I try very hard not to stare, but I’m just so relieved that Vikram’s hunger strike is over.
“Better hurry before they’re gone,” Adele says, placing a croissant onto a dark blue paper napkin and handing it to me.
I bite right into the most buttery, flaky, chocolaty croissant I’ve ever tasted. It’s even better than the ones Roger makes at the Shark Bite Café, though I’d never admit it to him. “This is absolutely delicious.”
Adele lifts her chin proudly. “Soon Vikram is going to teach me how to make his famous chai spice cake.”
“Your mother’s favorite, yes?” Vikram asks me.
I nod. “I can’t wait to try it.”
“I hope I can pull it off,” Adele says, her voice faltering.
“Adele,” Vikram says solemnly, affection in his dark eyes and a flake of croissant on his top lip. “I have all the faith in the world in you.”
As Adele boldly lifts a napkin to his lip, I turn and make my way outside.
My second surprise of the day occurs when I step onto the terrace. Though I’d hoped that the much-discussed tables and chairs might have been returned to their rightful spots, the terrace remains sadly empty. But after I take a few more steps, I see whatdoeslie ahead and feel my breath catch in my chest.
The reflecting pool. It’s been cleaned and filled with water—impossibly still water that perfectly reflects the morning sky just as Marjorie described. It’s extraordinary, that pool. A long ribbon of blue sky and cottony white clouds seem to stretch through the elegantly sculpted beds of lavender and lemon trees and pristine, crisscrossing green lines of boxwood hedges.
From somewhere I have not seen yet, the green, herbaceous scent of daisies, the scent of awakening, wafts toward me, and that’s when I realize the reflecting pool isn’t the only change out here.
There are residents everywhere. Not just one or two accompanied by an aide, but five, six… no, seven. Some strolling, some in wheelchairs, some pushing walkers. Laughing, chatting, or contentedly lost in their own thoughts.
A shiver of happiness travels through me. This is a garden in its most beautiful state, being enjoyed by visitors. The flowers seem to agree—their colors are bolder, their blooms larger, their fragrances headier than they were even last week, as though they are embracing the home’s residents, encouraging them to linger, to stay.
Marjorie and Cynthia are out walking, and when they spot me standing at the top of the stairs, they wave up to me as though they’ve known me forever. I lift my hand and wave back, a warm feeling spreading within me.
I glance down at Gully by my side, and he looks up at me, his expression patient, a slight breeze ruffling his shiny fawn-colored fur.
I remember that I have Donovan’s number now, and I take out my phone to text him.
Thank you for filling the reflecting pool. It looks beautiful.
I pause, then add:
This is Lucy.
I’m glad, he writes back immediately. I watch the three little dots indicating that he’s writing more appear and then disappear. I wait, but nothing more appears.
The residents love it, I write.Agatha Pike would be happy to see how her gardens are filled with visitors again.
Those dots rapidly appear again and then blink for a long while. He seems to be writinga lot.
And then all of a sudden, the dots once again disappear. As I stare at my phone, it begins to buzz with an incoming call.
I lift the phone to my ear. “Good morning, Donovan.”
“Lucy,” he says smoothly. “Is the lock still broken on the doors to the terrace? Jill assured me that she had it fixed over the weekend.”
“The lock?” I repeat. Why would Jill have lied to Donovan about having fixed the lock? I decide to evade his question with one of my own. “But don’t you want the residents outside enjoying the grounds? Isn’t that the whole point of restoring them?”
“The residents can enjoy the view from inside.” His voice is patient and a bit patronizing, but I sense that there are other more charged emotions pressing up from below the surface of his calm tone. “There are large windows in the dining room, and in the sitting rooms, and in all of the apartments,” he goes on. “The home is full of comfortable rooms from which the residents can enjoy the view.”
“But that’s not what your great-great-grandmother wanted,” I say, surprised. “She wanted the people who live here to go outside, towalkthe grounds, to spend their days in nature.”
“Agatha Pike lived in a very different time, Lucy. The gardens are a hazard.”
