The Garden

This story is by Susan Henderson and was part of our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

It has been ten years since Grace Evans left the town where she was born. Like many others, she heads to the city to see if she can make her mark. She comes back to visit on breaks now and again, but now, with the passing of first her grandfather and then her grandmother, she is home.

The old house, her inheritance, is checked over and found to be in good repair. The garden, her grandparents’ joy, is another story. Grace sighs as she surveys the large area beside the house. The weeds choke the hedges, and leaves cover the rows. Grace sighs again, wondering where to start.

It feels like she’s a little girl again during Victoria Day weekend, with her grandfather beside her. “Just one weed, Gracie, and then another and another. Before you know it, we’ll be ready to plant.”

Grace steps up to the nearest row, puts in her earbuds, and pulls on a pair of old gardening gloves she found in the shed. As the music flows into her ears, she gets to work, pulling out the weeds. Little by little, the row comes into view.

The sun begins to set as she finishes her second row. She goes inside, showers, and then takes her lemonade and dinner to the bistro table on the front deck. She smiles, watching the sunset, feeling a sense of calm for the first time in a long while.

When the sun sets, Grace isn’t ready for bed, so she takes her glass and dishes inside. She puts them in the dishwasher and grabs her laptop. She turns it on and opens her email.

As she reads and replies to emails, by the fourth one, she’s getting angry. “Oh my god, do these people have no boundaries?” she shouts. “I’m on bereavement/time off.” She shakes her head and closes her email.

She opens her preferred search engine and types in ‘Seed Catalogue.’ As she waits, a memory of sitting on the couch with the paper seed catalogs rushes back.

“Gracie dear, what color will the garden be this year?” Grandma asks.

“Rainbow!” Grace replies.

“Beautiful,” Grandpa says.

Grace shakes her head and wipes tears from her eyes. She misses her grandparents dearly and longs for that simpler time. Being an adult isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

A local greenhouse pops up on her screen. She smiles as an idea forms in her head. The color of the garden this year will be rainbow, a tribute to Grandma and Grandpa. She reviews the list of flowers and vegetables, checking off tulips, lilies, roses, and sweet peas.

An hour later, Grace stretches as she waits for her payment to go through. She closes her laptop, turns off the lights, and heads to bed. Tomorrow will be another long day.

The next day, Grace puts on an old pair of leggings, a T-shirt, and runners. She grabs her gloves off the deck and heads to the next row in the garden. She places her earbuds in her ears and pulls on her gloves. She works through the row, only stopping for bathroom breaks, drinking, and eating. By the end of the day, two more rows are ready for planting. She ends the day the same way, with lemonade and dinner on the front deck, watching the sunset.

She quickly falls into a routine—working in the garden during the day, chatting with neighbors who pass by, and enjoying her lemonade and dinner as the sun fades from view.

A few weeks later, a black truck she hasn’t seen before pulls up to her house while she’s sipping her lemonade. A man in sunglasses, a t-shirt, Wranglers, and cowboy boots steps out holding a box.

Grace almost fumbles with her glass but manages to avoid spilling the drink. Patrick Murphy.

Since she broke up with him at the end of senior year, Grace hasn’t seen Patrick. Her logic was that college was on the other side of the country and long-distance relationships never last.

“Grace Evans, I’ve been meaning to stop by.” Patrick holds the box as he walks up the path to the front door.

“Hi, Patrick,” Grace says with a nervous smile. “What’s in the box?”

“Your order from the greenhouse.” He sets the box on the deck by her feet. “Lilies, tulips, roses, and sweet peas are beautiful choices. 

“Thanks, Patrick”, Grace says.

Then, taking off his sunglasses, he puts them on his head. “Sorry about your grandparents, Gracie. They were wonderful people.”

“Thank you,” Grace replies. Beyond a doubt, Grace loved her grandparents, but receiving sympathies always feel awkward. She isn’t sure she can handle going down memory lane with her ex-high school sweetheart, so she nudges the box and gives her own apology.

“Sorry, somebody accidentally delivered this to your house.”

“Gracie,” Patrick shakes his head. “That was no accident. I own the greenhouse.”

Grace smiles and gestures to the chair across from her. She lets Patrick take a seat before asking, “Stay for lemonade?”

Patrick smiles. “I’d love that.”

Grace gets up and goes to the kitchen. She returns with a fresh jug of lemonade and a glass, pours for Patrick, and sits. “So, you bought the greenhouse.”

Grace beams at Patrick. Unsurprisingly, he owns the greenhouse and the land that goes with it. He’s even more outdoorsy than she is.

Patrick returns her smile, and they start talking about their lives while she is away. Time fades, and before they know it, they’re talking like she never left. It gets dark, and they’re still talking.

“The garden is coming along.”

“A couple more days, I’ll be ready to plant.”

“I can come and help.”

Grace starts to protest. “You have to w—”

Patrick stands up and shakes his head. “Good night, Gracie.”

“Good night, Patrick.” Grace stands and grabs the glasses and jug from the table.

Patrick takes a step but then turns around. “Hey, Gracie.”

“Yeah, Patrick?”

“I’ll be here with coffee around 8:00 a.m. Perks of being the boss.” He walks to his truck, gets in, and drives away.

The next day, at 8:00 a.m., the doorbell rings as Grace heads to the garden. She opens it to Patrick, who is holding two coffees. He hands her one. “English toffee?”

“Yes!” she says excitedly, taking a sip. Patrick remembered.

They start walking to the garden. Patrick looks around. “Okay, where do you want me?”

Grace takes one more sip of her coffee, places it on the deck, and points to the row beside hers. “Here.”

Grace skips the earbuds, and they work side by side all day, chatting and laughing. They have dinner that night and do it all again the next day—and the next.

A couple more weeks pass, and the garden is complete. The place is already starting to return to its former glory.

Patrick and Grace sit on the deck. “Gracie, what’s the plan now?”

Grace says, “Well, I’ve saved enough money, the house and garden are in great shape, and I sent in my resignation this morning…”

“Your resignation?” Patrick looks shocked.

“I’m staying, Pat,” Grace says.

Patrick grins. “You’re staying.” He pulls Grace in for a kiss.

“Do you want me to?” Grace asks, breaking the kiss.

“I’m not letting you go again.” Patrick hugs her.

Almost a year later, to the day.

“Babe, we have to get going.” Grace stands on the deck, holding a suit jacket for Patrick to grab.

“Just checking on the gazebo, love.” Patrick climbs the stairs and takes the jacket from Grace with a kiss.

“Everything looks amazing. Don’t worry,” Grace smiles.

“I just want it to be perfect for when you’re standing there saying, ‘I do,’” Patrick smiles and puts on the jacket.

Grace fixes his collar and wraps her arms around his neck. She leans in and whispers, “I do.”

And then, they kiss.