Under The Old Forsythia

Caitlin looked out the kitchen window, watching the snow dance around the garden and recalled that last day the egotistical peacock was strutting around the yard. More like a predator as far as she was concerned. One too many affairs and far too many lies. He thought she was stupid, couldn’t figure out what was going on.

She knew she should have left years ago, but couldn’t quite get up the nerve. She didn’t know where to go; she had no family that she could turn to and she didn’t want to admit to her friends that they had been right about him all along.

When Caitlin confronted him, the third time, he had promised he would change; he would stop; it was over; that this was the last time. Guess this time it was.

The now dearly departed had thought he was being nice on that cool spring day by helping in the garden. He was stupid enough to have believed that her agreement to his assistance was somehow also her forgiveness of his oversights, as he called them. She just needed help, it was that simple. Anyone would have done the trick and he was available. He was working on removing the old forsythia from the side garden when he asked her for the shovel. She obliged without thought. To the back of his head. As he landed face down on the ground she watched as he twitched a couple of times and then remained still.

As she continued to look out the window her grin grew wide. The new flowerbed under the old apple tree that she made that spring day might just do well next summer, but she would need to find some else to help her dig up the rest of the dwindling forsythia’s.