I watched something precious to me get crushed into the dirt, only to be told it was no big deal. I went inside furious, never expecting what I\u2019d see across the street the following morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The motorcycle roared past my kitchen window so loudly that the glass rattled! I gripped the sink\u2019s edge until my knuckles turned white. My hands were still damp from washing my coffee cup. I already knew, before I even looked, that the sound meant trouble on my street again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I peeked through the curtain and watched Tyler swing around the corner on his shiny red bike, his helmet dangling from the handlebars as if he thought traffic laws were a suggestion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLord have mercy,\u201d I muttered. \u201cThat boy\u2019s going to break his neck, and half the neighborhood\u2019s going to send flowers just to be sure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019ve lived in this house for almost 30 years. My husband, Abraham, carried me over the threshold when my hair was still brown, and my knees still worked without complaint.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The summer we moved in, he spent every free weekend on his hands and knees in the front yard, digging up sod and hauling bags of soil. When he was done, he\u2019d built a flower garden for me right by the walkway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He\u2019d built a flower garden.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My husband had planted red and yellow flowers because those were the colors he brought me every single anniversary, wrapped in brown paper from the local florist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo you never forget what day it is,\u201d he used to tease.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re the one who forgets, Abraham. I just play along.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He passed 11 years ago this March. I kept the garden exactly where he left it, and every spring, I planted new red and yellow blooms in his memory. They weren\u2019t expensive flowers. But they mattered to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Every morning, I filled my watering can and tended that bed as if it were a small, breathing thing. Some mornings, I even talked to it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Across the street, Denise would be out on her porch with her broom, sweeping the same three boards she\u2019d swept the day before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My neighbor was in her early 60s, still full of pep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMorning, Ember,\u201d she\u2019d call over. \u201cGarden\u2019s looking loud today!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLoud is the point, Denise!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAbraham would be proud!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAbraham would say I\u2019m overwatering!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We\u2019d laugh, and that was most mornings for the last few years. Warm, easy, the kind of neighbor a widow was grateful for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then summer arrived, and Tyler came with it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tyler was 22, home from college, and the son of my neighbor Gerald, who owned half the storefronts in town. Everyone knew the family had money, and his son wore it like cologne. Tyler was loud and spoiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For months, he\u2019d rev that motorcycle late at night, parking sideways across driveways to block them, and cutting corners through people\u2019s lawns as if the whole block belonged to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By fall, the neighborhood was tired of him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The family had money.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d watched my next-door neighbor, Mr. Petersen, go out three times to ask him nicely. Tyler had smiled, nodded, and done it again the following night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSomebody ought to say something to Gerald,\u201d Mr. Petersen told me one afternoon over the fence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSomebody ought to. Nobody will. You know how it is. Half the folks on this street rent from that man.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd the other half owe him a favor,\u201d my neighbor said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d watched my next-door neighbor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now, watching Tyler tear down the road toward the cul-de-sac that Saturday afternoon, I felt that same little itch under my ribs. He\u2019d been getting bolder every week, cutting closer to porches and skimming closer to mailboxes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOne of these days,\u201d I said to the empty kitchen, \u201cthat boy is going to pick the wrong yard.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The motorcycle turned and came roaring back down my street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not two minutes later, that wrong yard was mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I felt that same little itch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I turned away to do something, and by the time I reached the window, Tyler came ripping around the corner. He swung wide, cut off the road, and drove his back tire straight through Abraham\u2019s flower bed!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I heard the crunch before I saw it. That soft, awful pop of stems giving up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn\u2019t run. Seventy-one-year-old women don\u2019t run, and anyway, I wasn\u2019t going to give him the show.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I walked out in my house slippers, holding the porch rail on the way down because pride is one thing and hips are another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Half the red and yellow blooms were flattened into the mud! A ribbon of tire tracks cut clean through the middle, as if somebody had drawn a line through a love letter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tyler was still straddling the bike, his helmet tipped back, grinning at nothing in particular.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I walked out in my house slippers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYoung man,\u201d I said. My voice came out steadier than my hands. \u201cThose flowers were for my husband, who passed away.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tyler glanced at the mud, then at me, and then he did one thing that made my whole chest go cold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s just grass and flowers. They\u2019ll grow back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThey won\u2019t be the same,\u201d I said. \u201cNot the way he\u2019d planted them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThey\u2019re plants.\u201d My neighbor\u2019s son smirked, the way young men do when they\u2019ve never once been told \u201cno.\u201d \u201cRelax. I didn\u2019t do it on purpose.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou didn\u2019t do it by accident either.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Across the street, I caught a flash of movement. Denise was on her porch watching. Our eyes met.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For one long second, I thought, \u201cGood, somebody saw. Somebody will say something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t do it on purpose.