The Gardens of Digby Green: Gas Gauge
At an intersection between the mechanic’s shop and the Strip Shoppe, a traffic signal turned red. Digby’s anticipation climbed. He’d never before made two gardens while in the same city. But roses do better in the company of other roses… and who’d know?
The light went green. Digby accelerated, steering left-handed, while he caressed the handle of his trowel. Four blocks later, in the direction of his first garden in this crummy town, the tow truck pulled into Arnie’s Engines and unloaded Rosalie’s car. Digby parked his truck in the last open space on the lot, and rolled down his window.
Was the direction they’d traveled a confirmation?
He let the thought slide by. Pulling his trowel from the gap, he rolled his wrist, tilting the blade in the sunlight. Such a well-designed, useful tool. It balanced so easily in his grip.
By the look of the lot, Arnie’s business was doing well. That suited Digby. It increased the chances Rosalie would be riding in his passenger seat. He could see her through the shop window, talking to a heavy-set, mustached guy. Arnie, probably.
Digby looked down. His gas gauge was low.
He chuckled at the confirmation it gave him. The nearest gas station was even farther in the direction of his first garden here than Arnie’s shop. A tapping on the passenger window interrupted his daydream. Rosalie.
He unlocked the passenger door for her, and she climbed in. She set her purse on the console, and buckled her seatbelt. Good. It’d keep her in position when he chose to make his move.
“They won’t be getting to my car before late tomorrow afternoon,” she said.
“That’s inconvenient.”
She nodded, and gesturing, gave him directions to find her house.
Digby started the truck engine, and promptly turned in the opposite direction.
The Gardens of Digby Green is a serialized story that posts on Fridays.
Next week, part twenty-three, Trowel Handle.
Find a link to purchase Heartland Treasures anthology here.
Ruth DeMaat
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