Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as Mrs. Gable from next door, all floral print and a determined glint in her eyes, approached. She had a trowel in her hand. *A trowel,* thought Martha, her mind a blank slate.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” Mrs. Gable chirped, her smile stretching wide. Martha nodded, mechanically, her throat suddenly dry.

“I was hoping,” Mrs. Gable continued, gesturing towards the small, sunny patch of lawn bordering their properties, “to maybe, just maybe, borrow a little bit of your yard for a small vegetable garden. Just a few tomatoes, some basil… nothing too extravagant.” The words hung in the air, heavy and expectant. Martha's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a landed fish.