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then Denise stepped back and shut her door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That hurt worse than the tire tracks. I can\u2019t explain it any other way. Denise, who brought me soup when I had bronchitis and waved every morning, had gone inside as if she hadn\u2019t seen a thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tyler noticed too, and it fed him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSee?\u201d he said, smirking again. \u201cNobody\u2019s dying over some marigolds.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThey weren\u2019t marigolds.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhatever.\u201d He kicked the bike, and the engine screamed to life. \u201cHave a nice day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gerald\u2019s son rode off. Slowly this time. Slow enough to make sure I watched him go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stood at the edge of what used to be my garden for a minute. Maybe longer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had a whole list of things I wasn\u2019t going to do that afternoon, and yelling and crying in the front yard were near the top.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I bent down and picked up one broken yellow blossom. The stem was pinched flat. I put it in my apron pocket, anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I went back inside, closed the door quietly, and sat at the kitchen table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Abraham\u2019s photo was on the fridge, right where it had been for over a decade. The one where he was squinting into the sun, dirt on his knees, holding up a trowel as if it were a trophy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I put it in my apron pocket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at him. He looked back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know what you\u2019d say,\u201d I told him, still livid. \u201cYou\u2019d say he\u2019s just a kid and to \u2018Let it go.’\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I picked up my phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I dialed one number. I knew it by heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The line picked up on the second ring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know what you\u2019d say.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s Ember,\u201d I said. \u201cI need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth about whether you can help.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The voice on the other end went quiet for a beat. Then softer. Then sure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn\u2019t say much after that. I listened, mostly. I said, \u201cThank you\u201d twice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I hung up, my hand wasn\u2019t shaking anymore, which surprised me more than anything else that day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI need to ask you something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked back at my late husband\u2019s photo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSorry, love,\u201d I said. \u201cI know what you\u2019d want me to do. I\u2019m not going to do it. Not this time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I put the flattened yellow blossom in a little jelly jar of water on the windowsill because it felt wrong to throw it out. It wouldn\u2019t come back. I knew that. But it deserved a proper afternoon, anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I made myself a cup of tea and sat at the window that looked out on the neighborhood across the way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It wouldn\u2019t come back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn\u2019t know what would be waiting the following morning. I only knew that something was going to happen. And I would be right here, in this chair, to see it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sunday morning came slow and gold, and I stood at my kitchen window with a coffee I wasn\u2019t really drinking. I told myself I wasn\u2019t waiting for anything. But I was anxious.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I would be right here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I noticed Tyler coming out at 9:30 a.m., his helmet tucked under one arm, whistling as if he owned the sidewalk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He stood in the middle of his driveway, staring for a few seconds, and his whole face just quit working.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Beside his motorcycle was a little \u201csurprise.\u201d There sat a big ceramic pot stuffed with red and yellow flowers, the exact colors of my bed. Taped to his handlebars was a printed sheet of paper that flapped in the breeze. Leaning against the garage, his arms folded across his weekend polo shirt, was Gerald himself!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tyler\u2019s head snapped up in shock. He looked straight across the street, straight at my window, as if he could feel me watching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I gave a small two-finger wave and walked to my front door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Just as I stepped out, Tyler finally noticed his father. Gerald\u2019s voice carried the way a father\u2019s voice carries when he\u2019s finally decided to be a parent again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cRead it out loud, Tyler.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI, Tyler, will work with a landscaper to make a full replacement of my neighbor\u2019s garden. Every single bulb will be replaced by my hand under Mrs. Halloran\u2019s supervision.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd don\u2019t you dare call her \u2018ma\u2019am\u2019 and think that covers it!\u201d Gerald scolded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then he put out one hand, palm up, and waited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then he put out one hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The motorcycle keys landed in Gerald\u2019s palm with a little jingle. I allowed myself a smile that Abraham would\u2019ve called unchristian.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I still had my coffee in hand; I sipped it. It had gone cold. I didn\u2019t care one bit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I went back inside with a satisfied smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I allowed myself a smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That afternoon, my doorbell rang, and Tyler stood on my porch in gardening gloves so new the store tag was still swinging off one wrist. He held a plastic tray of red and yellow starter plants as if it might bite him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy dad said,\u201d he began, then stopped. He started again. \u201cMrs. Halloran. I\u2019m here to fix your flower bed with the assistance of a landscaper.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAhh\u2026 how nice of you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy dad said you\u2019d tell me what to do.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m here to fix your flower bed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I opened the door wider, greeted the landscaper, and pointed down at the muddy scar in my yard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI certainly will. Come on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I handed Tyler a trowel. He looked at it as if he\u2019d never held one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou dig where I point,\u201d I said. \u201cYou put the roots in gently. Then you pat the dirt; you don\u2019t pack it. Flowers aren\u2019t concrete.