happier now since I have spent much more time with her. She even took the kids to the fair before they went back to school last week. It seems we’re all going to get away with it. I bought a crib, changing table, and rocker for Ian, the name Melanie chose for her son and Troy’s middle name. (William) We painted the baby’s room a lilac, and she had it decorated with dark purple blocks spelling out his name that she placed on his small dresser. A large framed portrait of a pregnant Melanie, taken just a month ago, was over the dresser. She's holding her stomach and turning sideways towards a rising sun. A custom-made mobile displaying her and Troy’s pictures was placed into hard plastic cubes; it towered over the crib. When I saw the pictures, I felt like I had been punched. Every time I pick up Ian, I will be reminded that he’s not my son and his father’s pictures will be what he sees every morning he wakes up. But I have Melanie; Troy doesn’t. Two and half months later, Melanie has two weeks until she’s due to give birth, and it’s Wednesday afternoon when I get a call from The Tooele County Jail in Utah. I look at the number, confused. “Hello?” “Jeff, it’s me.” Oh my god, it’s Grant. “Grant?” “Yeah, it’s me. I’m in jail. Surprise.” “What? How?” I’m reeling. My happy future has just been destroyed. “I was arrested when my aunt told the cops I was drugging her – even after I saved her life. Then, a week later, she told them I killed Troy.” I sat there, stunned. I felt sick. “Sorry, Jeff, but I’m not going down alone. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but my bitchy aunt knows everything. She overheard me and my buddies talking about Troy. After you left the cabin, I called a buddy who owed me a favor. He has a 4-seater plane, and I told him some BS story about needing medical supplies to Utah. He knew I was in medical school but didn’t know I dropped out, so I told him I was a doctor and was working for   and asked if he could fly these supplies to the small airport in Provo, UT, where my team would come pick them up and drive them down to the border where I would meet them in a few days.” I’m trying to focus, but all I can think about is that he will betray me. “Anyway, I stuffed him into a large duffle bag filled with medical supplies. Damn, he was heavy. I got him to Utah, and everything went as planned. My buddies stayed in my family cabin up Big Cottonwood Canyon in Salt Lake. When Troy’s body got to Provo, a few picked him up. They took him back to the cabin, and they all stayed until the next night. The day after, they all drove down from the cabin to Grantsville, about an hour and a half away, taking him to his ex’s and dumping him.” It seems complicated, but Grant's speech sounds like he’s reading from a script. I have to be careful what I say next. “So, why are you calling me? Am I your one phone call or something?” Silence “Look, the jig is up; they know.” “Know what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Jeff, it’s over. They know what you did.” “Did what? Grant, I’m not sure what you’re jabbing on about, but it has nothing to do with me.” They can’t trace the money I paid. I transferred $70,000 over several days to the overseas account and then sent the cash to Grant for him to distribute to each person. There is no wire transfer. Plus, I didn’t kill Troy, he did. I hear a long sigh, some rustling in the background, and someone else whispering. He’s trying to get me to confess; the feds are recording us. “I told you that if you called one day, it would be from jail. After all, you drugged your aunt. It was bound to catch up with you. I mean, who does that?” “Jeff, they know you paid us money to kill Troy and dump him in his ex-wife’s yard.” “What! I did no such thing! How could you even think that?” And then I said something I thought I never would. “Grant, you’re off your meds, aren’t you?” I knew he took medication for anxiety and depression. “Listen, dude. I know it’s been rough since you lost custody of your kids, and your gambling addiction caused you to be way in debt, and now your aunt is finally getting her life back after being drugged by you, but don’t put me in the middle of your sad life.” “Jeff, knock off this shit! You went to the cabin where Troy was and begged me to be your backup while you were just going to tell him about Melanie’s secret and pay him off to leave her. You two fought and you told him to leave. He fell on your cabin steps and cut his head. I went to the store and got medical supplies and a bottle of pesticides that you agreed to and gave it to him after you left the cabin. Good God, man, I have your text messages!” I start panicking. Shit, I forgot to tell him to delete all our messages. I quickly scan through them to see if any mention Troy specifically, and none do. Every time Grant texted me, I never texted back. I called him. I could make up any excuse about why he or I called, but he has nothing in the text messages to implicate me. I deleted every conversation from my phone. I also told him to delete all our phone conversations. “What text messages, Grant?” I don’t see anything from you. On the phone, we’ve talked a few times over the last couple of months when I told you Melanie was pregnant with our son, and you congratulated me, but nothing about this Troy person.” I knew he shouldn’t have killed Troy, but he did it anyway. He was so hard up for money that he was willing to risk it all for $20,000. I hear whispers again. “You bastard. I know what you did. This isn’t over.”  I breathe out a sigh of relief. I can’t believe I improvised the whole conversation. Grant has nothing on me, and neither does the police. They may pick up my fingerprints at the cabin, but it’s MY cabin. I was there a few times throughout the year. The question would be why Troy was at my cabin to begin with. And Grant already owes loan sharks, so he could have killed him for the money to pay them off. Maybe whoever “hired him” was anonymous. The police could chalk it up to Grant being paid off by them, but to keep it a secret, he framed me. I already have my alibi, and I left before Grant killed Troy. If push comes to shove, I can always tell police that I headed up to the cabin since I was alone for the week, saw an unknown vehicle, and was assaulted by a man. In self-defense, I killed him. When I returned from the forest to call the police, my car wouldn’t start, and I couldn’t get cell reception. I called my good buddy, Grant, to come and help me. Or I came and saw him at the cabin, and he was hurt, so I called Grant to come. When I left to get supplies and came back, they were gone. I didn’t use to be a good liar, but I am now. And the only one who knows anything is his aunt, who doesn’t know me. Plus, he’s the one who’s been trying to kill her. Why wouldn’t he be guilty of killing Troy? Oh, and Grant never liked Melanie, so he could stick it to her in killing her lover. I stop because I could think up means, motives, and opportunities all day, but I can’t. Melanie has a doctor’s appointment in an hour to see if Ian is ready to be born into this world. And I can’t wait.

Many varieties of bulbs pop up in spring, summer, or fall. What I love about them is that you bury them deep with some bulb fertilizer, water them well, and then fo' get about it! Here are some examples of bulbs, when to plant them, and how. 🌷 Tulips are a spring favorite and one of the first bulbs to come up in spring, like daffodils. These two powerhouse bulbs come in so many different sizes and colors that it can be hard to choose which ones to plant. The best time to plant them is fall and when temps are below 45. Bulbs need at least 10-12 weeks of cold to set them up for spring blossoms. I usually plant them in November in my area, and they pop up in March or early April. To plant them, ensure you dig a hole deep enough to cover (6-8") and place the tip up. Sprinkle some bulb fertilizer in the hole before planting, and then water well for the first week. TIP: To ensure tulips and daffodils come up every spring, leave the leaves alone and let them yellow before pulling them out. Even though the flowers fade, the leaves still need the sun to store up energy for the next year's blooms. 💮 Dahlias are a top favorite bulb in my garden. They, too, come in different shapes, sizes, and colors. The only difference is that in colder zones, such as 6, 7, 8, and 9, you need to pull them up in fall and store them over the winter as they are not winter hardy. Dahlias can be planted in spring since they don't usually blossom until summer. Late May is great, and they will flower all the way into fall. Just be sure to dig them up before the first frost. 👩‍🌾 Allium, or ornamental onion, is another great bulb to plant in the fall for a late spring or early summer boomtime. These tall pop poms come in various colors and sizes but look like puff balls. They do great in between late flowering daffs and tulips or even crocus. They usually are the last of the spring bulbs to pop, so when all other bulbs have faded, these put on a beautiful show. 👨‍🌾 Crocus make perfect spring companions to tulips when planted in fall. Since they are typically short, they do well as border bulbs in the garden. They are about 4-6" tall but open up and spread their petals when the sun shines. When cloudy, they close up, the same as tulips. These are just a sampling of bulbs you can plant in the spring or fall. Iris is another spring flowering bulb that makes for a gorgeous display and, when in bloom, creates quite the landscape of gorgeous colors when it's desperately needed. Follow me on IG @hotmamagardener for all my plant pics, and check out my blog @  jewelswrites.blogspot.com , where I have my resume (looking for a digital marketing position) and more. Happy gardening!! #plantingbulbs #planting #springplanting #fallplanting #springgarden #summergarden #fallgarden #bulbs #floweringbulbs #gardentips #gardeningtips #gardens

