“Did he go back inside?” my friend asked.
I looked quickly, “I think so.”
He looked around the other corner of the garage. “Nobody over there, either.”
We looked up at the vines growing along the front of the garage roof. I could almost taste the grapes. We’d been waiting patiently for the old man to go back inside so we could reach the sweet harvest.
My friend started to climb up the side of the garage.
“Door!” I warned.
Amazing! My friend managed to scoot around the corner and still hold on without falling.
The wife came outside. I tried to squeeze up against the wall and held my breath. I hoped she wouldn’t see me.
I peeked and saw her get a couple tomatoes off the plants in their little garden. She went back inside, not even looking our way.
“Come on,” he said through a squished grape.
I scampered up to join him. I grabbed the nearest grape and stuffed it in my mouth. Juice dripped out of the corner of my mouth, but I didn’t care. I balanced myself and got another one.
Something swished past my head. The old man was swinging a broom. My friend had already disappeared. I dropped and escaped to the next yard and hide behind the big tree.
“Marie,” the old man turned to his wife, “I don’t know why we bother to keep those old vines. The squirrels always get more of them than we do.”
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