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gerald\u2019s son turned to look at the landscaper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I handed Tyler a trowel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou heard your elder,\u201d the landscaper said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes, Mrs. Halloran.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tyler knelt in the dirt in jeans that probably cost more than my washing machine, and he started digging. The landscaper guided him so that he did it right. I sat on my porch step with my coffee; this time, it was hot, and I watched them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou heard your elder.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For a while, nobody said anything. Gerald\u2019s boy was concentrating in that way children do when they don\u2019t want to find themselves repeating the same thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHis name was Abraham,\u201d I said after the second row.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy husband. He spent a whole summer out here, back when we first moved in. He wanted a garden for me. He picked the red and yellow because those colors meant something for us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nobody said anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cEvery one of them, for more anniversaries than I can count on both hands, before he passed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The trowel kept moving, slower now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t know that,\u201d my neighbor\u2019s son said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know you didn\u2019t because you didn\u2019t care to ask.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He worked in silence through the third row, and somewhere in there, the smirk that had lived on his face all summer just slid off and didn\u2019t come back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t know that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I still couldn\u2019t figure it out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat there watching him pat dirt around Abraham\u2019s flowers, and my mind kept circling the same puzzle. I\u2019d made one phone call yesterday. One. And it hadn\u2019t been to Gerald, and it hadn\u2019t been to the police, and it hadn\u2019t been to any lawyer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019d called my sister, a contractor, who\u2019d said she\u2019d handle things for me. But she still hadn\u2019t arrived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So how on earth had Gerald known before the sun came up?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The screen door across the street creaked open, and out came Denise with a pitcher of lemonade balanced on a tray. Three glasses clinked together as she walked over, as if this were any old Sunday visit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThought you three might be thirsty.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then Gerald came ambling across the street too, his hands in his pockets, and stopped right in front of Denise with the softest look on his face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Three glasses clinked together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re so cute,\u201d my neighbor said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Denise turned the color of my flowers!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I tilted my head very, very slowly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Later that evening, Denise waved me over to her porch with the lemonade we hadn\u2019t finished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I sat down and finally asked what I\u2019d been holding all day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDenise. Did you have a hand in Gerald knowing about my garden incident before sunrise? I\u2019d called my sister to intervene, but later saw her text saying something important had come up, and she\u2019d come by tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My neighbor laughed, a little sheepishly, and swirled her glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBecause I told him. Last night, after the incident. I waited until Tyler was out with his friends, then I went over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cEmber, I\u2019ve been seeing Gerald for almost a year. Quietly. He wasn\u2019t ready for Tyler to know he was dating after losing his wife a few years ago, and I didn\u2019t want the block turning us into a soap opera.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I set my lemonade down very carefully.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s why you ducked inside yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ve been seeing Gerald.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI couldn\u2019t stomp over there as a stranger and chew out his son before Gerald had even had that talk with him. It was the one card I couldn\u2019t play on the sidewalk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I shook my head, half-laughing, half-stunned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI thought you\u2019d left me hanging!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI couldn\u2019t stomp over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know you did. I\u2019m sorry for that. The minute Tyler\u2019s truck pulled out, I walked straight to Gerald\u2019s door and told him everything. The flowers on the driveway this morning were my idea. A receipt he couldn\u2019t shrug off.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDenise,\u201d I said, \u201cyou\u2019re a menace!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIn the best way, I hope!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIn the very best way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We sat there giggling like two girls who\u2019d gotten away with something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry for that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Over the next few weeks, Tyler finished the bed, learned my late husband\u2019s name, and the late-night revving stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gerald and Denise started walking the block hand in hand, no more hiding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At dusk, I stood in the garden, blooms flourishing again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe flowers are fine, love,\u201d I whispered. \u201cTurns out I had better neighbors than I knew.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I watched something precious to me get crushed into the dirt, only to be told it was no big deal. I went inside furious, never expecting what I\u2019d see across the street the following morning. The motorcycle roared past my kitchen window so loudly that the glass rattled! I gripped the sink\u2019s edge until my …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":21138,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-21137","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21137","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=21137"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21137\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21139,"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21137\/revisions\/21139"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/21138"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=21137"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=21137"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/cehre.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=21137"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}