Petunias were his wife’s favourite. She always said she liked the colour, and how they arranged themselves. But he couldn’t find petunias at the flower sale, so he’d gotten an iris. The little streaks would bring out the flowers of the tree it would sit near. Kind of, at any rate. He wasn’t buying it to match. But that was alright. The sales lady had been really sweet about helping him. Found a decent soil too, one that replenished the nutrients in his current soil. It wasn’t his fault it was being sucked dry by the greedy little plants. What was he supposed to do, uproot them? It wasn’t that simple.

The check out line was by no means customer friendly either. The clerk knew him. The whole store knew him. And he heard the whispers. ‘Isn’t that Jonathan?’ ‘I heard he killed his wife!’ ‘Oh, shh! You don’t really think…?’ Two-hundred and three dollars and sixty seven cents. When did dirt become expensive? His card slid effortlessly through the machine, and as always, it beeped in rejection. He looked up at the clerk sadly, and the clerk nodded. “Next time, you’ll bring it?”

Always next time. Jonathan made his way out of the store, bags slung over his shoulder, iris pot in his hand. He needed to do the dishes when he got home. And feed the dog. But those could wait. The dog must’ve been dead by now at any rate. He must remember to get azaleas the next time he was at the flower shop for dear Spot. He’d have to bury the Labrador on the other side of the orange tree. His wife had always liked Spot. Absently, he wondered if the irises would clash with the azaleas.

Up the driveway, and through the garage, he barely stopped to glance at his desk. He never did. It would be improper now, to work with all that dirt on his hands. Just imagine turning the papers in with smudges all over them! He’d simply be laughed at. No, there was nothing to do but go straight through to the garden. The air smelt different in the garden, heavy and fresh at the same time. The aromas of all the different flowers overflowed and drowned whoever happened to wander into the garden’s trap, but trickle of the pool’s clear water and the sky’s fresh air made it bearable. Colours clashed left and right, leaves spilled over onto the patio, and petals had found their way into everything. Vines had entwined themselves with the central orange tree, clinging to it for dear life.

He didn’t feel like using a shovel today. He wouldn’t be digging deep, anyway. It was a minor plant, and besides, he had soil. Pushing away a few stray tendrils of the clinging vine, he began burrowing in the earth. Digging helped him think. His grandpa had taught him that. He always told him that the earth could solve anything. It could give food, it could give life, and it could take both away. What’s more, whenever a plant as placed on top of a thought, the thought became the plant’s problem. Through the roots, to the leaves, and into the air until the next poor sod picked up the problem.

Jonathan knew that was what the air was heavy with, not aromas. Problems.  When he hit rotting wood, he was abruptly jerked from his thoughts to look at the orange tree. That particular plant didn’t absorb it’s problem well enough, and he’d breathed it back more than once. Enough that he was almost ready to actually deal with it. But that couldn’t happen. Not unless he was willing to join his problem underneath the orange tree. He didn’t want to become someone else’s problem. No, that would be quite rude. Down went the iris. Up went his mortgage. Jonathan was careful not to breathe directly around the plant while he poured the new soil all around it, re-covering the rotting wood it was sitting on, re-covering its roots.

The doorbell rang out, clear and sharp. Jonathan dusted off his hands, and went out the front gate to meet the visitor. It was the homeowner’s representative. She stopped by every now and then, but for once she looked happy. “Mr. Kendell?”

Jonathan nodded. She knew who he was. This was formality. “You’ve won Garden of the Month, and two hundred dollars.”

He paled, looking at the check she was holding to him. Someone had been in his garden while he was out? And he won two-hundred dollars. Enough to pay off a bit of his monthly mortgage. He took the check carefully, giving her a cold smile. “Thank you. I really don’t think it deserves it.” And it didn’t. Even when she was alive, he wouldn’t have paid five dollars for her.