Tending the Garden

Brooke tediously pulled weeds from her flower bed in front of her house, flicking dirt from her fingers as she worked. It wasn’t glamorous work, but she felt a quiet swell of pride every time she looked over the garden. Her mother was in competition with the neighbors across the street to have the nicer garden. This year, she had entrusted Brooke to care for it on her own, and Brooke didn’t want to let her down.

The truth was, the garden had become more than a chore. With her parents working long hours and the house often too quiet, tending the flowers gave her something to look forward to — a place where things bloomed because she cared enough to make them. She loved coaxing beauty out of the bare soil.

She was elbow‑deep in the lilies when she noticed a few stems ending in jagged cuts. She frowned. She certainly hadn’t trimmed them. Then she remembered seeing similar marks last week as well. Her brow furrowed.

Something was wrong. Her unease sharpened to anger as she began to suspect her neighbor was sabotaging her garden. The thought stung more than she expected; this garden was the one thing she felt she was doing right.

Brooke brushed her dirty hands off on her shorts and went to sit on the porch, where she could watch the garden but not be seen by the vandal. Her heart pounded with irritation and determination. She was going to catch them in the act. She pulled her knees up and hugged them, settling in for a long stakeout. She wasn’t giving up until she had answers.

She waited. Many people walked by, and few even so much as glanced at her flowers.

Finally her neighbor’s door opened, and out she stepped, moving quickly to the street. Brooke tensed, ready to leap up, but instead of crossing the road to Brooke’s house, the woman opened her car door, got in, and drove off.

Brooke was beginning to feel ridiculous. Perhaps it was all in her head. The missing flowers were simply broken off by animals or careless passersby. The thought left her feeling foolish and strangely disappointed. She had worked herself up for nothing.

She was almost ready to call it quits and head inside when she saw him.

A boy she recognized from the school bus stopped at the garden. Everett something, she thought his name was. A quiet boy who kept to himself and never seemed to look anyone in the eye. She watched as he stopped, had a quick look around to see if anyone was watching, and pulled a small pair of scissors from his pocket.

He began carefully examining the lilies, selecting the best blooms and making sure not to cause damage to the others as he cut them.

Her anger faltered, replaced by curiosity. This was not the reckless behavior she had expected. He was choosing with an almost reverent attention to detail.

Brooke stepped out from her hiding spot and called to him. Everett jerked upright, eyes wide, and then bolted.

She hadn’t expected him to run, but without thinking she sprinted after him. He was fast, but she liked running. She caught up to him within a couple blocks, finding him bent over, hands on his knees, gasping like he’d just finished a marathon.

“Why did you run?” she asked as she came to a comfortable stop next to him.

He held out the flowers, his face flushed. “Here… sorry… I won’t… take any more.”

She took them from his hand as he straightened. He was taller than she realized when he stood at his full height. He was usually hunched over as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

He panted, still trying to catch his breath, “You okay?” Brooke asked. 

He took a full breath and exhaled. “How are you not out of breath?”

“I’m on the cross‑country team. That was hardly even a warm‑up.”

“Oh. Right.” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “Well, sorry again.” He gestured to the flowers and started to walk away.

Out of curiosity, or boredom, or perhaps because he was the first person she’d spoken to all day, Brooke found herself intrigued by Everett and was not ready to let this interaction end. She quickly fell into step beside him, still holding the bouquet he had made.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Was there something else you needed?”

“Why were you stealing my flowers?”

He sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. “Because I can’t afford to buy any,” he admitted, “and lilies are her favorite.” Brooke almost didn’t catch that last bit, he spoke so softly.

With his admission, Brooke’s irritation dissolved completely. She did not often stop to consider the fact that many people did not have the resources her family did. While her family had more than enough money, she longed for this sort of deep caring. For someone to notice her favorite things.

She felt a wave of guilt for taking the flowers back. Her garden would die in a few months anyway when the weather cooled. If this bundle could bring a smile to someone’s face, make them feel loved, she could think of no better use of all her hard work. She thought about simply handing him back the flowers, but then what? She would go back home to her empty house and wait for her parents to get home, too tired to spend time with her? No she wasn’t done here yet. She was going to make him work for it.

“Well, lucky for you, I am a sucker for romance,” Brooke said. “Convince me that the girl waiting at the end of this walk deserves these flowers.”

He chuckled. “I’m not doing that.”

“Oh, come on,” she begged. “Let’s just start with her name.”

“Sarah,” he grunted out.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” she teased.

Everett glared. “You sure you don’t have anything better to do on a Saturday afternoon than follow me around and torment me?”

A pang of loneliness shot through her chest. She did not, in fact, have anything better to do. 

