Flowers of every color imaginable are freshly planted in the front, around the mailbox, and along the sides of the house. My hands are slightly itchy from the pine straw I’ve just put out, but the place looks better than it ever has. “What do you think?” I ask Brooklyn as she comes around the corner with an armload of plastic containers.There are smudges of dirt on her nose, cheek, and the yellow tank top she has on. Her hair is falling out of her bun, and she’s wearing rain boots with a pair of shorts that are faded and frayed at the bottom. She has to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.“I think you need to go into the landscaping business,” she says, joining me.“I’ll add it to my list.”“What kind of list?”Taking the containers from her, I dump them into the back of my truck and then walk to the front porch to sit on the steps. “I have a list of jobs I’m considering.”“Having a hard time picking out what you want to be when you grow up?”
