Adam follows my gaze. “It must open into the woodland garden.”
I nod. It makes sense that they would have more than one way in and out, that they’d connect to one another. “There’s probably one connecting the other two gardens, too.”
“So six gates, not four.”
“Maybe this one is in better shape than the others?” I ask, realizing that this job that Adam has volunteered to do out of love for his grandmother might have just grown by fifty percent. We walk over to the gate, and itdoeslook like it has held up better than the others; it’s old, but it’s not covered in damaging ivy.
“After you,” Adam says, gesturing for me to try the handle.
With some coaxing, the gate begins to open. Adam stands beside me, and I take in his fragrance of sawdust and chocolate, that slight hint of green below. Slowly, I push the gate farther, revealing the deep shadows of the woodland garden, and the scents of damp earth and spicy viburnum tumble in to meet the sweetness of the roses.
“Well, it works, but it could use some attention,” Adam says, hispalm still resting on the gate. “I can probably just sand it and stain it in place at some point. I don’t think it needs to be done right away.”
“I’m sorry. I feel like you’re being roped into more than you bargained for.”
Adam smiles. “I don’t mind. The work is a nice distraction. I think it’s good for me.”
I wonder what he needs a distraction from—his grief? The lost connection to his work? Sophie’s sadness? Something else?
“Adam?” Vince calls from beyond the wall. “Need a hand carrying this up to your truck?”
“I’ll be right there,” Adam calls back. He looks a little regretful, and I have the feeling that he wouldn’t have minded staying with me a bit longer. He nods toward the gate that separates the woodland and rose gardens. “Should we leave it open or shut?”
I think for a moment.
“Open,” I decide.
Marjorie and Cynthia walk over to join me as Adam is leaving, and I notice with pleasure that Cynthia’s face now has a healthy flush. We stand together, watching as Adam and Vince carry the gate up the ramp.
“Such a good man,” Marjorie says proudly.
“We just discovered another gate in the rose garden,” I tell her, “and he said he’s happy to restore it, too. You definitely won the grandson lotto with that one.”
Marjorie pets Gully. Then she looks up at me and says, “Actually Adam isn’t really my grandson.”
I tilt my head. “He’s not?”
“I think of him like a grandson, but we’re not related by blood. He was married to my granddaughter, Beth. She died in a car accident two years ago. Little Sophie was in the car with her. Terrible, just terrible.” Marjorie takes a deep breath. “It’s an absolute miracle that Sophie survived, that she’s here with us today.”
My body feels heavy with sadness. I’d suspected that Adam’s wife had died, but I had not known that Sophie was with her when it happened. It’s no wonder the little girl is troubled.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “For all of you. I had no idea.”
“How could you know?” Marjorie asks. “Adam isn’t exactly a chatterbox, and Sophie—well, she doesn’t say much of anything these days, does she? I’d love to say I’ve taken Adam under my wing and watched over him, but really the opposite is true. Do you know he calls me every morning? Every single morning. Just to say hello. My daughter, Joanne—Beth’s mother—lives on the East Coast, and I don’t see her nearly as often as I’d like. Adam has… well, he’s adopted me—there’s no other way to put it, really—and I don’t think I’ve ever received a greater gift in my entire life than that.” She takes another deep breath, and I see Cynthia’s arm tighten around hers. Marjorie smiles sadly at her friend.
“Cynthia has heard me go on and on about all of this for a long time now,” she says. “Beth was my only grandchild. Until Adam, that is. She was alovelygirl. Whip-smart and practical and a fantastic mother. She and Adam had a great love. But it’s been two years, and I hate to see how sad the two of them—Adam and Sophie—remain.I don’t expect them to just move on and leave their memories of my darling Beth in the dust, but my goodness, they have a lot of life left ahead of them! What a waste it would be if they spent even one more day stuck in the past.”
I’m not at all sure what to say to this. There’s not a day that goes by without me thinking of my mother, wishing she were still here. It’s not so easy to let go, when what you really want is for the past to remain in the present, to remain secure within your heart. I think of the wedding ring that I noticed Adam wearing. If I had a piece of jewelry that symbolized the love I felt for my mother, I would wear it forever.
I think of the pain I’d seen in Sophie’s eyes and realize why the little girl looked so familiar to me. I was looking at a girl who had lost her mom suddenly. A girl who had not had the chance to say goodbye. A girl a lot like the one I see when I look in the mirror.
“Anyway,” Marjorie goes on, reaching out to give my hand a robust squeeze. “I’ll admit it wasn’t entirely for the benefit of the home that I volunteered Adam for the restoration job. He seems to be in a rut with his work, and could stand to shake his life up a bit and do something outside his usual routine. I know he thinks I’m too pushy, but I can’t help wanting to help the people I love.” She shrugs, her eyes twinkling as she puffs out her chest and lifts her chin. “I’m pushy because I care.”
“You should definitely embroider that on a pillow,” I tell her, smiling.
Marjorie throws her head back and laughs. “I should! It would look great in my apartment. Oh, I like you, Lucy.” She turns to Cynthia and nods. “You were right, as usual.” Then she leans close to me.“Cynthia had a good feeling about you from the moment she laid eyes on you.”
I look at Cynthia. “You did?”
