She nagged him for years to make a pathway from the backdoor to the walkway. How hard could it be? They sell sacks of cement at the hardware store, she'd seen them. Just dig a path and add water and pour the cement.
What do you mean, concrete? she said. What's the difference? Why must you argue about everything?
So he dug a path from the sidewalk straight to the back door. She stopped him before he put up the frames to pour the concrete, or cement if made her happy. A from the sidewalk path - that wasn't right at all. That made it look like anyone could walk up to the backdoor. The path had to branch off the walkway up to the front door.
And that'll keep anyone from walking around to the back door? he wondered. But he kept that thought to himself. He filled the dirt in and seeded it, but he could always tell it he'd once dug it up. Even when the grass grew back. It was slightly sunken.
I put all the dirt back, he thought. Why does it look like a grave?
One summer he decided to dig it up again and plant some bushes.
She loved it, and asked what made him do it; he couldn't quite say.