The car honked twice then twice again before the tires crunched on gravel and the vehicle left in a puff of midday dust.
She could always count on Henry.
There was a time when he could ring her bell. When she could offer him a glass of lemonade.
Not now, so close to her transplant date.
She waited a moment before venturing to the gate, and smiled again when she saw he’d taken the card she’d left. She knew he’d made a special trip.
He brought the birthday cake from her daughter, still cold, wrapped in fancy tape.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
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