We’re standing close to each other now, and we fall quiet for a beat, holding each other’s eyes, the warm scent of jasmine in the air charged with a sudden intimacy.
The kitchen door swings open then and we both step slightly away from each other as we turn to see Sophie stride out. Gully launches himself to his feet and follows her as she bounds down the stairs with a sheaf of paper and a shoebox full of crayons clutched to her chest.
“Did you find everything?” I ask.
She nods.
“Good. Then we can get to work! Let’s draw your garden.”
I sit with her on the stairs to the kitchen, and Adam takes paper and a few crayons and sits nearby on the stone steps that lead to the yard’s upper terrace. For ten or fifteen quiet minutes, we draw. The tree branches are occasionally swept by a breeze, changing the pattern of sunlight and shadow that falls against the dirt. The sounds of the city hardly reach us.
When we finally compare drawings, I see that Adam has drawn a portrait of a very happy Sophie grinning against a backdrop of colorful, cartoonish flowers.
“How useful,” I say, my mouth twitching into a smile.
Adam pretends to be hurt. “It conveys afeeling, doesn’t it?”
“Absolutely. There’s a lot I can work with here. Flowers! Happiness! It’s a very clear design. I like it.”
“Let’s see yours, then,” he demands.
I turn my page toward both of them. I sketched the yard just as it is, noting every turn of the stone steps between the terraces, and how far the branches of the oak tree stretch, and the placement of the few existing shrubs, and even the location of the hose bib that I’d noticed jutting out of the back of the house. I’ll take a few photographs before I leave, too, but a drawing with approximate dimensions of the existing layout will come in handy as I attempt to design a new garden for them.
“Ugh,” says Adam, deadpan. “We don’t wantthat.”
Now it’s Sophie’s mouth that twitches into a small smile. I can see the real Sophie in that moment, a girl whose natural inclination is to be happy.
“Your turn,” I tell her encouragingly.
On Sophie’s paper, a thin brown path wiggles through swaths of color. The fence is covered in green leaves and flowers. A swing that seems to be made of a rainbow hangs from the tree in the corner of the yard. I touch my fingertip to a multicolored structure in the middle of the drawing.
“What’s this?” I ask.
Sophie presses her lips together.
“A fort,” Adam says after a beat. “For reading. But it’s made of flowers?” He’s looking at Sophie for confirmation, and she nods. “We like to make reading forts in her room,” he explains to me. “Weuse the most colorful sheets we can find and bring in all of her favorite stuffed animal friends.”
I smile. “How fun.” I look up at the tree in the corner. “You’re right, Sophie; that oak tree is the perfect spot for a swing. And there should be lots of flowers, with a path that goes this way and that. And we should nurse your jasmine vine back to health so it gives you that beautiful wall of greenery that you’d like. And a cozy reading fort, absolutely covered in flowers.” I look into her complicated hazel eyes and tell her that I love her ideas. “It’s a wild garden—colorful, a bit playful, with a few secrets hidden up its sleeve.”
“It’s perfect,” Adam agrees.
“Leave it to me,” I tell them. “I know just what to do.”
That night, after dinner and a game of chess with my dad, I settle into bed with a notebook, a pencil, and the drawings that Sophie and Adam and I made. And Gully, of course, who promptly falls asleep, no doubt dreaming of his favorite little friend.
I want to create a space for Sophie that is both whimsical and peaceful. A place of healing, retreat, and exploration. A space that engages all of her senses—scent, touch, sight, sound, and taste.
I lean back against the headboard and close my eyes, letting Sophie’s garden take shape in my mind. A lush clematis vine, its sweet vanilla scent calming and comforting, climbs over tented bamboo poles to form her reading fort. White jasmine flowers along the fence, as bright as stars in a night sky. A flower bed brims with chocolate cosmos, lemon balm, and spearmint, lendingthe air the aroma of a candy shop, with leaves ready to be plucked for cooking and teas and imaginative play. Throughout the garden: lily of the valley, its fresh, hopeful scent inspiring a return to happiness, its blooms as light and pretty as fairy bells. Fuzzy lamb’s ear plants burst with the purple flowers that hummingbirds love. Frothy drifts of yarrow fill the air with their healing fragrance, their flat sprays of blossoms the perfect resting spot for butterflies.
On the yard’s upper terrace, a white gravel path glows in the moonlight, cutting through feathery stalks of fennel and happy purple globes of blooming chives that are both edible and playful. A wooden swing hangs from the oak tree, rainbows of ribbons fluttering from its knots. California poppies glow golden even in the shadows, their citrus scent carrying a message of hope.
I open my eyes and begin to sketch the garden, every flower carefully chosen, every scent a wish for Sophie.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Honeysuckle: A hardy flowering vine or shrub with sprays of tubular blossoms whose strong, honeyed scent offers protection from those who intend harm
It’s clear from the moment I arrive at the Oceanview Home on Monday that the spirit of the place has changed yet again.
