David was on his hands and knees spreading the last bag of mulch across the flowerbed. His forearms looked like wet hot dogs roasting on a wire rack, flecked with dark patches of dirt. I watched him finish while I poured the last of my water bottle onto my head, letting the cool trickle run over my face. My arms had gotten badly sunburnt, and I was sure that my neck would begin to throb and feel tender against the rub of my shirt. My skin wasn’t used to the sun the way David’s was.
In the supermarket the gray-haired father frisked the green-butter lettuce heads, and at the moment of nomination the vegetable sprinklers, timed to go off, showered satiny mist on his round hairy hand. Evan was standing beside him and snickered behind his teeth, realizing that grocery shopping with his father would not be as awkward as he originally thought.