She laughed, and the sound followed me halfway down the row.
I found Tyler standing beside the compost bin with his shovel planted in the pile and his eyes narrowed at it.
"No," I said.
He looked over. "You don't know what I was thinking."
"That's why I said no."
"I was only wondering if faster turning would help."
"You were wondering if jumping on the shovel would help."
Tyler's mouth opened.
I pointed at the pile. "Turn it from the side."
He deflated. "Fine."
Gus chuckled from the fence.
I glanced back toward the tomatoes.
Daphne had her head bent over the vine, concentrating like the whole morning depended on a decent knot. Birdie stood a few feet away, watching her with the satisfied look of a woman who had never once missed a thing in her life.
Birdie looked at me next.
I narrowed my eyes.
She smiled and clipped basil into her basket.
By midmorning, Daphne's white sneakers were losing the war.
She noticed around the same time I did. She stood at the end of the row, looked down, and lifted one foot carefully. The side was smeared with soil, and one lace had turned gray.
"Well," she said. "They had a beautiful life."
"They lasted longer than the flats."
"Low bar, Zane."
"They cleared it."
She wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist. The movement pulled her shirt tighter across her chest for half a second, and I turned toward the wheelbarrow like it had asked me a question.
I kept both hands on the tomato ties until my attention remembered where it belonged.
"Water break," I said.
Daphne's eyes narrowed. "Was I making dehydration face again?"
"You were making July face."
"That's just my face now."
"Drink anyway."
I got bottles from the cooler. When I handed one to her, I kept my grip on the plastic until she looked up.
