All morning was spent getting the flowers for her first garden, which was a little strip on either side of her mailbox, ringed with rocks. She had already turned over the ground, mixed in premium growing soil with her rocky natural dirt, and the beds were dark under the gray sky. I bought half her flowers, delighted with her eagerness and deliberations over the purple pansies or the orange snapdragons.

Rain threatened; and only stray and teasing shafts of sunlight poked through rustling tree leaves. While we planted flowers it started to rain, and I couldn't help but notice the way her shirt clung, the way her hair curled with the damp or the sound of her laughter as we raced to plunge the delicate petals into the ground.

Hanging a giant purple basket of cascading petunia's I brushed her hand with my thumb and she smiled. I could smell the rich perfume of the flowers and the mix of rain and dirt and youth on her, and my smile trembled.

She would no sooner come forward than I could go back, and the storm broke on a whisper of regret.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...