Chapter 10“Break ground.” I handed Cyan a shovel the next morning as we stood in our backyard.
“Break ground? It’s an eight by twelve patch of garden, not a skyscraper.”
Memorial Day weekend could be chilly or stifling. That year, 2009, it was uncomfortably humid before ten A.M.
Up five hours earlier, I’d listened for Cyan. As soon as he stirred, “We got a shovel down there?”
He didn’t answer, so I went down to look for myself. “Ow.” The stairs were a challenge.
“Why are you limping?” Cyan kept a neat space. His clothes were folded and lined up on a folding table, jeans and other pants, shirts, underwear, socks. It was all very organized, though it made me sad he didn’t have a dresser, and I had two.
“I hurt my knees.”
The basement was nice and cool. It also smelled musty and a litt
