We all turn to assess our paint progress.
“I think we’re at a good stopping point for today,” I say.
“Good. I’m hungry.” Lou and Patrick appear from the kitchen and bathroom, respectively.
“Let’s clean up and head into town. Romeo’s. My treat.”
Everyone nods and heads for their vehicles.
“Boo, wait.”
Poppy pauses and looks at me expectantly.
“I want to show you something, if that’s okay.”
“Sure. What is it?”
I hold out my hand, and she takes it. I tug her in the direction of the backyard, the opposite way our friends went.
We step outside, and the evening humidity hits me like a wet blanket, but the weather is the last thing on my mind. I did something for Poppy that I hope she loves. But I’m nervous to show her. I was going to wait, but since she’s leaving town, I want her to be able to get some use out of it.
“Close your eyes,” I say.
She looks at me with a furrowed brow. “How do I know you aren’t going to ax murder me?”
“Are you still on that?”
“Maybe you should stop being suspicious,” she says, tossing her chin in the air.
“Would you just close your eyes?”
She squishes up her nose but does as I ask.
I lead her around the divider between our decks and into the back corner of my yard. “Wait right here,” I direct her.
I hurry ahead and pull the tarp off of what I’ve been working on: two perfectly constructed raised garden beds. The cedar glistens in the late-afternoon sun, and the scent of the warm wood and the organic soil I filled the beds with late last night hits my nose.
Poppy sniffs, so I know she smells it too.
“Open your eyes.”
Poppy blinks. Her gaze freezes on the garden beds, and she inhales, pressing her lips together. “What is this?”
“These are for you.”
She brings her hands up and covers her mouth. “You remembered?” she whispers.
She says it as if I don’t have every single one of our conversations tattooed onto the fissures of my brain.
I nod.
“How did you… When did you… I don’t know what to say. This isn’tstorage,you big fat liar.”
I step closer to her, and I can see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. A nervous wiggle worms its way through my gut. “Are you crying?”
Poppy swipes at her lashes. “I guess I am. Happy tears, I promise. I’m overwhelmed. I haven’t gardened in years. Not since we sold Gram’s house. And these raised beds. They look like the ones we had in her backyard. How did you…”
She swivels her head to face me, tears trickling down her cheeks.
