The Neighbors by Ania Ahlborn Page A

smile. “You wouldn’t deny an old woman a few minutes of your time on your way out, now, would you?”
    “Of course not,” he told her, taking the basket from her hands. He couldn’t help shaking his head as he walked away from her booth. Since he’d moved onto Magnolia, everything had turned to gold.
    By the time Drew had walked around the entire market, he had collected a bouquet of fruit, complete with a grapefruit as big as his head. There was a pint of freshly picked strawberries, a couple of oranges, and a giant slice of Saran-wrapped watermelon. He plucked up a pineapple as well, recalling that it was a symbol of hospitality, and filled the remaining nooks and crannies with plump cherries. Unable to resist temptation, he popped one of them into his mouth, tasting summer. He spit the pit onto the ground before heading back toward the baskets, remembering his Gamma’s warning:
Don’t swallow the seed, or a tree will sprout inside your stomach and roots will shoot out your toes.
    He set the heavy load onto the old woman’s table, and she put her knitting aside once again and got to her feet. She was a lot like Drew’s Gamma before she had passed away—shrinking down toward the ground while Andrew grew up toward the sky.
It makes it easier to reach for the stars,
she had told him.
So reach while you’re young.
He missed her; the way she used to balance him on top of her feet and dance with him on the wraparound porch. PopPop knew how to play the guitar, and he’d play old country songs while Drew and his Gamma danced, his mom and dad dancing and laughing together just a few steps away.
    He watched the older woman work in silence, arranging the produce with a contemplative expression, stacking and draping, making sure it looked like Drew had picked it out of a glossy-paged magazine. A pink ribbon was the finishing touch.
    “For friendship,” she told him. “May it go well for you, my dear.”
    She offered him the basket with a fond glint in her eye. He paid her, thanked her, and nearly skipped back to his truck.
    Once on Magnolia, with the basket precariously balanced on his knee, Drew struggled with the Wards’ front gate, fiddling with the latch. Moving up the walkway, he took deep pulls of air that smelled of fresh-cut grass, thrilled to be on the other side of the picket fence yet again. A momentary breeze carried the perfume of Harlow’s roses across the yard, while breezy licks of jazz danced out an open window. A pair of fresh white curtains billowed outward into the afternoon sun. It was absurd in its perfection; another world—one that Andrew would be allowed to experience on a daily basis starting bright and early tomorrow morning.
    He pressed the glowing doorbell button and heard it ding above an accompanying piano. But the footsteps he expected didn’t come. He pushed the doorbell again, but still, nothing. Taking a few steps to the side, he peeked in through the long window beside the door. The place looked empty. His anticipation dwindled, a tinge of disappointment coloring his good spirits.
    Just as he was about to give up, Harlow called from the sidewalk.
    “Andy, honey...” He turned, and there she was, appearing out of thin air. “Good heavens, darlin’.” She paused, placing a hand to her chest as she blinked at the comically oversize fruit basket in Andrew’s arms. “What’s
that
?”
    Drew grinned as she made her way up to the front door, holding the basket out to her.
    “I just thought, since Red was nice enough to offer me a job...”
    Harlow’s surprise melted into what looked like genuine enchantment, and for a split second she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen: the way her hair shone in the sun like gold,the way her bright red lips pulled back with exhaled laughter—just like his mother, once upon a time.
    “For me?” Her lashes fluttered almost flirtatiously.
    He nodded, and she shook her head as though it were the nicest gesture she’d ever