Abigail’s granddaughter Lucy has an imaginary friend who eats at the family dining table, buckles herself in the middle seat belt in the car and likes the light left on when she goes to sleep.

Abigail also has an imaginary friend. He accompanies her when she walks the dog, stands beside her at the kitchen window to admire the sunrise and listens when she talks. He reminds her of someone she once knew…when she was young and her whole future lay before her. Abigail’s husband Simon sits in his armchair watching television or reading his newspaper. He grunts when she hands him a mug of coffee, lunch or dinner, and doesn’t notice… her.

Her walks with the dog and her imaginary friend grow longer each day. The dog doesn’t mind; he loves to walk, sniff the myriad scents along the path and prance past the poodle at number seventeen. Abigail and her imaginary friend communicate silently. They share their thoughts and hopes, compare favourite books and music.

Abigail recognises a familiar fragrance. Honeysuckle…rambling like a hedge along the front fence of an old house, several blocks from home. She inhales deeply and the memories of her youthful yearnings flood back. Unrequited dreams.

Abigail packs a small battered suitcase and stows it in the attic. Each day she returns to the honeysuckle hedge and picks flowers, plucking the petals like daisies… will I? won’t I?

Lucy visits and sits on the front porch patting the dog. “I’d like you to meet my imaginary friend,” she tells him. “She’s sad. Her grandparents are getting a divorce.”

Abigail quietly unpacks the suitcase after Simon goes to bed.

In the morning she stands at the kitchen sink. Alone. She watches the sun slowly rising above the horizon.

“It’s going to be a nice day,” says Simon, taking a step into the room.

The sun’s rays creep along the back fence and gently kiss the dew soaked grass.

“That fence is bare,” says Simon, taking another step toward the window. “Do you think we should plant something there?”

“Honeysuckle,” says Abigail.