Mabel went out into the bright sunshine, gardening tools in tow, to do some weeding of the summer petunias. She bent down at the edge of her lawn and flower garden, right where the prickly green grass met the soft brown of the moist dirt. Her knees cracked as she kneeled down and she let out a small gasp of pain. I should’ve taken my pain pills today, thought Mabel. She fished in her gardening tote for her pink, floral gardening gloves she had bought from the hardware store down the road earlier in the day. Mabel had decided that Fridays were now going to be her shopping and gardening days. On this particular Friday, Mabel thought she needed to treat herself, so she went to the local beauty parlor for a permanent to liven up her salt and pepper hair and to get her nails manicured. She chatted with the other ladies at the parlor about all the lovely things ladies at beauty parlors talk about: gardening, the new church dresses they’d bought, recipes for each of their “wildly famous” apple pies. But before any of the pleasant talk could commence, the ladies at the parlor were sure to offer their condolences to Mabel for her husband’s recent passing. They made such a fuss over things like that, making it a spectacle of sadness instead of a simple exchange of over-used phrases in recognition of death—just another part of life. After hearing the chorus of well-meaning ‘I’m so sorry’s, Mabel thanked them, gave a sweet half smile, and nodded her head in response. I wonder if they think of me as a sad old widow now… I wonder if I was convincing enough… Mabel thought to herself as she found her new gloves and slipped them over her bright pink acrylic nails.

Behind her she heard the shrill yips of her toy Yorkie poodle mix, Charles. “Oh Charles, you are such a sweet little boy!” said Mabel in her baby-talk voice especially reserved for her precious Charles. The yipping dog jumped and wiggled with excitement and Mabel giggled at the dog’s unbridled joy. She grabbed her old and rusted weeding knife and started working on the clover and dandelions that scattered her blooming flower garden. Mabel felt the warmth of the sun hitting her back and she hummed. Charles sat contentedly next to her, panting and seeming to smile. Today is such a fine day. Never a finer day, thought Mabel.

After ridding the garden of the pesky weeds, she went to the garage to fetch the red and white begonias she had bought that day. Usually begonias are a little over Mabel’s price range for plants, but seeing them in front of the hardware store in the morning sun, she just could not refuse indulging herself. After all this time, Mabel felt it was high time to spend time and money on what she wanted. She imagined herself sitting on the back porch, looking at the pastoral scene of beautiful petunias and alternating red and white begonias all in a row. Mabel got the flowers and started digging small holes with her trowel. One by one she placed the red and white begonias in an alternating pattern all along the edge of the garden, meticulously placing them in just the distance from each other.

Mabel dug the fifth hole in her neat row and felt a crunch. She lifted the trowel full of dirt and inspected the source of the crunch. A pale, severed finger laid neatly on the little mound of dirt in the trowel. Mabel looked it and let out a sigh. Oh drat, I knew I should’ve dug the hole a foot deeper, thought Mabel with a look of disgust and frustration. She picked up the lifeless finger with her floral gloves and walked to the back of the wide garden. She dug a small, deep hole with her fingers and placed the finger down inside. She covered it up and brushed the dirt from her gloves. Charles bounded after her, barking all the way. Mabel laughed at his little leaps and jumps. “Oh Charles! You are the only man I’ll ever need.”