Flowers for Emily by Martin Stokes

1992

 

Charlie Montey stepped out into the bright morning light of November. It flooded over his body in a warm torrent and he smiled. He had a feeling that today was going to be right. He didn’t know where this sense of rightness came from, nor did he care, he just intended to take advantage of it and make today perfect for Emily.

He walked down his front steps with something like a spring in his step, and stopped halfway to the front gate. There were flower beds on either side of the walkway. Emily had insisted Montey put them there when they’d first moved in. He did it, too, but not without striking a deal first. He told her that he would only be hauling dirt and getting sweaty if she maintained whatever flowers and plants she decided to grow there. She had spat in her hand and held it out, and Montey had shaken it, feeling like a buccaneer honouring a pirate’s code.