At about the same time that young Andrew Verner was having abuse heaped upon him by his unpleasant childhood crush; Floyd Wilks, sporting an old worn pair of coveralls and a big straw hat, was outside in his back yard furiously tearing weeds out of his garden with a rake. He was humming softly as he did so along with an old, almost antiquated transistor radio sitting on the grass, its antenna glinting off the light of the late morning sun. A couple hours earlier his son and soon to be daughter-in-law took his Caddy and headed to the mall in Akron, they wanted to go have breakfast together and then begin planning their wedding. They graciously invited Floyd to come along. He declined the invitation, saying he didn't want to intrude. And besides, his disaster of a garden needed some work anyway.

Truth be told, Floyd hated gardening. He didn't like getting his hands dirty, he didn't like rough and sweaty work; and most of all, he didn't like vegetables. All the same, he was reasonably sure that being both southern and old, he was required to grow things in the ground and (usually) pawn them off on the neighbors. Corn, squash, carrots, green beans and cucumbers were all laid out in orderly little rows. The cucumbers weren't doing so hot this year, but everything else was flourishing. The corn Floyd ate readily; but everything else he gave as wide a berth as possible.

Winded, He stripped off his work gloves and leaned his rake against the maple tree running up beside the garage. He sat down on a short brick wall that surrounded the garden, a wall that he built with his own hands about ten years previous. A glass of ice water was sitting there on the wall, waiting for him. Condensation was heavy on the glass, drops of water dripping down it's sides to be absorbed greedily by the dry bricks that it was setting on.

After draining off almost half of the glass in one long gulp, Floyd exhaled deeply and turned his attention to the sound of the radio. The news reporter sounded thin and tinny over the old radio. It was the same old thing every time he checked on the news last night or this morning; east Texas was the first item on the docket. "…And the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia reported this morning that there is no cause for alarm concerning the quarantine of Arnette, Texas. Doctor Herbert Denninger of the CDC stated, in a morning press conference, that the containment of a strain of the influenza virus has been successful and that it will not be necessary to evacuate or quarantine the surrounding areas - although he declined to comment on when the quarantine will be lifted. In other news…"

Floyd wrinkled his nose distastefully. Nothing was quite as bad as a really nasty case of the flu bug during the summertime. He figured that it might not be such a bad idea to go into the doctor this week or the next and get himself a flu shot. After all, he wasn't getting any younger and a case of the flu at his age wasn't a joke. He had an air show coming up in a couple weeks that he would be flying in, and piloting a stunt plane with a head cold wasn't a very good idea. He might be getting up there in years, but he didn't have any intention of dying this month.

He considered that he should probably get down to the hangar today and start getting his plane ready for the show, but discarded the idea. Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow, he didn't need to get started on that for at least another week or so. In the meantime he had his much-hated garden to deal with, he thought sourly.

A cluster of cheerful little beeps from the cordless phone atop the radio gave him the little excuse that he needed to set aside his agricultural aspirations for a little bit. He answered the phone to the pleasant voice of Amanda's mother, Faye. Her and her husband had gone to Hawaii for a week, as they did pretty much every summer, leaving their daughter at home under the mild supervision of Floyd. Faye called her house every day at about this time, and if she couldn't reach her daughter she would call here to make sure that everything was okay. This whole procedure had been repeated so many times throughout Amanda's teenage years that is had long since become routine.

For a moment Floyd had considered telling his neighbor about their children's planned nuptials, but quickly changed his mind. That information wasn't his to tell and she would find out from Amanda pretty quickly anyway. Instead he listened to the woman bantering on about what they were doing; things he had all heard before. Then she told him, as she already had at least a dozen times prior, that they would be home first thing in the morning on the 24th. Floyd took this all in politely and added that he hoped they had a good time and then hung up the phone.

Floyd lifted the brim of his hat and looked up at the sky. A stiff breeze was starting to blow, and some storm clouds off in the distance were threatening to bring an end to his exquisitely perfect morning. We could use the rain, he told himself. Floyd decided that he might find himself down at the airstrip today working on his plane, after all.

Amanda's parents were not going to be as happy about the marriage as he himself was, that was without question. Floyd thought (and if he asked, Amanda would confirm it) that Amanda's parents were more than a little bit disappointed with her. They were both professionals. Thomas Turner (Gah, Floyd thought, even the name sounded pretentious) was an attorney for some real estate company in Cleveland, and Faye Turner was an accountant for the city of Kent. Both of them seemed to be more than a little bit put off by their daughter who, while still planning on going to college, had no further ambitions in life other than just being a wife and a mother.

Floyd certainly empathized with his son's girlfriend on this one. He never really understood people whose entire lives seemed to revolve around the acquisition of "stuff." He himself was not so much rich as he was thrifty, and didn't really care to be. His only real extravagances in life was his two planes and the five year old Cadillac. Aside from that, he really did not regret the fact that he couldn't take vacations like the Turner family could, or buy expensive cars every year like they could.

Life was about doing what it takes to make yourself and those you love happy, the adage that "whoever dies with the most toys wins" was absolute bullshit; Floyd knew it, he watched all of his siblings fall victim to the lures of rampant consumerism. He was sure that there was no greater proof of society's gluttony that his brother's "need" for a recreational vehicle with a price tag higher than what Floyd's house was worth. Amanda though, she already understood that all the money in the world couldn't buy happiness, and she was going to live her life accordingly. Floyd was very proud of the girl.

The wedding also, they were probably going to frown on. The kids had already made obvious to Floyd that they were intending to get married within the next few weeks. It would be a small and intimate service and reception. They were figuring on inviting maybe thirty or forty people from each family – just close relatives and friends. Without knowing for sure, it seems to Floyd that the Turners – with all of their other little traditions and rituals – would be more than a little bit put out that their only daughter was not going to have a large traditional wedding - which would undoubtedly be more an outlet for them to show off than it would be a benefit for the kids.

He hoped that they would get over it as quickly as possible and just be happy for their child. What makes them enjoy their lives wasn't necessarily the same thing that would make their daughter, or Floyd's son for that matter, happy. If they didn't like it, too damn bad because (as Andy Verner could have told them) life isn't always fair and sometimes you just need to suck it up and deal with it.

Draining off the last of his glass of water, Floyd slowly stood up, his joints creaking. Giving one last baleful look at his garden, he turned and started walking toward the house while thinking that if nothing else, the next few weeks were going to be extremely interesting.