I feel sick, and my appetite just died, but I can’t let Melanie know. She’s pregnant with another man’s baby and yet has two kids with me. Troy is no longer around, so what does that mean? Will she break down and leave forever? She’s told me before that she can live independently, but with a baby and her work schedule, I seriously doubt it. Melanie comes into the kitchen with fresh lipstick and gloss, a fresh coat of mascara, and her long auburn hair brushed. She’s now wearing a pair of dark blue jeans that shows off her toned legs and a plunging ruffled floral blouse. She’s a gorgeous woman. Have I told her that lately? “You clean up nice,” I say, grabbing my keys. “Thank you.” Her eyebrows knitted into a confusing smile. Part of me wants to strangle her for getting pregnant with Troy’s baby when she told me she was done at two. I wanted at least one more. I guess she didn’t want any more kids with  “Drive through or dine in?” I ask, pulling out of the driveway. “Let’s go to Rod’s Diner. I have a hankering for a big cheeseburger and beer-battered fries,” she says, the excitement showing on her face. “Sounds good.” I guess she’s not too worried about Troy right now. We arrive at the café, and it’s not too busy. On the weekends, it’s usually packed. I find a parking spot and pull in. Big Block Red Letters light up and spell out  ; the O no longer lights up, but no one seems to care. The Diner looks like it came straight out of the 50s. We get out and head into the café; a hostess that I swear looks like Flo, the gum-smacking, red-haired waitress from  on the early 80s TV show,   escorts us to a small booth in the corner. I remember my parents watching that show every week, and I can't help but smile. Rod’s has been in this area for over 20 years and reminds me of   in Grantsville. In fact, it’s almost a carbon copy, right down to the red and white jukebox and the same-colored checkered flooring.    The hostess gives us menus, and I open it up but know what I’m getting. We haven’t been here as a couple for years. We took the kids until about a year ago. It’s nice that it’s just the two of us now. “Did you have a good trip?” I say, wanting to make casual conversation. “It was OK, but I’m exhausted.” I want to blurt out that she’s pregnant, that’s why, but I hold my tongue. “My client is teetering on canceling their account. I had to go and basically wine and dine them to get them to stay. It gets tiring sometimes.” She yawns and then picks up that damn phone. “I’m sure. I would hate to have to travel all over.” “I love traveling.” The stern voice is back. I never know what to say. “I didn’t say you didn’t, but it has to be exhausting traveling all over the country for work, is all.” Her face softens. “Oh, yeah, it does.” I then notice a faraway look in her eyes, and I can tell she’s thinking about  “What did you do all weekend,” she says. I suddenly panic, thinking about my alibi. “On Saturday, I went into the city with my buddy from Grantsville, Grant; remember him?” A seething look comes over her. “Yes. He’s that jackass that didn’t want you to marry me.” I’m surprised she remembers that since it was ten years ago, and she’s only seen him a few times since then. “Yeah, well, he was in town, so we spent the day off-roading. Oh, and Sunday, I went to  and picked up a bunch of plants. I spent the day in the yard planting. Monday, I went to work, of course, and then drove the kids up to summer camp, so not a very eventful weekend. You probably had a more fun time than I did.” She shrugs and then takes a sip of her strawberry lemonade. Melanie doesn’t drink, and for good reason. (other than being pregnant) Her older brother was killed by a drunk driver when he was 16. She was 14 and swore off alcohol afterward. She has one younger sister, Alisha, and her parents still live in Texas after moving there from New York twenty years ago. Melanie moved back to New York City to attend college and stayed there until I met her; bumping into her is more like it, at the park. I was running and rounded the corner in Central Park and ran smack dab into her while she was bending over and tying her shoes. She fell forward and hit the pavement face down. I felt horrible and remembered helping her up, looking into her emerald green eyes, and was smitten. She had some scratches and a small bump on her forehead, but otherwise said she was OK. She had the most striking red hair I'd ever seen, which made her eyes glisten in the sun. I got her number and took her out to dinner. And, well, as they say … the rest is history. We both order the same thing: a double cheeseburger, beer-battered fries, and a chocolate milkshake with whipped topping (the real stuff) and a cherry on top. If this was 70 years earlier, we could be my grandparents. I try talking to her while we’re eating, but she keeps looking at her phone, no doubt waiting for Troy to text or call or the police to call. My heart pricks for her, knowing the father of her baby is dead, and it’s my fault. We finish and head home, both in silence. As we walk in the door, Melanie’s ringtone goes off. She grabs it from her purse and pushes the phone icon. “This is Melanie.” I wish I knew who was on the call. “What?” I hear her almost yell into the phone. “He’s not there? What do you mean his Range Rover is, but he’s not?” Oh shit, we didn’t dispose of his Rover! Okay, calm down, Jeff. They could think he drowned. “You looked everywhere, and he’s not there?” I listen for more. “Could he have accidentally drowned or maybe been kidnapped?” Even to me, it seems ludicrous. He was the only one there, well, until me and Grant arrived. But Melanie and the police don’t know about that. And he’s a grown adult, so unless he committed suicide by drowning, that scenario isn’t plausible either, especially since he would be a father again. “No, I only knew he was coming back to Long Island on Monday morning and would text me as soon as he reached the city. It’s Tuesday night, and I haven’t heard from him.” She listens, as do I. “No, of course not! He has no reason to just vanish like this.” I try to do something while I still listen to Melanie. I grab the sponge and start wiping off counters to keep myself busy. “Okay, call me when you know anything.” She puts her phone down on the counter, the one I just wiped. “They can’t find Troy.” Yes, I know. “His truck is there, but he’s gone, like … vanished. It’s not like him to take off, and no one has seen or heard from him in this long.” Tears fill her eyes, and I feel my heart drop. Even though he’s her lover, I feel guilty for what I did, well, what Grand did, and I allowed. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she folds into me, her body pressed against mine, her fragrant perfume filling my nostrils. “I’m sorry, Mel.” I haven’t called her that in years. But I am truly sorry. I hated the man for what he did to my family, but he didn’t deserve to die. Why did I let Grant kill him? This will eat at me for the rest of my life, probably like Melanie when she killed the cable technician. We now have something in common. We both are responsible for killing a man. __________________________________________________________________ It’s 5:30 a.m., and I bolt awake when my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Grant. Troy’s body has been dumped, and he and his friends want their fee. They flew to New York and rented a car to drive him back. I have to figure out how to wire each $30,000 without giving them my card number. I figure it will have to be done by cashier’s check. I text them to give me 24 hours to wire the money. It’s over. I look over at Melanie, her back to me, breathing softly. I carefully get out of bed and rake my fingers through my hair. I look through the window. It’s still dark, but I notice a sliver of dawn creeping into the night sky. Now, it’s a matter of when Deanna will find Troy’s body and whether she has an alibi for last weekend. Damn, I feel like a son-of-a-bitch. For the next several days, Melanie went back and forth with the police. She’d been at the station several times already and went up to the cabin to look for Troy. When a week went by and no word from him, Melanie told me he either drowned or maybe hurt himself in the woods and tried to get back to the cabin but got lost. I hate seeing her this way. A month later, Melanie resigned herself to believe she would never see Troy again and became even more distant than before. However, she told me about the baby when she started showing. We argued, and I told her I was hurt. A month after that, I was watching TV when my phone buzzed. SHE FOUND HIM I knew immediately what it meant. An hour later, I get a call from Melanie. She’s sobbing. “Jeff, Troy’s wife, found him buried in her front yard a week ago. This morning, it was confirmed to be him.” “In  ?” I say, stunned. I’m such a good actor.  “Yeah. His wife was digging in her flower garden and saw his h-hand. The police came, and the medical examiner thought he’d been dead for almost two months – the same time he went missing at the cabin.” “Oh, I’m sorry, Mel. But Utah? How, why? It doesn’t make any sense.” And I’m right, it doesn’t. “I don’t know, but I knew he was dead. And I can’t fly out for the funeral.” She hangs up, and I feel like shit all over again. But I have a second chance.

