By Jeff Kennedy

The only sound in the house is gentle snoring, drifting from the back bedroom where Shirley dozes fitfully in the heat. Martin moves silently through each room, tending to her plants.

He moves the spider plant to the other side of his desk. Shirley knows the spider plant shouldn’t be in direct sunlight, but she loves having it in the window. Martin snaps dead flowers and leaves from the African violet and waters the Christmas cactus. He doesn’t touch the philodendron. Martin doesn’t care for the philodendron.

Shirley rolls over and whispers, “Martin… the philodendron. Please don’t forget the philodendron.”

She hears a sigh.

A green plastic watering can rises from the side table, glides across the room, and stops over the philodendron, tipping to splash water into the pot, and then returns to its usual place.

A breeze stirs Shirley’s hair as she drifts back to sleep.

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Jeff Kennedy is a lifelong author and playwright. He is a member of the Dramatists Guild of America.