He gestured to the plants with his head.
Her brain was foggy. He couldn’t possibly mean …
“You did this?” she demanded, incredulous.
“What are friends for?”
“But, how? When?”
“I had a small garden in the city. On the roof. It helped me, I don’t know, block things out. And I had some help with this one. Cindy delivered fresh dirt, and Bill fixed the fence. Gail helped with the configuration. I know it’s not exactly how it was. But when I told them what I was going to do, everyone wanted to help. This town rallies when something needs to get done.”
Sadie was speechless. Warmth spread through her chest, and she wanted to cry, but in the kind of way where you were so overwhelmed that the tears are a beautiful release instead of a painful one.
“I thought it was magic,” she whispered.
“Thanks,” he said with a little laugh. “Sade …” He paused. “Can I do anything for you?”
She wanted to tell him about her curse, about the life debt, about her confusion. She wanted to tell him she couldn’t do it. Any of it. That life was breaking her into a hundred jagged pieces. That she knew what she wanted but couldn’t voice it because it made her a terrible person, and that thought scared her more than anything else. All she’d ever wanted was to be good. And wanting Jake was the opposite of that. So why did it feel like the only right thing in her life? It was always going to be him. She would have loved him no matter what, but this version of him? He was a new person, and that meant he had the opportunity to break her heart all over again in a new way.
“Just sit with me,” she said instead.
He did.
And even though he belonged to someone else, there was a part of him he reserved just for her. A space with her name on it. She could feel it in him. And she thought that no matter how many decades went by, no matter whom they loved or lost, or where they ended up, that small piece of real estate in his heart would belong to her forever. And it would have to be enough.
“Thank you,” she mumbled finally, leaning on his shoulder, just for a moment, and stealing some of his warmth.
The next morning, she woke with her chest feeling not quite as heavy as the day before. She’d sat in the garden with Jake, the silence shrouding them until the frogs and cicadas started their evening song. Until he said he needed to get back. To Bethany. And there wasn’t even any room in her heart to feel anything about that.
She paused on her way downstairs, Gigi’s door illuminated with a soft light. She felt the pull. The green lockbox she knew was under her bed. The one that held all the details about what she wanted for her less than traditional memorial service. But she couldn’t bring herself to go in. Not yet.
Anne was already in the kitchen, the coffeepot full, the counters sparkling, and the smell of butterscotch hanging in the air.
“Here,” said Anne, pushing a plate toward Sadie. “Have some with your coffee.” She poured her a cup and added just the right amount of cream.
“Fudge for breakfast?” Sadie arched a brow.
“This family runs on sweets. You should know that by now.”
Sadie took a small bite, and her chest went tight. It was Gigi’s recipe, and Aunt Anne had done it perfect justice. The maple played with the butterscotch, and the velvety smooth texture was cut with the crunch of toasted walnuts. She chased it with a sip of coffee, the heat and bitterness cutting the butter and sugar.
“Wisdom and strength,” Anne said.
“She made this when we opened the café. I remember it like it was yesterday.”
“You always will.”
The day passed in a slow kind of blur where time played its old tricks until the sun began to set. They were drinking coffee around the kitchen table when Anne asked about the café.
“I should check in with Gail,” Sadie said, feeling guilty she hadn’t already.
She took her mug and walked out front, barefoot, the cold grass anchoring her to the earth. There was something about misty fall mornings in Poppy Meadows that came straight from a storybook. All was peaceful and cozy. Smoke curling from chimneys. It was cold, but the kind you could warm up from fast and didn’t need heavy clothing for. The coffee hot in her hands, she circled the lemon tree first and the Japanese maple second. The hedges were looking unkempt, and she realized with a jolt that the front yard would have to be her responsibility too now, along with the back.
With heavy fingers, she pulled her cell out and called Gail to ask how she was doing.
“You know there’s nowhere I’d rather be, honey. I’ve got nothin’ but time on my hands,” Gail told her. “My two oldest goin’ off to college, bless ’em. And another getting’ married. And Ayana’s doin’ great. But how are you? That’s the more important question.” Her voice was thick, and Sadie knew she was holding back tears.
“I’m hanging in there.” It was the barest sliver of truth. “I’m going to come into the café tomorrow. I need to—I don’t know—I think Gigi would want me to go back. Not sit here and wallow. And I need something to do. Some normalcy.”
“We’ll be here waitin’ for you, honey.”
Sadie hung up and as she stood on the path, a hummingbird zoomed up, hovering not two feet from her, its wings a blur. It stayed for twenty seconds, staring at Sadie before flying up to hover outside Gigi’s bedroom window. The bird seemed to say two things at once. “Good job for getting back on the horse and do what you know needs to be done.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” she told the bird. And it bobbed in the air before flying off.
Her footsteps up the stairs were soft and even softer as they padded to Gigi’s bedroom. Abby followed her up, her toenails click-clacking against the wood. The poor creature was barely eating, and Sadie had never seen so much sorrow in an animal’s eyes. Together, they stood at the doorway, the sight threatening to bring down the wall she had so carefully been resurrecting around her heart. Everything was exactly the same as it always was. Framed photos on Gigi’s wooden chest of drawers. Scarves hanging on hooks on the wall. A pair of small, hand-painted, porcelain elephants on her bedside table next to a half-empty glass of water and a pair of reading glasses. The curtains billowed despite the closed windows, like they were happy to have someone in the room again.
Abby whined at the foot of the bed, and Sadie picked her little barrel-chested body up and deposited her on the comforter. The dog then proceeded to sniff her way up to Gigi’s pillow, where she took a shuddering breath, turned in a circle, and lay down.
Sadie, focusing her eyes forward, got on her hands and knees to feel under the bed. Her hand hit something metal, and she pulled out the dull moss-green lockbox. Gigi, organized as ever, even in death, had left a page of instructions lying on top.
Sadie smiled wanly, as though her lips had forgotten how to. As she’d said, the cremation service was already paid for. Seth was to pick up the ashes, and then they were to have a family dinner in place of a memorial. Gigi had even detailed what food was to be made.
“No mourning,” she’d written. “Set the table for twenty-nine.”
Twenty-nine, Sadie thought, her eyebrows shooting up. She did a quick calculation. That meant all her cousins were coming. Even second cousins. This was everyone.
In the box were tax information and the deed to the house, which had been transferred to Sadie and Seth. There was a journal, worn and weathered, that Sadie couldn’t quite bring herself to open yet. And there, held together with an old blue rubber band that came from a bunch of asparagus, was a stack of letters. Hers was on top, and she flipped quickly through the rest. One for each of the aunts and uncle Brian, Seth, and Florence.
With trembling fingers, Sadie opened hers. At times, she could barely read the words through her tears.