I text Grant back and say I’ll call him when I get in my office. I feel a surge of relief. It’s done. Troy is headed to Utah to be buried in his ex's front yard. I get back on the road to head for 11 Wall Street and 18th Broadway, and the skies have darkened. I hear thunder booming in the distance. When I pull into the underground parking of the New York Stock Exchange , the rain begins pelting the ground. I walk into the building and to the trading floor, but before I can focus on anything else, I have to contact Grant, so I quickly walk to the bathroom. I have to make it quick. Inside, the marbled counters are clean, with gold faucets and the white tile glistens. I check under all the stalls just like they do in the movies, but I see and hear nothing, so I quickly punch in Grant’s number. “Hey,” he says. “So, give me the rundown.” “A couple of friends came Saturday night and picked up the body. They should arrive in Grantsville tomorrow night. They’ll dump him and then bury him. It will no longer be our problem any longer.” Yeah, it will be Deanna’s, and I know she doesn’t deserve this, but I don’t know any other way. But she may still get off because there isn’t evidence of the exact date he was dumped. Since there will be no other leads, they will investigate his acquaintances and friends. They may even suspect Melanie. I already have an airtight alibi for the weekend – Friday, I stayed at home with the kids; Saturday, I went into the city and met my friend (Grant), and went off-roading. I went Sunday to East End Trees and went home and planted all day. On Monday, I took the kids to summer camp. Since medical examiners won’t have an exact day and time of his death, I have four days covered. “I’ll let you know when it’s final.” I push end on the phone and leave the bathroom. I head to my station and start work to keep myself from thinking about it for another day or so. I stay longer to make up the morning not being there, and then my phone rings around 7:30, and it’s Wyndham Summer Camp. My heart starts racing. They only call if it’s an emergency. “This is Jeff,” I say, my voice shaky, “Hi, Mr. Patterson; this is Sylvia, the Wyndham’s director.” “Yes …” “Kiersten fell off a log coming across the river and landed pretty hard. We’re at the hospital, and it looks like she broke her arm, but the X-rays haven’t come back yet.” She gave me the address, which is about 20 minutes away. Here, she wants to talk to you.” I hear my sweet daughter’s voice, but she doesn’t act hurt. “Hi, dad,” she says almost cheerfully. “Hey, you OK?” “Yeah, just fell and hurt my arm.” “Ouch. I’m on my way.” “It’s OK. I really want to stay, please.” I ask to speak to Sylvia again and get her opinion. “Well, if it’s broken, they will cast it, but I suppose she could still stay. She just needs to be careful not to get it wet.” I give her the OK, and she says she’ll text me once they get the X-rays back. I get back to Kirsten and tell her I love her and to be careful. She seems so happy that I’m letting her stay at camp. I can breathe, too, knowing nothing serious happened. About ten minutes later, I get good news. The arm isn’t broken, just sprained. I stay at work for a while longer and then head home. It’s been a long day, and I want to crash on the couch with a cold Coors and maybe put on Netflix. It will just be me – again. ___________________________________________________________________ I’m up and ready for work by 8:30 on Tuesday morning. I have to get there on time today, as I’ve already taken a week off and came in late yesterday. It’s already a day past when Troy should be home. Melanie will be wondering why she can’t get a hold of him, and in a few days or sooner, she will know he’s no longer at the cabin, and the search will commence. Sometime tonight, his body will be in Grantsville. My life has completely changed within one week, and so has Melanie’s. I would love to see her face when she finds out the love of her life is gone. Will she understand what it feels like to lose someone and her family? After working the day, I arrive home and walk into the house through the garage, which opens into our kitchen. I hear Melanie on her phone in the living room, her voice frantic. “I haven’t been able to reach him for two days!” I smile – just slightly. I know I shouldn’t, but I enjoy listening to her freaking out. And it’s only been about 30 hours, not two days. “Okay. Yes, he was at our cabin the last time I talked to him. He would be there for the weekend and then head back to Long Island.” She then gives the officer the address to the cabin. My smile fades. Our cabin? No, it’s my cabin. “Alright, thank you, officer. Please let me know.” I open the fridge door and grab a beer, feigning surprise when she enters the kitchen. “You’re home,” I say. “Yes.” She plants her hands on her hips. “I can’t get a hold of Troy.” “Oh?” Again, I act surprised. She was going to leave me for him, but they were in the middle of working out the living situation since Troy lives in Utah and she is in New York. Now, there’s no reason for her to leave. “He went to the cabin for the weekend and … don’t look at me that way,” she says when I act shocked. “No one goes there anymore. He needed some time away, so I gave him permission to go. Anyway, he was supposed to be back yesterday morning.” “It’s my cabin, Melanie, not yours. It’s been in my family since the 80s. But why am I even surprised since you don’t care about your family anymore.” I then tell her about Kirsten. “She sprained her arm and is still at summer camp?” Her voice rises higher. “Yes. It’s not broken, and she needs to be careful, but other than that, she’s fine.” “Why didn’t you call me?” “Because it wasn’t a big deal. And isn’t it interesting that the camp called me, not you? You were in Florida. Were you going to rush home?” Melanie opens her mouth and then shuts it again. “Yeah, didn’t think so.” I rifle through the pantry, trying to figure out what to eat since it’s past 6:00 p.m., and I’m starved. I barely got coffee and a donut this morning. I feel a headache coming on, and I know it’s because I haven’t eaten all day. “I’m hungry, so I’m going to grab a burger. Are you hungry?” I don’t know why I care, but I do. “Yes. C-can I come with?” “Sure,” I say. At least she’s not ignoring me. Maybe I can get the old Melanie back, the one I fell for over a decade ago. “And maybe Troy decided to stay a little longer at the cabin and will be back tomorrow,” I add. I have to placate her for tonight. “Yeah, maybe. Let me grab my purse and do something with my hair; it’s a mess,” she says. When she leaves the kitchen, I notice she leaves her phone on the counter. I quickly pick it up and put in her password. She gave it to me long ago, “just in case,” she said. I hear her go upstairs and know I have a few minutes. I scroll through her messages to Troy. MELANIE: I CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO COME BACK I MISS YOU TROY: DITTO MELANIE: IT’S TIME TO TELL HIM TROY: I KNOW. LET’S DO IT WHEN YOU GET BACK FROM FLORIDA MELANIE: REALLY? OKAY. I’M NOT SHOWING YET, BUT I WENT TO THE DOCTOR LAST WEEK AND THEY DID AN ULTRASOUND.  CAN’T WAIT TO HAVE YOUR BABY BOY! I throw the phone down and stare at it. She’s having HIS son? The world is spinning, and I must sit down before passing out. I just had her unborn son’s father killed. My plans to save our family just vanished.

Before delving into this next chapter, I wanted to update you on job stuff. No, I don't have one - YET. I have been talking with a company and have another interview on Monday, so we'll see. Not getting my hopes up until I have signed the offer. But, in the meantime, I am offering my copywriting services. If you or anyone you know needs stellar copy, DM me for my fee structure. Thanks, and let's get into this! The next morning, I get a text from Grant. IT’S DONE My hand shakes as I punch in his number. I  to know what happened. “Did he suffer?” I ask when he picks up. “Not a lot. I patched him up real good, then poured some in his water bottle and told him to drink to stay hydrated. A few minutes later, he complained that his stomach hurt, and I told him he probably ate too fast, and it could be the effects of the concussion. About five minutes later, he threw up and started convulsing; foam started bubbling up in his mouth. It was gross, but a few minutes later, he stopped breathing. “I called some friends and told them about dumping the body and that they’d get $10,000 each. Oh, and I have a brilliant idea. Someone breaks into the Carmicheals, grabs a necklace, and places it on his chest before burying him. It will have the misses’ fingerprints on it, and viola, she gets the blame.” Grant’s cold voice gave me goosebumps. There were no feelings or emotions behind his words. “When are they coming?” “Tonight. They’ll text when it’s done, and then I’ll let you know.” I mentally go through when Melanie is due home. Of course, she’ll text him on Monday when he’s supposed to return from the cabin. She won’t suspect anything for at least a day. But four days? I guess by the time the police come up, he will already be on his way to Utah. I push end and throw my phone down on the bed. I have two days before I hear anything, and no one is home, but I can’t sit around and do nothing, worrying about this. I look out the window and see a blue sky. It's time to buy some plants. I drive on the road to  , the nursery I’ve been going to for years now. Saturday is their busiest day, so I get there right when they open at 9:00 a.m. I go down the rows and pick up Coleus, Supertunia, and some Sweet Alyssum to fill in the gaps between the tall Phlox and in front of the Iris, Vinca, and some Begonias. I also picked up a few more Spirea bushes I planted last year, a few Asters since most didn't make it last year, and some bags of mulch. I spread out the blue tarp I carry in the side pocket and load all the plants and mulch in the back, ready to get back home and plant. Before I head back, I stop at the store and grab some food and a few beers for the rest of the weekend. The kids come back from my parents Monday morning, and I drive them to summer camp on Monday afternoon, 30 minutes away. Melanie gets home that night and won’t even get to say goodbye to them. I pleaded with her to take an earlier flight, but she said she had a meeting in the afternoon. She won’t get in until after 10:00 p.m. Sometimes, I feel she does these things on purpose. I pull in the driveway and open the hatch. It takes me about three trips, but I get all the plants and mulch out and start in the front yard. I grab my shovel, drill with auger attachments to make the job easier, gloves and some fertilizer from the backyard shed and toss them in the wheelbarrow. I may need to attach some tubes to the dripper system for the new bushes. The sun is high in the sky when I wipe my brow. It takes me nearly 3 hours to plant everything and spread mulch. I sit on the bench in the backyard and admire my work. The new plant additions display colors of purple, yellow, pink, salmon, some reds, and pops of white. I had pulled the yellowed tulips and daffodils so the summer plants could spring up soon. I usually start planting in early May, but we had cooler and wetter weather all month this year, so I had to wait. I pull off my gloves and return the tools and supplies to the shed. Back inside the house, I grab some cold lemonade from the fridge and pour it into a large cup. My watch reads 1:20 p.m. I started planting around 10:30 when it was cooler, but now it feels almost hot. I sit on the couch and drink the lemonade, the cold, tart liquid sliding down my throat and cooling me down. I hadn’t thought about Troy while planting, but now, thoughts creep up. What if something goes wrong and Grant’s buddies screw up? What if they take my money and then go to the police? Hell, what if one of them is a cop?  