She bent her head and smelled the lilies in her hand to hide the mistiness in her eyes.

She cleared her throat dramatically. “I’m asking the questions here,” she dodged. “So, Sarah. Tell me about her. Is she pretty?”

“I guess so,” he replied, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his head.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” she pressed.

“Just forget it.” Brooke flinched at his raised voice. “I don’t need the flowers. I won’t take any more. You don’t need to do whatever this is,” he pointed his finger back and forth between the two of us. “Go back to whatever it is you do with your time and I won’t bother you again.”

Brooks stopped walking, the flowers suddenly feeling very heavy in her hand.

“Here,” she said, unable to hide the hurt in her voice. She held the bouquet out as he stopped and looked back at her. “She deserves to have them. I was always going to give them to you. I guess I was just enjoying having someone to talk to for a bit.”

The backs of her eyes burned with tears that she refused to release.

He sighed and pressed his lips into a flat line as he took the flowers from her with a gentleness that did not match the sharp tone in his voice moments before.

She turned to head back home.

Everett dug a hand into his hair and cursed under his breath. “Her laugh is contagious,” he called, stopping Brooke in her tracks. “She can’t stand to see someone sad, and will do literally anything to brighten their day, no matter what.”

She looked up at him. His eyes had softened. Understanding now shined in them, along with something else, something more fragile she couldn’t quite place.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you. You can keep walking with me. If you want to,” he added, shrugging.

Her lips curled into a smile as she fell into step once again.

“Sarah won’t be jealous, will she?” she asked.

He chuckled and smiled. “Actually, I think she would really like you. You have a lot in common.”

He looked at her with an intensity that made her cheeks flush. As if he was really seeing her. She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing at all.

They made comfortable conversation as they walked, but Brooke noticed Everett growing quieter the farther they went. His grip tightened around the bouquet. His eyes stayed fixed ahead. A strange tension settled over him, and she felt it too, a heaviness she couldn’t name.

Finally they stopped in front of a row of houses. But rather than turning up the walkway, Everett turned and crossed the street, walking through the gate leading to the cemetery.

Brooke stood frozen as he continued to walk to a headstone and kneel down, realization washing over her like cold water.

She paused at the gate, unsure if she should give him space or follow him. He had invited her to come along, after all. And something in her chest urged her forward.

She caught up to him and stood behind him as he laid the flowers gently at the base of the headstone.

Sarah Aberdeen

Loving wife and mother

Brooke read the name on the headstone, and a wave of emotion crashed over her so hard she had to steady herself. The lilies laying in the dirt suddenly seemed unbearably fragile, as fragile as the loneliness she’d been nursing quietly all summer.

Her throat tightened.Her problems seemed so small now next to the grief she saw kneeling before her.

“She always seemed so happy,” Everett said, his voice cracking like thin ice. “No one ever knew how much she was suffering until…” He couldn’t finish the sentence but he didn’t need to.

He stood, his face streaked with silent tears. He looked older than he had an hour ago. Older and younger all at once , like someone who had been carrying too much for too long.

Brooke stepped forward before she could think better of it. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling him stiffen in surprise before he melted into her, clinging to her as if she were the only solid thing left in the world.

“No one should ever feel so alone,” she whispered.

He heaved a silent sob and she felt it vibrate against her shoulder. She held him tighter, her own tears slipping free. Tears for the loss Everett suffered, for the loneliness she understood all too well.

After a long moment, Everett pulled back, wiping his face with the heel of his hand. He looked at her, really looked. In his expression she did not see embarrassment or even gratitude, but recognition. As if his soul recognized hers.

“You didn’t have to come with me,” he said softly.

“Thank you for letting me,” Brooke replied. “I wasn’t ready to go back to being alone yet.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes shining. “Me neither.”

They stood there in the fading light, the lilies resting at the base of the stone like a promise. Brooke glanced at them, at the blooms she had grown with her own hands, and felt something shift inside her. She thought of all the days she had spent laboring over which plants grow well together, how much sunlight and water they need, what soil works best. The hours spent pulling parasitic weeds that would siphon all of the nutrients and stunt their growth. How might those blooms have turned out if she hadn’t put so much hard work into tending them.

 Maybe life was the same way. We bloom most brilliantly when we meticulously tend to our environment, weed out the things that steal our happiness, and position ourselves around those who help us grow.

Brooke slipped her hand into Everett’s. It was a small gesture, but it felt like planting something new. Something that might grow if they tended it carefully.

They stood together in the quiet cemetery, two lonely people who had found each other by accident, connected by a handful of lilies and the simple truth that no one blooms alone.