The wrought iron
hung on two hinges
between two
posts without a
fence, just a
gate set at
the entrance of
a garden to
which he had
come as a
stranger in need
of comfort, any
comfort, but
a glass of water
would do, with
or without the
glass. “May
I help you?”
she asked.
“Excuse me,” he
said. “Could I
trouble you for
a drink of
water?” He looked
nice enough, tall
and slender and
sad about the
eyes. What kind
of a man asks a
woman in a
sheer cotton
dress for water
in the cool
of the shade
beneath the
branches of her
trees in the middle
of the day? “I
could just take
a drink from
the garden hose,”
he ventured. “Go
ahead,” she said
and he turned
on the hose,
held the spout
to his lips and
drank deeply.
When he had
done he did
one thing more.
He placed the
end of the
still running
hose over his
head and let
the cold water
play down over
his neck and
wet his hair,
his long dark hair,
gasping as he
did from the
invigoration
and explosion
of cold upon
his flesh.
He let out
an expletive
and as he did
she felt her
loins loosen.
She invited
him in. “Are
you hungry?” she
asked. “Would you
like something to
eat?” “Yes,”
he said and
opened the gate
after he turned
off the water.
The fact he
turned off
the water and
opened the gate
where no fence
stood and might
have walked
around without
formality let her
know she’d
made the right
decision, the
right choice.
She had been
alone a long
time. She
wore sheer white
cotton dresses
because she had
been alone a
long time.
♥