I snap out of it, grab the remote, turn on the TV, and occupy myself with some mind-numbing psychological series. I find myself drifting off, and before I know it, everything goes black. The phone buzzing shocks me awake. I fumble around for it and see it sticking out between the cushions. I grab it and see the text from Melanie. DECIDED TO STAY LONGER- BE BACK IN A WEEK OR SO Of course. She would rather stay in Florida than come back home to me. The kids are gone, so she has no reason to be here as if she cared when she was here. I’m on my own for another week, but if she can’t reach Troy, she will likely come back sooner. My stomach growls, and I notice the sun is lower in the sky. I turn on the phone and see that it’s almost 7:00 p.m. I’m shocked I slept for almost … well, I really don’t know when I fell asleep, so don’t know how long I was asleep. I yawn and get up, making my way to the kitchen. I have a few extra patties from the night before, so take them out. I can grill them, along with some corn-on-the-cob. There is leftover watermelon, so I pull that out of the fridge. I take everything out back, set everything on the table, turn on the propane tank, and turn on the grill. It’s still warm outside, so as I wait for the grill to heat up, I take off my shirt and dive into the pool, feeling the cool water wash over me. I swim as much as I can in the summer; it keeps me cool and helps my muscles after working out. I get out after swimming several laps and shake the water out of my hair. I grab the patties, open the hood, and slap two patties on the grill. I season the meat, then shut the hood down and wait. ___________________________________________________________ It’s Monday morning, and the kids will be home any time. This is the day I get a text from Grant saying Troy’s body has been dumped in his yard, and this whole thing will finally be over. I shower and get dressed, and as I walk down the stairs, I hear the beeping sound of the code, and then the door unlocks. The kids are home. “Hey, Dad,” Jayden says, charging through the door. Kirsten follows after. “Hey guys,” how was Grandma and Grandpa’s?” “Awesome,” Jayden says. “We went to the zoo and saw some cool animals.” “Yeah? Which ones?” I say, following them into the kitchen. Jayden throws open the pantry and grabs the Apple Jack’s cereal box. He grabs the milk from the fridge and gets two bowls and spoons out. He sets them on the table, along with the cereal and milk. “We saw lions and tigers … “ “And bears, oh my,” I pipe in, chucking. “Dad!” Kirsten rolls her eyes. “Alright, just having fun,” I say, throwing my hands up. I watch the kids gobble up the cereal and wonder if my mom fed them breakfast before they left. It was close to 9:00 by my watch, so I don’t why she wouldn’t have fed them before leaving. “Hey, guys, didn’t Grandma feed you before taking you home?” “Nope. Grandma didn’t have time,” Jayden says. That’s odd, but I don’t think much about it. She probably had a hair appointment or something. After breakfast, I tell the kids to head upstairs and pack for camp. Both run up to their rooms. Thirty minutes later, I check their suitcase and ensure they have all the checked items, repack everything, add the stuff they forgot, and then zip them both up and drag them down our winding stairs. I grab their sleeping bags and extra pillows from the closet and then load the car. A few hours later, after playing video games with them – something I try to do often – we all pile in the car. I timed it so they would get to Camp Wyndham at around noon, and then I would head to the office for the remainder of the day. My calculations are pretty spot-on since we miss the noon-day traffic and get to the camp around 11:45 before lunch starts at 12:30 p.m. I unload all the luggage, and one of the camp counselors, wearing a red t-shirt with the name in bold white letters and the camp logo of a canoe and blue skies etched inside a perfect circle, smiles. The teen girl with long brown hair and brown eyes looks about 16 as she flips through a list of names on her clipboard and crosses off Jayden and Kirsten’s names. “Okay, all set.”  I say goodbye, kiss Kirsten on the cheek, and hug them both. “I’ll see you in August. Love you, kids.” “Love you too, Dad,” Kirsten says. “Ditto,” Jayden calls back as he takes off. Two teen guy counselors, one with blond hair, short but with muscle definition, and the other with brown hair, tall and skinny, take the suitcases, sleeping bags, and pillows and go off to the cabins. I watch, always feeling a little sad that I won’t see them for two months. Just as I get back in the Lexus, my phone buzzes. THE JOB IS DONE - TIME TO PONY UP

Tired of maintaining a lawn, dealing with a diseased lawn and don't have the budget to get new sod, or want a drought-resistant garden? In the 41st installment of Gardening Tips & Tricks, I will give you tips on flipping your lawn to an attractive, water-wise garden, especially if you live in a dry climate. This will be a 3-part series, so ensure you have joined my group and hit the notification bell. Let's dig in! First, it's important to decide the space you have that includes: 🌞 Light - Do you have trees that give your lawn shade? 🚰 Water system - Do you use an installed sprinkling system or a surface sprinkler that is manually moved to areas? 🏡 Design - Are you looking to just remove the diseased grass and create a garden, so it's part lawn and garden, or do you want to remove all grass and install a rock garden with pockets of plants throughout the yard? Or do you want to create a produce garden? Parts one & two will go through the lawn removal process; part three will discuss the best plants for a water-wise garden. 📦 The easiest way to transform your lawn into a garden is by a process called Sheet-mulching, where you place biodegradable material such as cardboard boxes (ask Home Depot or Costco/Sams Club) or old newspapers and lay them down on the grass you want to flip. Ensure it's a thick covering and wet the material to ensure it molds to the grass. So there are no gaps for the grass to come up through, ensure the boxes/newspapers overlap like roof tiles at the edges of the grass. TIP: Remove any tape or stickers on the boxes, as they won't break down and will stay in the soil after decomposing. Also, don't use any shiny or glossy material since most are made from plastic and won't decompose. After, you have two options: 1️⃣ Cover the cardboard layer with 6 plus inches of compost or topsoil. 2️⃣ Cover with 4 plus inches of mulch. The compost/mulch helps to smother the grass. Using the compost/topsoil option, you can plant your new garden as you would with an existing garden. However, it can get expensive to get that much compost. If you have access to a lot of mulch, you can just spread it all over the cardboard; it's also less expensive. TIP: Sign up for ChipDrop to get wood chips delivered to your door for free or at a very low cost. You can also ask a local farmer if they have old, spoiled hay or straw, which they can give you for free. Or collect leaves from your trees or neighbors, which you can use as grass covering as well. Part two will go into cutting out grass and replacing it with rock, creating a garden that way. Happy Gardening!! ____________________________________ Hi, thanks for reading, and if you joined my gardening group, welcome! Please like, comment, and share, and follow me on IG @ hotmamagardener; visit my website jewelswrites.blogspot.com & sub to Musings & Mysteries.

