Gemotions

A wave of warmth hit me as I opened the door. The neighbor, Mr. Henderson, was standing there, clutching a trowel. His face was flushed with the exertion of having walked over. “I, uh… I need a favor,” he stammered, pointing to the strip of land bordering our properties.

My hand tightened on the doorknob. The day was already wearing on and I wanted to finish my book. I wanted to finish it quickly.

"See, I was thinking," Mr. Henderson continued, "a small vegetable garden… just a few tomatoes and some beans. Your side gets more sun." He waited, his expression expectant. “Can I use that little strip over there?”

I focused on a stray dog chasing a squirrel across the street, a momentary distraction. "Whatever," I said, stepping back into the cool dimness of the house. "Go ahead."