Gemotions

Agnes clutched her watering can, knuckles white. Mrs. Gable, with her unruly cascade of grey hair and perpetually sunny disposition, stood at the edge of the meticulously manicured lawn. The audacity! After all the weeks spent wrestling with crabgrass and coaxing the roses to bloom, to have someone even *suggest*… Agnes’s jaw tightened.

“Now, Agnes, I just thought, maybe a little corner, near the fence? A few tomatoes, some basil…” Mrs. Gable’s voice trailed off, a hopeful lilt to it. Agnes found herself blinking rapidly, as if the sun had suddenly become too bright. Her grip on the watering can tightened, and she could feel the heat prickling her skin.

“A garden?” she finally managed, the word a mere whisper.