“It’s not something I talk about too often anymore. I don’t think about it much. Too many other things on my mind.”
“But you loved it once,” she pointed out. “You love it still.”
I dropped my hand back to my side. “Yeah. I did. I do.”
She smiled, then walked over to a large wooden trunk at the edge of her plot and opened it. I watched her rifle around inside, and a moment later, she returned with a little trowel, a linen baggie, and several grow bags.
“The garlic needs planting for the winter,” she said, holding the baggie out to me. “I’m assuming you know how to do that?”
“Yeah.” I took the items and peered into the bag. A few dozen garlic bulbs with green shoots starting to come out of the tops were sitting inside. When I looked back up, Melissa had already returned to her cucumbers and was methodically plucking the biggest ones.
I walked over to the edge of the plot, where it was a little shadier, and opened the grow bags. There was a communal pile of fertilized soil at the center of the garden along with a wheelbarrow that had definitely seen better days. I filled the wheelbarrow halfway and brought it over to the plot, then carefully packed the soil into the grow bags.
Neither of us spoke as we worked, although in a strange way, I appreciated that. Melissa hummed to herself, occasionally munching on a cucumber. I could hear the crunch from across the garden.
Once I’d filled the bags with enough soil, I dug my fingers into the dirt and made holes where each bulb would go. The soil was cool against my skin, oddly soothing, and smelled sweetly of manure and damp earth.
I had just finished planting the bulbs and covering them partway with dirt when Melissa came over, still holding her half-eaten cucumber in her hand.
“Not bad,” she said, smiling. “I appreciate the help.”
“I’m glad to give it.” I stood, dusting the dirt off my hands.
Melissa looked at me. “If you’re ever free to come help out at any point, you’re more than welcome to,” she said. “Everyone helps each other out here.”

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