“If you stay with him, I can go pick up a pesticide. There’s got to be a local place where I can grab some around here. Depending on what you're looking for, you can find one with the components that make up arsenic: phosphorus, nitrogen, antimony, and bismuth, which can result in severe effects if given enough. Since arsenic is odorless, colorless, and tasteless, it’s hard to detect. I'll give him enough in the water bottle for effects to occur, and it will cause nausea and vomiting, maybe even convulsions, and then shock. By the time he's found, the cut will have already healed, and they'll find the chemicals in his system and probably determine the ex-wife poisoned him and either she dumped him or paid someone to do it. We'll all be in the clear." I stand there shocked, unable to move or say anything. I can’t believe Grant’s solution is to kill him, but I can’t lose my family. I don't how much he would have to give him to do the trick, but I don't want him to suffer. “I’ll clean up everything, so when the police search the cabin, they won’t see anything suspect. They will search the lake area and maybe even think he drowned when they can’t find him. By the time they dredge the lake, if they do, it could be days or weeks. Of course, an investigation will be opened, but it will take months or longer. Meanwhile, his body will be driven to Utah and dumped in his ex's front yard. She'll find his body eventually, and they will arrest her as the main suspect.” My mind is spinning. It could work, but his ex isn’t to blame; she’s as much a victim as I am. I can’t do that to her. I shake my head and say, “I don’t want anything to do with this.” “Look, leave it up to me. I won’t tell you anything until it’s done. Leave the cabin, go home, and act like everything is normal. I will get some guys to help, but they won’t do it for free.” I sigh. This would solve my problem. I wouldn’t have anything to do with it. But, then I think about the money. I'm paying these people to dump a body that my buddy killed. Oh god, if I'm found out ... I sigh deeply. “Fine, I’ll pay them $10,000 each, and you, $20,000 for giving him the arsenic and cleaning everything up. But, there can be NO evidence, nothing tying it back to me.” And then I wonder how I'm going to send money without some kind of trail. I'll need to worry about that later. Grant nods and says, “Don’t worry, and thanks for the money. It will help; I could use some additional money right now. My aunt doesn’t know I emptied her savings account on gambling. I still owe about $10,000.” I shake my head. “I thought you stopped that.” “Yeah, well, it’s hard taking care of an aunt with dementia and child support for two kids.” I did understand that. I would be doing the same thing if Melanie and I divorced. “What do we say to him?” I slightly turn my head towards Troy. “You tell him I went back to town to get some medical supplies and some food, and you’ll be here to ensure he doesn’t fall asleep.” “Okay.” “I’ll be back in about twenty minutes, hopefully. There's got to be a nursery, Home Depot, or Lowes out of the forest. It took about ten minutes to get in here, so when I get out, I can use my phone to locate a place. When I get back, I’ll clean him up, dress his head, and then we’ll eat. After, you’ll pretend you forgot to call the kids for some reason and that you’ll be back in a bit after you get out of the forest and get better cell reception. I’ll give him some bottled water; before too long, he’ll start feeling the effects of the arsenic, and I will be here as the medical know-it-all. I’ll get my guys to do their thing, and viola, you rid yourself and your family of this problem. Give me four days since driving will take at least three days and then one day to ensure it’s nighttime when they dump his body.” Could it work? He’s already injured. Grant giving them the pesticide in his water will cause his death, and a medical examiner will know that's what killed him. I’ve got to take the risk – for my family. “Okay, but you had better clean up good, so no trace is left behind.” “You got it. Just keep him talking, or at least awake." I return to Troy, who is still sitting on the couch, his head flopped back, his eyes closed. “Hey, Troy, wake up,” I clap my hands. He bolts awake. “You can’t sleep, man.” I then wonder why we couldn’t let him go to sleep, and if he slips into an unconscious state and we leave him here, then we’re not liable for what happens. But then, what if he does wake up and leaves, immediately going to the police? I’m not a doctor, and we can’t really know if he’s got a concussion and how serious it is. No, Grant’s right. We have to do it his way. “I’m going into town for some medical supplies; see if we can bandage your head,” Grant heads for the door. “Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, man,” I tell him. He slams the door behind him. Now what? I have a man who looks a mess; I can’t let him sleep; I must keep him talking. “So, Troy, tell me about yourself.” Oh God, I sound like I’m interviewing him for a job. “Are you kidding?” “Look, I don’t want to do this anymore than you, but I have to keep you awake, so unless you want to fall asleep and end up in a coma, it's time to talk.” “Fine. I was born in Salt Lake City and have two brothers and one sister. Went to the University of Utah and graduated with a BA in Civil Engineering.” His eyes start to close again. I snap my fingers, and his eyes pop open. “Met my wife, Deanna, got married a year later, and within five years, popped out three kids, a girl, and two boys. We moved to Grantsville shortly after the oldest was born.” He’s slurring his words, and his head keeps falling forward. “What are your hobbies?” I don’t give a shit about them, but I have to keep him talking. “Like to hike, travel, plant cool things, watch true crime, you know the basics.” “What plants have you grown?” He closes his eyes again. “Can’t I just sleep? I’m so tired.” I’ve got to really wake him up, so I walk into the kitchen, take the glass Grant took out of the cupboard, fill it with water, and walk straight back to him and dump the whole glass over his head. Troy jumps back. “What the fuck?” “You have to stay awake.” Troy wipes the dripping water from his face and rakes his fingers through his hair. Dry blood mingles with the water and runs down his neck. “Now, tell me what it was like growing up.” “Oh shit, man, I don’t want to talk about that.” All men seem alike – they never want to talk about their childhood, but women can talk for hours. “Work with me, Troy.” He sighs deeply and sits back. At least now, he looks fully awake. I enjoyed making him squirm – I may have to do that again. “My mom stayed at home with us until I was about 8. I’m the youngest. My dad was in the Military – Navy-Marine. He was strict, gave us tons of chores, and sometimes did things with us when he was on base, but we all moved with him whenever he was transferred. I’ve lived in California, Nevada, Washington, Texas, Indiana - about ten states. Every year or so, we left and transferred to another state. I was always the new kid.” If he weren’t banging my wife, I’d feel sorry for what he went through. “My dad liked to get drunk when not working, and you know, smack us around. We probably deserved it, but my mom didn’t.” He clenches his jaw, and I notice his hand balling into a fist. “That’s rough,” I say, unsure what else to say. “Yeah, it was more than rough; it was a nightmare.” I turn my wrist over and check my Apple watch for the time. Grant’s been gone only ten minutes. Hopefully, he gets here soon. “So, Civil Engineering, huh?” “Yeah, my grandpa was one and taught me everything I know, but decided to get a degree so I could get a good paying job. It was the one thing I could focus on when my dad was screaming at my mom. He was a bastard and ran out on her when I was 13.” I shake my head and roll my eyes, “Like father, like son.” “Yeah, I know.” I punch back. "You had an affair, ruined two relationships, and ran out on your family. I’m sure your dad is proud.” “Was. He kicked the bucket when I turned 30; the booze did him in, ended up with liver cancer. I found out about it, and six months later, he was dead. Good fucking riddance.” I have to calm down, so I quickly go to the bathroom, leaving him to think about what he did to his ex-wife. When I come back out, he's drinking from the water bottle Grant gave him earlier. I don't know what else to grill him on, so I reluctantly tell him about myself, hoping to pass the time. We have some things in common, and if it weren't for him having sex with my wife, we could have been friends. Of course, he grew up in Utah, so it would have never happened, but still, he has some good qualities about him. A few minutes later, I hear Grant’s pickup approaching.  “Looks like my buddy is back. He’ll patch you up good.” Grant walks in, carrying two sacks. “Hey, need to take a piss,” Troy says and heads to the bathroom. I follow Grant into the kitchen. "I found this at a local nursery about five minutes out of the forest, he says, putting the plastic bag on the counter. He takes out a square bottle. “It's a pesticide that has the same chemicals as organic arsenic. Make sure he doesn’t see anything,” he says, turning his head and motioning to the bathroom door. “Look, man, I don’t know if this is a good idea.” Yes, Troy is a shithead for the affair, but he doesn’t deserve to die. “Nah, man, you’re not backing out on this It will be over quickly. You can go home and get on with your life.” He stashes the bottle under the sink when he hears the bathroom door open. He then reaches into the same sack and pulls out the medical kit. “How’s the head, man?” Troy rubs his forehead; a large bump now shows visibly. “It’s all right – feels like a golf ball, though. Getting a killer headache.” “Yeah, that happens when you slam your head on concrete. I got some Ibuprofen, but let’s get some lunch first.” Troy nods, and I watch Grant put a paper bag on the counter and take out the cheese, ham, turkey, shredded lettuce, a bag of chips, a six-pack of Coors, bread, and mayo. It’s like we’re having a party. He starts building the sandwiches and then brings one over to Troy with the bag of Doritos and a can of beer. “Here, eat. He thrusts the food and drink before him, and Troy takes it all. “Thanks, man.” I make my sandwich and pull one of the beers out of the plastic thingy holding them together. We all sat and ate in silence. I pop the beer tab and hear a  I take a long drink but then put it down. I better not drink too much. The last thing I need is to be pulled over driving home because I’m drunk. I don’t hold my liquor well. Grant gets my attention about fifteen minutes later and points to his phone. It’s time. Damn, I’m leaving Troy in his hands, and I don’t have any clue what will happen. But it’s too late to change my mind. “Oh hey, I forgot to call my kids and see how their day with my parents went. They went to the zoo.” Oh, good grief I’m the worst liar. “Since there’s no reception here, I’m going to quickly get out of the forest, call them, and come right back. Shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes, fifteen, tops.” “Okay, Grant says in between bites. “I'll stitch and bandage him up until you get back.” “Yeah, sure,” Troy says. “K –” I say. My hands are sweaty, and I don’t want to do this, but there’s no going back. I look at Troy one last time as Grant opens the medical kit and removes the dressings, and then I open the cabin door, never to see him again. On my way down the road in the car, I keep glancing up at the review mirror, but it's just me. I slam my foot on the gas pedal. I must get out of here - fast. It isn't until I’m out of Sargants Ponds that I can breathe and slow down, but I keep thinking a cop will pull out behind me, and I’ll hear the red and blue siren. When I'm out of the forest, I turn on the radio. The Long Island Expressway is minutes away. And within the hour, I'll be home. I start smiling. Troy will no longer be a problem. It’s time to heal.

