Saving Rain

by Kelsey Kingsley

“What’s the kid doing today?” I asked, turning my eyes back on the land to assess what I’d already accomplished. Half of the yard had been tilled. Not bad for a little over an hour of work. “Right now, checking out the new game my mom bought him.” She walked down her steps and came to stand closer to my little yard. “Do you need help? I can send him over.” “No, I’m good.” I grunted as I jabbed the blades into the next tough spot in the row I was working on. “Just thought he’d like to get his hands dirty if he wasn’t doing anything else.” “I’ll ask him.” She watched me through a couple more jabs of the tiller into the ground, sipping her coffee and keeping an arm wrapped tightly around her middle. There was something so normal about it, something that said we could have this all the time—maybe even forever—and I liked it a lot. It was funny. For years, I’d never thought forever with another person could exist in my world. Yet there I was, envisioning her walking down the aisle in a premature daydream. “Where did you learn to do this stuff?” she asked after another sip of coffee. “What, dig in the dirt?” She laughed. “No, I mean, gardening and … whatever it is you’re doing right now.” “Well”—another grunt with another jab—“my grandfather had a huge garden that I helped him with. That’s where I learned most of what I know”—jab, push, till—“and that continued while I was at Wayward.” “You gardened at Wayward?” I nodded as I gritted my teeth for another stab of the blades throu...