But from time to time, I was overcome by a sadness or strangeness, a feeling of too much feeling, if that makes sense, of standing just outside of something desirable and urgent and important. And then I had to get a grip and tell myself, as my mother surely would have, that I must not have enough real things to worry about.

I had a lot of nursery stock to get in the ground for Mrs. Boone. I started off well enough. I had a load of mulch in the bed of my truck, and I shoveled a wheelbarrow full of it and walked it out to the backyard. The edges of the bed with patchy shade, where the rhododendrons would go, were easy enough. The soil in the sunnier portions was hard and compacted. Some kind of deep-rooted shrubs had died there, and I had to dig them out. It was a chore and a half and slowed me way down.

And then came the heat, right on cue. Even in the shade, the air was breathless and unmoving. The house behind me was quiet. In the woods, a sudden bird squawked and then went silent. I had a big thermos of water and a jar of Gatorade. I kept pouring fluids into my mouth and it tells you something about heat and sweat that I only had to pee once in about six hours. I found a wooded part of the lot that was out of sight from the house and, also very important, didn’t have any poison oak.

The dwarf cypresses about killed me, as they had the biggest root balls. I watered them in right away, a slow soaking. I needed a break, not just for rest but from my own frustration. It was past three o’clock now, and although I’d saved some of the smaller and easier plants for last, by the time I got everything planted, watered, and mulched, it would be a longer day than I’d figured.

Behind me I heard the door to the screened porch open and I jumped. I heard Mrs. Boone say, “Here’s some iced tea for you,” but by the time I turned around the door had swung shut again. I saw her head of silver hair as she walked back to the house through the breezeway.

“Thank you,” I said, though I doubt if she heard me. I hadn’t planned on stopping, but I didn’t want to seem impolite.

I opened the door to the porch. The screens were covered over with trumpet vine and the dimness inside made me blink. A ceiling fan turned overhead, and a big electric box fan whirred cool air across the floor. The tea tasted good. I have to say, it all felt pretty good.