The next morning, I wake up, and Melanie is already up and gone. It’s like she can’t even stand to be in our bed at the same time. Our life was great before the incident; she blamed me. I don’t know if that’s why she had an affair, but I’m not the one who killed someone and then had her spouse cover it up, and then two years later, has an affair and wants a divorce. We haven’t said anything to the kids, but honestly, I doubt they would care. They know their mom loves her job more than she loves them. Can you imagine living with a mother who couldn’t care less about what you did or didn’t do? I worry about Jayden and whether he will rebel and do something to get her attention, even if it’s bad. Kirsten is only six but seems to be in her own world with her YouTube Kids videos, books, and ballet. Melanie more than once told me to take her to a psychiatrist because she has the signs of autism, but I think she’s wrong. This is how she copes with a neglectful mother. I try to pay special attention to her and take her on daddy-daughter dates, which she enjoys. I tell her Melanie is struggling with work and often has to travel, but she loves her, yada yada. I don’t think she buys it. After lunch and saying goodbye to the kids, I put the Lexus in reverse and back out of the garage. If I time it right, I should be at the cabin around 1:45-2:00, depending on the Long Island Expressway traffic.  I texted Grant about thirty minutes ago, and he said he would be on his way around 1:00, just ten minutes away. The plan is to get there, talk to Troy, and have Grant show up shortly after for backup if needed. It's Saturday afternoon, and the expressway is busy but not too bad. By the time I reach the cabin road, it’s 1:42, shorter than I expected. I text Grant, and he’s fifteen minutes away, which makes me nervous. I only want to be here for ten minutes – max. I drive the winding road to the cabin, glance out the window, and see the clear blue lake, the sun shimmering on the surface. It takes me back to swimming with Melanie here, with no one around. It was our paradise, but now, I know she’s taken Troy here, and it hurts. I see Troy’s Range Rover parked on the side of the cabin. I think about his wife and kids. Do they know anything happening, that their husband and father is having an affair with a married woman with her own kids? I roll my fist into a ball as I sit, waiting a few minutes. The dark brown log cabin looks dark, so I wonder if he’s down by the lake. I get out and look through the windows and see no one, although I do notice a glass sitting on the coffee table and a sweater laid over the back of the chair. The two-story cabin isn’t huge; five wide steps lead to a deck of some sort. It has two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a small closet in the hall, with a loft on the second floor - two windows jutting out. Melanie decorated it, of course, buying the best furniture money could buy. On the outside, it doesn’t look like much, with a few boxwood shrubs and azaleas on the east side, but when you step in, you see beautiful dark cherry oak paneling, which matches the flooring. White granite counters in the kitchen match the appliances to contrast with the wood. A large rectangular cherry walnut table features six matching chairs and a centerpiece of fake silk light pink roses, red zinnias, purple ranunculus, and eucalyptus nicely arranged in a crystal vase, with baby's breath to accent them. The living room boasts a deep blue sectional with creme pillows and a large TV with a surround sound system. A large framed oil painting of Jean-Baptise Joseph Pater's   towers over it. A dark blue comforter adorns a king-sized bed in the guest bedroom, with another oil painting of Paris, but the scene is  by Alexander Rusu, an iconic painting from the 1930s. A deep cherry oak dresser directly across the bed. A side table on each side of the bed matches the dark wood. I installed a fan in each bedroom since summers can get quite hot. The master bedroom has a deep maroon comforter and the same furniture. Two framed portraits of Long Island and Upstate, our two homes, are above the bed and the dresser. I walk by the lake and see Troy lying on a lawn chair, a beer sitting on a small table. As I get closer, I can see earbuds sticking out of his ears and his eyes closed. I stare at the man who ruined my marriage, and for just a moment, I fantasize what it would be like to … I snap back to reality. He doesn’t know I’m here, so I tap his shoulder. Troy snaps his head up and sees me looking at him. He pulls out his earbuds and sits up. “Jeff.” “Troy,” I say back. “What’s up?” I say as if I didn’t know he’s been banging my wife. “Listen, I’ll only be a few minutes. I know you’re having an affair with Melanie."Troy's eyes bulge out, but then they soften, and I can detect a hint of victory. "Yeah, it’s been going on for a year.” The smug look on Troy’s face makes me angry. “Yeah, well, she needs a real man, and you’re not it,” he says and gets up. I step back, not sure what will happen next. “Well, if you knew what Melanie did ten years ago, you may think she’s not a real woman.” He waves his hand away. “Oh,  Yeah, I know. She told me what happened. And she told me it was   fault.” He folded his arms, and the same smug look returned. I didn’t expect this. I thought it would take a few minutes to spill the beans, not that Troy would already know. “You know, your little plan of supposedly telling me about Melanie’s dastardly crime and me shocked would leave her, and you could be a wonderful family again failed spectacularly.” The anger boils up, my face getting red, my heart racing. He came closer to me, chest-to-chest. “You will never get her back,” Troy says. The thoughts spin through my mind, take over, and fear grips my soul. My family is gone; my kids will be broken up, and my dream of the perfect family will be destroyed. I didn’t know what to say, but I couldn’t let Troy ruin what I spent a decade building. He would not win. “Oh, you have no idea what I’m capable of, so don’t push me.” Troy was easily three inches taller than me, but I had muscle strength he didn’t have. I push him back from invading my space. Troy is taken aback but comes at me, pushing my shoulders. The rage built up in my body, and before I could stop myself, I felt my arm swing back, my fist balling up, and then strike his face. Troy almost falls backward from the blow. His nose is bloody. “You son of a bitch. You will pay for that.” He comes at me, but I duck his advances and charge at him, grabbing his legs and pulling him down, then climbing on his chest. “This won’t end well for you,” I say, my eyes bulging, the adrenaline flooding my body. “What are you going to do? Kill me?” He’s challenging me, but I’m not a murderer like my wife. “No, I’m not a murderer. But you will stop seeing my wife. If you don’t, I will release to the media who you really are.” Troy’s eyes expand as the fear arrives. “Oh, I guess you didn’t know what my private investigator dredged up about you.” Troy gulps hard. “Look, man, that was a long time ago. It’s behind me; if you tell the media, my life is ruined. I’ll leave Melanie, but please don’t say a word.” I smile. I now have the upper hand, and he knows it. Some time ago, Troy got in hot water with the feds when he trespassed on government property with his buddies and nearly burned a city building down after lighting fireworks off on the Fourth of July and catching dry brush on fire. He was arrested and had to spend 90 days in jail, pay a fee of $3,000, and complete 120 service hours. He was 18. “That’s better.” I get off him, and he wipes the blood from his nose with his sleeve. “You will tell her it's over when she returns from Florida next week. Got it?” He nods. “Fine. Just leave me alone.” He backs away and grabs his beer. “I want you out of my cabin now. Go get your stuff and get out.” “Jeesh, okay. Chill,” he says and then starts towards the cabin. He starts up the five stairs, and I start to follow but stop when I see Troy trip over his feet on the last step and fall forward hard, landing on the concrete pad that led to the door. A  stuns me, and Troy isn’t moving. My first thought is that he hit his head and was knocked out. I run up the steps and pull Troy on his back, blood flowing from his head. I panic. Suddenly, I see Grant running through the trees toward me. “What the hell, Jeff? What happened?” “I – I don’t know. One minute he’s going up the stairs, and the next, he falls forward, landing on his face. It's a lot of blood.” Grant kneels and presses his ear to his chest. “He’s breathing.” I watch more blood seep out of his head and press my hand to his head to staunch the flow. After a few minutes, we drag him off the pad and on the ground. I pull off my shirt and wrap it around his head tightly, noticing a deep cut on the corner. I don’t even have a medical kit. “Damn, this wasn’t supposed to happen. If I tell the police, there’s no way to prove I didn’t hurt him. I fought with him. My prints are all over. What am I going to do?” I pace back and forth, running my hands through my hair. “Okay. What’s in the cabin?” I look at him strangely. “What do you mean?” “Do you have anything we can give him that would look like suicide, like meds?” At first, I'm stunned Grant would say something like that, but then it may not be such a bad idea if he dies here. I think about what’s in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I doubt any meds have been sitting here for years. I shake my head. This is crazy. He’s not dead yet. Maybe we can save him. “Okay, let me think.” At this point, I don't notice more blood soaking my gray t-shirt, so it must be stopping, and I hear moaning. Grant and I whip our heads around and see Troy trying to get up and then fall back. “Don’t get up. You fell and cut your head. I think most of the blood has stopped by now, but you probably need stitches," I tell him. “What the hell happened?” He puts his hand to his head and quickly takes it off, sticky blood covering his hand. I have to think fast. Doesn’t he know we fought before he tripped and fell – that I threatened him? “Don’t you remember?” I say. “I remember you following me to the cabin so I could leave, and then all went black. Did you do this to me?” I shake my head aggressively. “No, you tripped and fell on your face, hitting your forehead on the cement pad.” His eyes look swollen, and his cheeks and forehead are a deep purple. If we clean him up and still use the threat against him, he can leave, and we can go back home, no harm, no foul. Grant looks at me, the deep grooves etched in between his eyebrows. “Hey, Jeff, can I talk to you a minute?” Troy stares at Grant; confusion dots his face. “Who’s this?” Troy says. “A friend. I contacted him when you fell and passed out,” I lie. But Grant does have some medical experience, as he was in medical school for three years. We help Troy back into the cabin. “Man, I feel so dizzy,” Troy says, “and I want to sleep.” “Dude, you have a concussion. You can’t go to sleep right now,” Grant says. “Where’s your cups?” I point to the cabinet. He pulls out a plastic cup and opens the fridge. A few water bottles sit on the shelf, so he pulls one out and opens it up, leaving the cup on the counter. He comes over and tells Troy to drink some water. “This will help,” he says. I stare at Troy. How did the day go so wrong? He can’t drive home. I will have to drive him myself and hope he doesn’t fall asleep. And what if Melanie finds out? Would she go to the police? The panic starts up again. How long do we stay here? Because as I look at Troy, he looks pretty beat up. I have to talk to Grant.  Should we leave him here? If he falls asleep, then the effect of the concussion takes over.  But the only people who know we’re here are me and Grant, but what if someone saw my car go down the cabin road? I get Grant away from Troy and ask him what we should do. “If I drive him home, what will he say? Will he tell Melanie? He could say I tried to kill him. I can’t let that happen.” Grant looked lost in thought. “Alright, hear me out,” he says, and I wait as he hesitates and then says something so crazy… It might just work.

