Jayden sits on the cement porch with his nose buried in his smartphone. I like him better this way.
Miles, on the other hand, repairs our backyard fence. No doubt he’s a little paranoid, but our place will be safer with secure boundaries. He’s got nails, wood planks, and two new support posts. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing, however. He keeps glancing at some “how to” guide and hesitating on his placements. His portable radio plays soft, upbeat music, which has him bobbing along to the beat. I’m sure he’ll do fine.
I walk over to my garden box and pull out my tools. No plants have sprouted. Have I done something wrong again? All I want is for something to go right.
“You’re a little stubborn, aren’t you?”
I glance up and find Ms. Timo standing in the opening to our fence, her squinted eyes locked on my garden. I sneer. “The book says the plants will grow eventually.”
“So you believe whatever people tell you, so long as it’s what you want to hear?”
“What do you want, old lady?” I snap.
“I want to help you,” she says. Before I respond, she shuffles into the backyard and keeps her sunhat tilted forward. The afternoon sun, blocked occasionally by the clouds, warms up the backyard more than any August I’ve experienced before.
“Why?” I ask as she kneels on the opposite side of my garden box. “You want my terrible fresh produce?”
Ms. Timo laughs. “Hardly. I just want to participate in some gardening. Ever since the arthritis hit, I’ve had trouble holding the tools. I had to give it up.”
“So you want to live vicariously through me.”
“Isn’t that what all grandmas want?”
I glance over my shoulder, making sure the others aren’t paying any attention. Then I glance back. “I’ll let you help—on one condition. You give me a better witness statement.”
Ms. Timo’s elderly face showcases her frown lines. I almost feel for her. Almost.
“I thought you got everything you needed?” she whispers.
“Yeah, well, apparently not. I’m also gonna need you to sign it.”
“Can I write it down?”
“Yeah, fine,” I state. “I need it soon.”
“All right.” Ms. Timo returns to her neutral expression as she pans her gray-blue eyes over my handiwork. “You’re gonna need to dig this all up.”
“What?” I ask, indignant. “Why?”
“The soil ain’t ready for planting, like I told you. You’re gonna need to dig this all up, and then you’re gonna have to toss the dirt in with some detritus. Crumpled leaves and the like. And then you need to make deeper holes.”
With a long exhale I get to work, ripping up all my effort and tossing it to the side in one massive pile. The task keeps my mind occupied, and for a moment, life is simple and easy. I like it. It feels right. And I never thought I’d be living in a house, in a suburb, working on a project with my neighbor while my significant other and his family enjoy the backyard. It’s quaint and new—experiences I’ve never had before.
I get to my sole “Miles radish” and leave it be. Ms. Timo points to it.
“You need to pull that out too.”
“No,” I say. “I like that one.”
“It’s going to die.”
“It hasn’t yet.”
“You’re smothering it. The soil is bad. There’s nowhere it can grow and no nutrients to get better.”
“So?”
“So you should pull it out and plant it in a better garden box, or you should throw it away.”
I touch the drooping leaves of the radish. It’s lived so long through sheer tenacity. “I like it just the way it is.”
Ms. Timo sighs. “I didn’t peg you for someone blinded by sentimentality.”
“Miles,” Lacy calls out. “Is it okay for me to use a knife?”
I stop my conversation and turn to the girls. They’ve cleared a space to set up two small blocks of wood. What’re they doing that requires a knife? Miles must think the same thing because he stops his hammering to stare at them with a furrowed brow.
“We’re whittling,” Shannon says as she throws her long braid over her shoulder. “My dad showed me how to do it. You take a knife and you cut away from your body until you make a shape. I made a bird once.”
Although Miles seems uncertain, he eventually nods. “All right. Be careful.”
Shannon claps once and then scoots closer to Lacy. “This is going to be awesome, you’ll see. And once my mom and dad get back, I’m sure they can show us all sorts of cool tricks. My dad made a bear with a fish in its mouth. It’s beautiful.”
I turn back to Ms. Timo. “Remind me again—which one of us is blinded by sentimentality?”
“This is different,” she replies. “Shannon is happy right now.”
“Uh-huh.”
Miles takes a moment to get a drink and mess with his radio. I watch as he splashes water over his face and his thick black hair, though I don’t make any comments or draw attention to my staring. Ms. Timo notices, on the other hand.
“He’s a good-lookin’ boy,” she comments.
I nod.
“He might be more comfortable working in all this heat if he weren’t wearing a shirt.”
I turn my attention back to her. She’s staring just as hard as I was. “He’s mine,” I state. I guess it’s only natural women would be interested in him. Still. Since when did lecherous old hags become a thing?
“Pish posh,” Ms. Timo says. “Do you really think your handsome young friend would elope with a soggy old biscuit like myself? Let an old lady have her fun.”
Heh. Her straightforward request strikes a chord with me. With a quick chuckle I concede her point. Miles hasn’t expressed an interest in elderly women. Fine.
“Miles,” I call out to him. “Give me your shirt. I
