“She always tells me not to mow near that rose.”
I called Caroline.
She was silent for several seconds.
So Saturday morning, we dug up the plants.
Then she said, “Yes.”
So Saturday morning, we dug up the plants.
Justin treated every root like it mattered.
We loaded everything into my car along with gardening tools and drove to Dorothy’s new place.
A maintenance worker had already cleared a narrow bed beneath her window.
Halfway through planting the rosemary, I heard a door open.
Justin started with the daisies.
Halfway through planting the rosemary, I heard a door open.
Dorothy stepped outside with Caroline.
She looked at me.
Then at Justin.
Nothing.
Dorothy looked toward the gardening tools beside him.
For the first time, Justin looked like a kid who had arrived to help and found nothing he could fix.
I saw my son’s face change.
Dorothy looked toward the gardening tools beside him.
Her expression shifted.
“You’re the lawn boy.”
Dorothy studied him.
Justin immediately smiled.
“Justin.”
Dorothy studied him.
Then nodded.
“Right. Justin.”
Her fingers brushed the rosemary.
He pointed beneath her window.
“I brought part of your yard.”
She walked over slowly.
Her fingers brushed the rosemary.
She pinched one leaf, rubbed it between her fingers, and smelled it.
Justin looked down quickly, but not before I saw his eyes brim with tears.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Dorothy smiled.
“Smells like home.”
Justin looked down quickly, but not before I saw his eyes brim with tears.
A couple of weeks later, the night before school started, I found Justin’s work gloves beside the garage door.
The following Saturday, I heard the garage opening.
I smiled because I assumed his summer project was finally finished.
“So,” I said at breakfast the next morning, “retired from lawn care?”
Justin shoveled cereal into his mouth.
“Yep.”
“Good.”
Justin was walking down the driveway wearing his grandfather’s old work gloves.
The following Saturday, I heard the garage opening.
I looked outside.
Justin was walking down the driveway wearing his grandfather’s old work gloves.
No lawn mower.
He was carrying a watering can.
He turned around like the answer should have been obvious.
I stepped outside.
“Where are you going?”
He turned around like the answer should have been obvious.
“Dorothy’s.”
“I thought you retired.”
“From mowing.”
Justin rolled his eyes and headed toward the sidewalk.
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