Tomorrow is the day I head to the cabin to settle this whole affair thing with Troy Carmicheal. Melanie leaves for Florida tomorrow evening, and my parents are taking the kids for the weekend before they head to summer camp for the summer next Monday. I worked from home last week to stay with the kids and am exhausted. They go in early June and come back the first week of August. They love going and meeting tons of friends, and it gives them things to do instead of being bored all summer. It’s expensive but worth it. I contacted Grant and gave him the time I expected to be there, and he said he’d be there shortly after. His flight comes in tonight, so he’ll stay in a hotel and then drive to the cabin in Upstate New York in a secluded but gorgeous area at Sargents Ponds Wild Forest. Melanie and I used to go to the cabin for the weekend when the kids were little. It was our getaway place to unwind, drink wine, swim in the lake, and, well, you know. It’s been over four years since we’ve been there. I go every few months to maintain it and ensure no one has broken in and squatted there, but I rarely stay the night. It’s about 45 minutes from where we live, but far enough to feel like we were on vacation. Grant knew about the affair and said he wasn’t surprised and that Melanie seemed sketchy from the beginning, but I never listened because I was in love and, well, stupid. We lived together for a year before I asked her to marry me. I had taken her to lunch in Central Park, New York City’s famous park. I had hired a small orchestra to come and serenade us with her favorite song: All of Me by John Legend. She sang it to me on our first anniversary of dating, so I figured it would be a hit when I proposed a year later. I was right. Jayden came a year later and Kirsten three years later, and we were complete. Melanie told me she was getting her tubes tied because pregnancy didn’t “agree with me.” I couldn’t blame her. She was sick with both kids, Jayden was a week late, and Kristen was nearly ten days late. They were both nearly 8 pounds at birth, and although she lost the baby weight fairly quickly, she hated the stretch marks left on her stomach and thighs. I thought she looked beautiful, and still do. “When’s dinner?” Jayden flies into the living room after doing his homework. He plops down on the couch and grabs the remote. He’s my mini-me, with the same dark brown hair and eyes and the crooked smile he flashes when getting his photo taken. He has his mom’s lips and nose, but there’s no doubt he’s my son. Kirsten has beautiful, long, naturally curly auburn hair like her mom, with emerald eyes that pop out when she’s angry. At only six, she has the same fire in her as Melanie. But unlike her friends, she likes science and watches YouTube videos about anything and everything in the field. She matter-of-factly told me she wanted to be a scientist when she grew up. I believe her. “Fried chicken is on the grill, sport.” Jayden punches the air. It’s his favorite meal during the summer. I have a secret recipe handed down from generation to generation. Potato salad, fresh watermelon, and strawberry lemonade complete the meal. Before the kids head to summer camp, we go on vacation together, and since they’re only gone eight weeks, they still have three weeks at home before school starts again, so we have time to grill and hang out at the local park. We sometimes head to the city for summer events. Kirsten comes in a few minutes later with her iPad and sits on the chair. Between her and Jayden, they are the complete opposite. He loves sports; she loves ballet. She is prim and proper, always with her hair combed nicely and wearing designer clothes Melanie bought her. Jayden wears whatever clean clothes he can find and rakes his fingers through his hair to “comb it.” It didn’t really bother him if he didn’t shower, but in a few years, when puberty hits, he will need to shower daily. Melanie walks through the door, shuts it, and goes straight upstairs. I give her a few minutes to unwind before asking about her day since she often tells me, “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it now.” Sometimes, I wait until after dinner when she’s more open to talking. I would rather wait than provoke her wrath. I head out back to check on the chicken. The smell permeates my senses, and I realize how hungry I am. I open the grill hood, turn the chicken over, and check the juices.  I go back in and grab the watermelon, potato salad, and lemonade from the fridge, balancing them in my hands while I bump the fridge door to shut it. After pulling out the paper plates, utensils, and cups, I take out one of our large pans, load the food and utensils on it and go back out. We have a large patio with a glass table and six soft-cushioned chairs. The patio shades the setting, so we don’t worry about the weather. Our three-story home sits on a two-acre piece of land nestled on the east end of Long Island. It’s only five minutes to the Atlantic Ocean, and in Spring and Fall, we would have days at the beach, enjoying the weather. Melanie decorated everything in the house and then told me after. I didn’t get a say, but I didn’t mind. She has good taste, and everything was professionally designed and decorated by her good friend, Jalice, one of the best interior decorators on the island. The house was new when we moved into the gated community, and I had a clean slate to work with in the yard. We planted some crabapple and cherry blossom trees, Oakleaf hydrangeas that I got to turn blue by adding lots of acid, and some strawberry, raspberry, and blackberry bushes alongside our back fence. On the east side, some boxwoods make for a nice hedge, and on the west, there’s a large gondola for shade, with ivy growing up the sides and over the top. A large water fountain sits adjacent to the pool I installed a few years later. It took me time to earn the high six figures I make now, but I’m glad the kids go to a private school and can do things I never could growing up in Grantsville. We lived in a modest home, but we rarely went on vacation. And my dad was a farmer, so there wasn’t much money to feed a family of six, but somehow, he did. My mom did Avon and Tupperware for years and made some good money, but that went into our college fund. All four kids, two sons and two daughters left the state and graduated. I went to NYU to be where I wanted to work, Wall on Street. It’s not easy breaking into that company, and I worked my butt off, but I made it. I’m a good stockbroker, so I make the big bucks. The chicken was done, and we all went out back to eat. Melanie was distant, as she surfed on her phone most of the time and would only say, “Uh huh, okay,” to the kids, talking to them about their day. They gave up, and I tried to fill in the gaps so they knew they were being listened to and that I cared. Later that night, I lit into Melanie. “You’ve said like two words to the kids today,” I said, pulling off my shoes and laying them by the bed. I pull my head up and look at her, still on her phone. Silence. “Melanie, did you even hear me?” She tore herself away and gave me a pouty look, her eyebrows pulled down, and her lips pursed. “Yes, I heard you.” “Well …” “Well, what? She turns her arm outward like she’s confused as to why I said that. “They were just telling me about what you did with them – the perfect father.” Her eyes bore into me; she huffed and then returned to her phone. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing. They think you’re wonderful and could do no wrong, but if they knew what I know, they might not love their father so much.” Melanie will never let me live this down: the day she accidentally killed a man because she thought he was breaking into the house, even though I told him the code so he could come in and install our cables for our network. I thought she wouldn’t be home for another hour, and the technician would have been gone by then. Melanie punched in the code when she left work early to meet Troy. She saw the stranger kneeling in the office, but before asking any questions, she pulled out her 9-millimeter Glock 19 pistol and pulled the trigger. She hit his back, and the man yelled in agony, but instead of calling the police, she fired one more bullet into his head. That did the trick – he was dead. She just left him there and then called me and told me what happened. I rushed home and immediately called the police. Melanie told them she thought he was a burglar and shot him in self-defense. I didn't even know she owned a gun, but I remember she was paranoid about everything, so I shouldn't have been surprised. When they found the body, a knife (one Melanie pulled from our knife block and used to wipe his fingerprints on) was laid next to him. I was shocked but went along with it. If the police knew she had murdered him, I would have lost her.   The police matched the fingerprints to the knife and that was that, but I never forgot what my wife did, and I helped cover it up. This was before our marriage and kids. “What  did? Melanie, you killed someone,” I say, whispering. “I thought he had broken in and was defending myself. You never told me he would be there.” “You weren’t supposed to be home for another hour,” I shoot back. We have had this conversation numerous times, and she uses it as a weapon against me when she needs to be the victim. “Wow, I come home early for the first time in a year, and I’m supposed to know YOU allowed someone to come into my home and install wires. I guess I should have asked questions and then shot.” “Yeah, you should have. Didn’t you notice his uniform before you murdered him?” She snaps her head back. “I didn’t see the logo since it was on the front of his shirt, and he had his back to me. Don’t you  blame this on me. What would you have done? Oh, never mind,” she flips her hand back, “you would have only pointed the gun and asked him what he was doing there. Well, I’m not you. I feared for my life. Women get murdered far more than men, and he could have tried to sexually assault me.” I want to tell her it’s her paranoia sickness, but think better of it. The last thing I need to do is trigger more anger. She has the last word – always. I wave her off and walk into the bathroom. It’s no good arguing with her. As my dad used to say, “Sometimes it’s easier to shut your mouth and keep the peace than to argue and ruin your day.” My parents have been married for 40 years, but I don’t know if Melanie and I will last 15, let alone 40 years. I return, Melanie’s light is off, and the covers are pulled over her. I think about tomorrow. I will leave shortly after Melanie leaves for the airport, around 1:00 p.m. Her flight doesn’t leave until nearly 5:00, but she worries that traffic will keep her from getting there on time, and she will miss her flight. I know Troy went there tonight and would be there until Sunday. I just need five minutes to tell him what I know and for him to call off the affair, or I may have to buy him off. It doesn’t matter; I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to get Melanie back. Hopefully, I don’t have a problem with Troy.

