He nods and looks out over the garden, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. “It’s been a hard couple of years,” he says eventually, meeting my eyes again. “After the initial shock wore off and we both had time to grieve and to adjust to Beth being gone, Sophie seemed to be doing… okay. She went back to school. She seemed like a kid again. She seemed like herself. I went back to work, and I felt like we were starting to adjust to our new normal, just the two of us. We moved to this new house, and Sophie seemed… happy. But then a few months ago, something shifted. I still don’t understand what. I began getting calls to pick her up from school. They told me she couldn’t stop crying. She started speaking less and less until eventually she hardly spoke at all…”
He trails off, swallows. “The doctors call it selective mutism. It can happen to children after a traumatic experience. No one can explain why it was so delayed. She stopped speaking more than a year and a half after Beth died.”
“Poor Sophie,” I say. I think of the shadow in her expression, the weary slope of her shoulders.
Adam draws in a deep breath. “That’s why she’s doing art therapy. I can’t tell if it’s helping, but at least I know it’s not hurting. And I have to do something. I’d try anything. To be honest, the happiest I’ve seen her in months was when she was here, spending time with Gully last week.” He smiles. “Maybe we should get a dog.”
“They do have a way of nudging one toward happiness,” I say, smiling.
“Dogs and gardens,” Adam says.
“Dogs and gardens,” I agree.
I look around, keenly aware of the flowers that await my attention below the weeds. It will be an exuberant garden, full of color and the bright, fragrant, breathtaking extravagance that is spring.
Agatha Pike is still here, in each of these carefully designed landscapes. I can feel her intention. This cottage garden—with its joyful abundance of flowers and whimsical hills—feels full of magic, and it’s meant to be experienced by the residents of the Oceanview Home.
When you’re young, it’s easy to believe that stuffed animals can speak, that the world brims with hope and goodness, that wishes can come true. But who needs and deserves to feel hopeful just as much as the young? People who have lived long lives. People who have worked hard, who have experienced loss and regret, who havemade mistakes. These gardens are meant for the residents of this home.
“Lucy,” Adam says, stepping closer. There’s a line of worry between his brows. “What’s wrong?”
I turn away, but it’s no use—I can’t hide my emotion. I don’t really want to anyway. I don’t want to lie to Adam. It doesn’t feel right, especially since the woman he considers to be his grandmother is about to have her entire life uprooted. I think of Jill saying that she no longer cares to keep Donovan’s secret. I hope her words mean that she’ll forgive me for what I’m about to do.
“Donovan Pike is selling the home,” I say quietly, and watch confusion churn within Adam’s eyes as he takes in my words. “Jill Li told me everything a few days ago. All of this—the restoration of the grounds, the gates—it’s all for the sale. The home is going to be turned into a hotel and all of that land”—I gesture toward the field of wildflowers and the woods that lead down to the ocean beyond the walls—“will become a golf course.”
“But what about everyone who lives here?” Adam asks, the furrow between his brows deepening.
“They’ll all have to find somewhere else to go. The home is closing. I’m so sorry, Adam. I know how Marjorie loves it here. And she belongs here, with Cynthia and all of their friends.”
Adam rubs the back of his neck. “Can he really do this?”
“Jill says he can. Apparently the developers are coming in two weeks to finalize the deal. I don’t know how long everyone will have to move out after that, but Donovan has promised to allow time for the residents to find new places to live.” I cross my arms. “It’s hard to trust anything he says now.”
Adam turns toward the home. He stares up at it, emotion passing over his face. “I’ll have to tell Marjorie,” he says. “I can’t keep this from her.”
“Yes,” I say. “Of course.”
Adam looks at me searchingly. “And once Marjorie knows…”
We pass a sad smile between us.
“Everyone will know.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Lunaria: A flowering herb in the mustard family with airy, delicate violet blossoms whose sweet scent inspires sincerity
I see Donovan the moment I step out of the rose garden that afternoon, my work finished for the week. He’s standing on the terrace, scanning the sunken garden, and he goes still when he sees me.He knows, I think immediately. He knows that Jill told me about his plans.
I walk up the steps toward him. Gully stays glued to my side and doesn’t amble ahead to meet Donovan the way I know he would if it were anyone else standing there.
“Done for the day?” Donovan asks.
I nod and walk past him. I’m near the doors to the home when my anger overwhelms me and I stop and spin toward him. “How can you do it?” I ask. “How can you kick all of these people out of their home?”
His expression reveals no emotion. “Jill shouldn’t have sharedthat information with you. If she worked at any of my other companies, she’d be collecting her last check.”
“Instead she’ll collect it in a couple of weeks, along with everyone else who works here.”
