Robert’s car pulled up and idled at the end of the driveway. He got out and stared at the house for a moment, then placed a bouquet of roses on the cement. “Oh, no! Have you two broken up?” Fran asked Sheila (after he’d driven away). “Not exactly, but sort of,” Sheila responded, sipping her coffee. She stared out of the window at the bouquet just lying there. “I sensed something early on (a desperation, a trying too hard, a larger design I was falling into) that I could never really explain. When I put in the garden, I also planted that holly hedge around the front yard.” “It’s really beautiful,” Fran commented. “Thanks, I love it,” Sheila responded, “and it’s handy. A natural barrier against darkness, evil can’t easily pass it.” “Interesting,” Fran mumbled, wondering how on earth Sheila knew all of this stuff. “That night, when he came to pick me up, Robert couldn’t come up to the front door; he couldn’t get by the hedge,” Sheila said quietly. “He raged on the sidewalk for almost an hour before storming off, but … once you know, you know, of course.” Fran typed HOLLY HEDGE into the notes on her phone.