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Billy caught her arm. “This neighborhood’s lost, and you oughta consider moving.” She pulled away. “I’m no spring chicken, but I can hold my own.” She stared until he stepped back and shifted his weight to the other foot. He knew nothing about roots. “Where would you suggest I go, young man? An old folk’s home? I worked my fingers to the bone to make this place, and I don’t aim to give it up while I still draw breath.” “It’s just....” He rocked and glanced away, his face flushing. “I’ll get my mower.” Emily heard what he meant. It’s useless. As she watched, Billy jerked the lopsided gate so it latched behind him. He cast a saddened gaze back at her. She figured that, to him, she was another pathetic old woman living alone in a white-box house built in the twenties, and this was just another yard job in the heat of July. He wouldn’t really see the weeds he pulled or the flowers he uncovered. He wouldn’t feel the loneliness she knew. The endless cicada whine made Emily’s skin itch. The heat wore her down and made her heart thump in her head, so she pattered back inside and poured some strong tea over ice, squeezing lemon in for flavor. Brushing aside dusty photo albums and useless mementos of days she would never recover, some of the papers as dry as parchment, she sat back in her rocker, willing the rattling window unit to blow cold air for the first time all summer. She scratched an insect bite on her arm. “Be damned them ole ‘squitors and chiggers.” When the kid was finished, Emily would head back to the porch and enjoy the unveiled display, despite the bugs. For now, she would watch to be sure Billy did what he was paid for. Sitting back, she breathed evenly along with the mower’s whir. Seemed a funny time to think of ancient Greek mythology. It was a girl, name of Clytie, who fell in love with the sun god Apollo. She would do nothing all day but watch his chariot move across the sky. After nine days, she was transformed...into a sunflower. That was it. The beautiful yellow flower was a sunflower, grown from common birdseed. Nice to know something good came from neglect. The back door shook. “Miss Emily!” Billy pounded harder. She must have dozed off. Opening her eyes, Emily slid to the edge of the rocker and cracked the door. “What’s the fuss?” “I was afraid....” He gulped several deep breaths, and the salty stink of sweat washed in. “Never mind. So, what do you think? I earned my money, didn’t I?” She scanned the yard. The grass was trim, and he’d even taken the time to pull the weeds from the fencerow, as best she could tell. The garden looked clean for the first time all season. Tomatoes were ripe and two basil bushes were pregnant with leaves. A blur of Lantana, Black-eyed-Susans and daylilies bloomed. The flowers called her out. On the porch, she strained to see the individuals emerging from the crowd. “You like it?” He sounded so proud of himself. “I wish I’d done this for Grams....” “Not bad.” In the corner, near the birdfeeder, Billy had cleared the area and laid mulch. The birdbath brimmed with water, and bright cardinals swarmed. “That yellow flower?” Emily asked. “Where did it go?” She’d had its name on the tip of her tongue. “Yellow flower?” Billy squatted and eyed the yard. “There’s a buncha bushy flowers near the vegetables.” So tall, it had been majestic, a bright delight for weak eyes. “No, the one that was just there.” He spat. “Oh, Miss Emily, that one by the feeder was just a no-account ole sunflower past its prime. I shook its seeds back into the feeder and got rid of the rest.” Without a word, Emily stretched back inside the door and scooped up her purse. Reaching deep, she found and unfolded the last two twenties. She held them out to Billy. “Aw, ma’am, that’s way too much for the weeding, even with a tip. Joe already paid me twenty to mow. Either keep it or let me give you some change.” “No,” she said, her voice failing. “You’ve done quite enough for me today.” “Thanks, Miss Emily!” He left so fast his heavy footfalls on the porch shook the house. “Think of me next time you need work done!” he called over his shoulder. Emily looked back through the torn screen. The truth sank hard and deep. Just an old, no-account weed passed its prime, and a garden that would need tending again in a week. She was tired of things needing to be done, tired of not being able to do them. She was tired of watching the sun and waiting for someone to visit. Like the withered flower, her time had passed. A nice long nap would do her good. She locked the door behind her, pulled the tattered shade and slumped into her rocker. No point following the sun anymore. No point watching for his return. She’d stayed in place all of her life while everyone else moved on and lived their lives. # The next morning, Joe flicked the shade open to let in the light. Old pictures and sunflower shells lay scattered on the carpet around his mother’s chair. He dumped her watery tea into the sink and turned off the laboring air conditioner to let the frozen coils thaw. He’d stopped by to be sure the yard was clean, to see that Billy had done a good job. Indeed, the flowers were in full bloom, and the garden had never looked more alive in July. The boy had even watered. Joe
shook his head. Time got away so fast. He squatted and gripped
Emily’s stiff hand, her skin color faded to ash. “I
hope you saw it, Mama,” he said. “One last time. And
I hope there’s a well-kept garden where you’ve gone.”
He laid a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers in her lap. *** THE END ***
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