“Is anyone there?” she shouted as she walked through the front door. The young woman worked late Thursday nights and was always nervous coming back to an empty house. She lived with her cat in a small one-story cottage just at the edge of town. It was peaceful but remote, with the closest neighbor nearly a mile down the road.
And that’s why no one ever noticed the guy walking around her backyard when she was gone.
On afternoons when she worked a double at the restaurant, he’d be behind her house, clearing away brush, pruning the Rhododendrons, and making sure the ferns he planted last October were getting enough water. He liked being outside. Yard work is god’s work, his father always said. Well, the old man was right about something: pulling up weeds, scattering mulch, and seeing the dirt collect under his finger nails reminded him of better times.
As he weeded and raked and pruned, he imagined introducing himself to the young woman. He’d rehearsed different explanations in his head, but nothing sounded quite right. Maybe he’d just say the truth: I’m an old retiree with a knack for gardening.
No, that plan would never work. All it would do is make her uncomfortable.
Probably better to just keep tending to the shrubs and forget about it, he thought. It was a beautiful Thursday in early May, and there was still a ton to do. First on his list was to plant the bay laurel. He surveyed the land and found some space off the back porch that provided the perfect balance of sunshine and shade. He grabbed the shovel and got to digging. His wife used to love the smell of bay laurel in spring. Hopefully she’d enjoy it too.