I remembered the cover—flowers and the promise of light. At the time, it had almost offended me.
“What’s it about?” Annie asked.
“It’s about four women who rent a castle in Italy for the month of April,” I said. “They’re unhappy in different ways. Lonely. Tired. Shut down. And then this place begins to work on them. The gardens, the sea, the wisteria, the warmth. Nothing dramatic happens, which I appreciated. No one is rescued. No one is cured. They simply begin to soften.”
The word caught in my throat.
Softening had felt impossible then. Dangerous, even. I had made myself hard on purpose. Hard got Annie to school. Hard paid the bills. Hard opened the gallery and answered questions and stood in line at the grocery store while people pretended not to stare. Hard kept me from exploding into an enormous ball of rage and grief. And, after a time, it had become a habit to be hard, unreachable. But I hadn’t always been that way.
Maureen Flynn, with her soft cardigan and knowing eyes, had not handed me a book about grief. She had handed me a book about spring and flowers and reinvention.
“I asked her, ‘why this one?’ And she said the book had reminded her—at a time when she really needed reminding—that spring comes again, even after the darkest and coldest of winters.”
Dorian dabbed at his eyes with a kitchen towel.
I looked down into my glass. “She also said, ‘I lost my husband too and raised a child alone. Give yourself a little grace. A little kindness.’”
The sauce simmered its low, steady bubble on the stove.
“She was right. The book got me out of my reading drought. And it didn’t make me feel better exactly. That would be too simple. But it made me remember that I had once lovedbeautiful things without guilt. Flowers. Light. Color. A good cup of coffee in the morning. The way clay feels before it becomes anything. It helped me to understand I could still love things without it being a betrayal to Jon. I was still here. Alive. Interested in things. That’s when I started my garden. Yes, it was April of that spring. I planted everything I could get my hands on. And now, I have this beautiful sanctuary that reminds me how lovely the world can be and that grief and beauty can exist at the same time.” I looked toward the window, where evening had begun to gather in the garden beyond his kitchen. “I’ve never told anyone that story.”
No one spoke for a moment.
Then Annie reached for my hand across the counter. Her palm was warm and dry. “Mrs. Flynn gave meEdwardand gave youApril.”
“And my garden,” I said.
“She would have loved knowing that,” Dorian said.
“She probablydidknow,” Annie said. “Bookstore people know everything.”
“She was always empathetic and compassionate toward anyone who walked into her shop,” Dorian said. “And you’re right, she touched countless lives with her thoughtfulness. Thank you for telling me how she touched your lives in such a meaningful way. You’ve given me a great gift.”
I watched him standing in his mother’s kitchen with her recipe simmering on the stove, next to my darling girl. And I thought, this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Maybe his mother was up there, still guiding us toward the light and each other.
“You’re reminding me I have big shoes to fill,” Dorian said.
Annie smiled. “But Dorian, you did that for us too—the Didion book was just what we needed. So you’re carrying on her work.”
“I guess I am,” Dorian said. “Someone should tell Poe that.”
We all chuckled, and then I offered to set the table
“You did say a perfectly set table made you happy,” Dorian said.
“I did?” I asked.
“I put it in your profile, remember?” Annie asked.
“Well, she’s right. I do love a perfectly set table,” I said. “What do you have for me to work with?”
That seemed to stump Dorian. “Um, candles?”
I nodded, already designing the table in my head. “Yes, candles are good. I noticed some mason jars in the laundry room. I’ll use those for flowers. With your permission, I’ll snip some flowers from your garden.”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Dorian said, looking a little frightened.
“Great. I’ll need scissors or clippers. And do you have cloth napkins?”
