Digging

Allen pauses from his digging to look up at me. There's dirt smeared on his forehead.

"Do you think anyone noticed?" His eyes dart from side to side. He’s sweating, but whether it’s out of exertion or nervousness, I can’t tell.

I shake my head, but I can't shake my uneasy feeling. The moon, bright and white, hangs lazily in the sky above us, a few wispy clouds blocking its brilliance.

I continue digging.

"Do you have them?" he asks, breathing heavily and glancing around. I nod my response.

I saunter over to my car and pull one out of the trunk. It's awkward to carry, lumpy and heavy. I manage to drag it to where Allen now stands in front of our work.

"Pass it here," he says.

He empties the fertilizer into the soil.

They're the nicest dahlias I've ever planted.