Fine. Werewolf. The man she loved for as long as she could remember was a werewolf and no one would talk about it.
She gently tapped the spade’s edge against the wood frame, knocking away dirt. Then she gritted her teeth and gave a choked scream, bashing the spade with all her might. She did not kneel like a lady, but squatted. The old frame groaned, wobbling because the rusty nails holding it together were nothing but powder, and that was one more blasted thing she could not fix. Then, as if out of spite, the wood handle on the spade separated from the blade. The blade sailed across the greenhouse. Stunned, she fell back onto her bottom.
Annoyed at her defeat by gravity and old tools, she gave a kick to the wood frame.
“I think you killed it,” Luis said.
“Be quiet. You’re ruining a pe