PART THREE THE EX The bitch. I knew something was going on with her and Troy, but I never thought she would leave me for  We have been together nearly ten years, and then this bastard walks into her life, and she leaves – no explanation except for, “I’m sorry, but I’ve been having an affair with a man I fell in love with. I want a divorce.” We have two kids: what about them? No, this isn’t acceptable. I’ve worked too hard to see my family destroyed. I will end this. Now, I know I can’t force Melanie to stop seeing him since she’s a grown-ass adult, but if he disappears, well …. And no, I won’t kill him. I’m not a sadist or maniac. I need to buy him off. I had to think strategically about this. I knew she would be at a conference in Florida, and Troy would be at the cabin for a week. She asked if I could take the kids while she was gone – a whole week without seeing them. I guess it doesn’t matter since she rarely sees them now. I care for the kids, prepare them for school, do their homework, and take them to soccer and ballet classes. Our son is 9, and our daughter is 6. We got married soon after college; I was 24, she was 22. I turn 34 next month, and Melanie will be 32 in December – Christmas Eve. Anyway, he will be at the cabin, so I will stop by to get his price, and that will be it. Yeah, I know, if he really loves her, he will tell me to go to hell, but not if I tell him the secret I’ve had about her for over ten years. You see, Melanie did something that could be considered unforgivable, but I did forgive her because I loved her, and it was partly my fault. Still, Troy doesn’t need to know that. I’ve spent too long mending fences and building our family to let it all be torn down. Once Troy’s gone, Melanie will be heartbroken, yes, but it will give me the opportunity to get her into therapy. She has refused to go for years, and it’s taken a toll. Her paranoid schizophrenia is worsening, and it’s been hard on the kids – and me. She tells me at least every week that someone is out to get the family. She won’t let the kids play outside or sometimes even on their phones unless she monitors everything. But they only have games and YouTube Kids. Still, she thinks some predator is out to kidnap and kill them. We live in a safe neighborhood in Long Island, New York, and I’m sure you’re wondering how Melanie even met Troy, who lives clear across the country in Utah, of all places. Well, he’s a mason and travels for work. I hired the company he works for to build our new home. Their reputation was stellar, and the company was in Grantsville, the city where my good buddy, Grant, lived and where I grew up before moving East to pursue my career. I knew the family who owned it and knew they were top-notch. Well, one thing led to another, and I knew something was going on, but I couldn’t prove it until I hired a private detective and confirmed my suspicions. I didn’t know how long it had been going on until she told me – over a year. Her conferences to Utah three times last year were supposedly for her job, as she’s an account executive for a top ad agency in New York. But I’m not stupid. I hired Detective Rangely for a pretty penny, and he followed her to Grantsville and took some pretty damning photos of the two of them. I knew in my heart it was true, but seeing them together broke my heart. Now, I thought about the possibilities of things going south while at the cabin, so I enlisted some help from Grant. If Troy threatens or attacks me, he will be waiting near a grove of trees. I don’t want to hurt him, but I won’t let him hurt me, either. The cabin  mine and has been in the family for decades. She gave him the keys to MY cabin. It’s half past 8:00 Wednesday morning when I get out of the shower. It’s getting warmer from the wet and cold winter we’ve had. May is my favorite time of year. It’s the time when I can start planting my gardens. I’m a horticulturist; well, it’s my hobby, not a career. I work as a stockbroker on Wall Street, taking after my father and grandfather. Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. I’ve made a lot of money investing in other people’s money. What’s not to love? I wipe the steam from the mirror and look at the man staring back. His dark brown hair shows signs of aging, with a few gray hairs at the sides and mingled with the rest. His jaw is strong and chiseled, and the abs are finally starting to pack on some muscle – not quite a six-pack – but if he continues working out and hiking every week, he’ll get there. He’s nearly 6 feet tall, not bad, and his sea blue eyes he got from his mom are his prominent features – at least, that’s what the women all said. Still, he doesn’t consider himself a “pretty boy” or “hot.” He has a long nose, small lips, and some annoying tics he’s had since childhood, diagnosed as mild Tourette’s. It means there are no yelling profanities or other major symptoms. He sometimes cricks his neck, constantly clears his throat, and twitches his eyes – something he lives with and tolerates, keeping things under control in social situations and at work. The kids are getting out of school next week, and then in late August, we all go on a Disney Cruise before they head back to school in early September. By then, Troy will be out of our lives, and Melanie and I may have mended a broken relationship. At least, this is my hope. I check my watch after slipping on my Christian Louboutin shoes I got from Saks; well, I didn’t buy them. Melanie did it for Christmas last year. She had never bought me expensive shoes, and looking back, I should have known she was being nice to me to assuage her guilt of having an affair. I take one last look in the downstairs mirror, patting down some strands of hair that seem to pop up daily due to my circular cowlick in the back of my head. My mother would get so frustrated trying to get it to stay down. I check around the house, ensuring the security system is ready, and head to the garage where my Lexus crossover sits. It’s perfect for four people, and since I’m the one who takes the kids everywhere, it has room for soccer balls, uniforms, a cooler for treats, and blankets. Melanie is always working and can never attend practices or even games. I once asked her why we even had kids if we weren’t both there for them. Her response: It’s MY time to play. Women have had to stay home for hundreds or thousands of years, and now it’s the men’s turn to stay home. I wished I had known her feelings before we had two kids because now, they have one parent and are always asking when mom will be home. What do I tell them, that they’re not wanted because it’s HER turn? I push the button on the side of the wall that opens the garage door. The sun is shining, and I feel warmth flood the garage when I step inside the Lexus. It will be nice to get away for a week with the kids; it seems like I haven’t had a vacation in years, and now that I think about it, the last time we went anywhere with them was to Disneyworld when Kirsten was 2, and Jayden was 5 – four years ago. I head to lower Manhattan about 9 miles west, but with traffic, it takes at least 35 minutes to get there. I’ve made this commute for over a decade now. Sometimes, I listen to a podcast while driving; other times, I put on Spotify and jam to my traffic playlist. (Yes, I do have one) Ten minutes into my drive, I get an alert on my GPS monitor from Apple Maps that traffic is backed up a few miles. Welcome to my life. Melanie leaves early for her office to miss it since she said it stresses her out to sit in traffic. She took the kids to school this morning since they missed the bus. I had worked late the night before and wanted to avoid getting up at 7:00 to get them to school. The bus comes right at 7:45 for the 8:15 bell, but sometimes, they play around and miss it. Melanie gets quite upset because she must be at her office by 8:30, her words, which is 30 minutes away. But she is the account executive, so coming in a few minutes late isn’t a big deal. She’s been at   in Brooklyn for over seven years now. We used to meet each other for lunch in Times Square. That all but stopped a few years ago. Our offices are about 10 minutes from each other, and we could carpool, but she goes in earlier than I do and stays later. It’s not a stretch for her to be gone by 7:00 a.m. and not home until 7:00 p.m. I often think about what went wrong. We were so in love, and then the affair happened. Well, I will rectify the situation, and Melanie will be mine again. It’s only a matter of time.

Time for a gardening post! Are you growing pumpkins for Halloween? In the 40th installment of Gardening Tips & Tricks, I put together a list of tips about pumpkins, especially preventing squash bugs, which are nasty critters that will decimate your pumpkins, squash, or other viny vegetables. Let's get into this! 🎃 Tip : Plant at the right time - if you're in the north, mid to late May is best; in the south, late June is best, so you should have yours already well underway. If you don't, here are tips for next year. One thing to note is that plants will rot before Halloween, so time it right! 🎃 Tip : Pumpkins will spread rapidly, so you need tons of room. They will crawl on the ground and send out shooters, and can take over entire gardens. Pumpkins can grow upwards of 40 feet! If there's not enough room, the plant will start shading itself and then rot as it needs a lot of sun. 🎃 Tip : Halloween pumpkins need a ton of sunlight - I'm talking at least 8-10 hours a day to grow big and healthy. And one plant can produce several pumpkins, so space them. 🎃 Tip : Pumpkins love water, so if you live in a drought-free area, have at it, but if you don't (like me) and still want to grow them, do it with a drip system. It saves tons of water and money. They need at least 2-4 inches per week, which, if you're not getting that type of rainfall, it's necessary to supplement them. 🎃 Tip : Plant your Halloween pumpkins with companion plants. The reason is to help prevent squash bugs, which are the killer of pumpkins. Ones to try include the following: - Catnip - Marigold - Nasturtiums - Petunias - Radishes - Mint 🎃 Tip : Keep the stem. When harvesting pumpkins, keep a long, healthy stem on the vine. This will help reduce the rotting process. 🎃 Tip : After Halloween, smash the pumpkins and use them as compost for your garden; they offer nutrients to help keep your soil and plants healthy and growing strong. Okay, if you're growing Halloween pumpkins, let me know in the comments and post a pic. This is one plant I have a hard time growing, so if you have had success, congrats! Next time, it's decorating time with pumpkins, so stay tuned! Happy Gardening! ____________________________________________________________ Hi, I've been a gardener for 30 years and love posting about my successes (and failures), so join my group, Gardening Tips & Tricks. Like, comment, share, and hit the 🔔 for when I post. If you love murder mysteries, sub to my newsletter, Musings & Mysteries, where I post my journey of finding a job and my novel, Asters & Arsenic: A Patrice Summers Mystery. Follow me on IG @hotmamagardner and check out my blog @ jewelswrites.blogspot.com