“No. Because no matter what happens, you tend to shine. Remember the first day you came to Lilymoor, and Damnit had chased you three times already, and we’d found a wasp nest in the shed, and there was a squirrel family living in the cottage?”
“Regrettably,” I mumbled.
“You remember what you did?”
“I probably tried not to cry?”
“You laughed, Sunny. So chin up,” he said, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “And whatever’s got you sad, punch it in the nuts.”
I burst out laughing despite myself.
“What, you think this was some after-school special?” He stood, making a face. “I’m a goose dad, not adaddad.”
“Thanks, Ned. You’re a good friend.”
He grinned bashfully and rubbed his nose. “Don’t make me weepy, I got a crowd to impress. Now,” and he held out his arm to me, “let’s go impress ’em.”
With one last glance back at the wall of boxwoods where the door no longer was, I curled my arm around his and left.
The whole town had come out for the party.
I recognized the firefighters, and most of the families who visited every weekend, and the counselors from the regional summer camps. There was the bartender, and the grocer, and the small tackle box of fishermen huddled together by the beer table, talking about fish. Eula’s entire guest list.
And Oliver had been right—they all brought a plus-one, or more.
“Say it,” Oliver singsonged to Juliette, eating another olive from the catering buffet. “Saaay it.”
Juliette threw up her hands. “Fine! You’re right.”
“Say I saved the party.”
She gave him a look.
“I saved alittlebit of the party,” he amended.
I shook my head and finished picking through the buffet table, and moved over to stand under a willow tree. The night was warm, and fireflies glittered in the distance, and the wind was soft and cool, and if I listened to the chatter of the party, I could swear Harrie’s laughter rose above the din, bright and sharp and good.
And Rus wasn’t here.
My mom came over to stand with me, and we stood in silence and watched the party unfold. Eula was standing still, dancing, in the middle of a circle of firefighters, throwing her head back in wild, voracious laughter. She’d found a flower crown of her own, bright pink to match her sparkling dress, and no one could miss her even if they tried. Petals blew across the dark grass like afterthoughts of snow, the rain holding off but the sky dark with clouds nonetheless.
Onstage, Wykofski struck up a sweet and bright melody on his mandolin. “Garden Song” by John Denver. Once he escorted me to the party, he’d grabbed his rainbow sequin jacket from under a table, where he’d also stashed his instrument, and donned it with a flourish. The sequins now sparkled in the iridescent lights hanging from the willows.
Everyone grabbed someone and started a soft and slow dance. Oliver walked Juliette out into the soft grass, and they swayed. He’d never looked at me with the adoration he gave her, and she didn’t even see it as she looked down at her feet to make sure she didn’t step on his.
Mom said, “You look a little lost, sprout.”
I glanced over at her. “I’m fine,” I said, though she could tell I was lying.
“You did it. Aren’t you proud? I am. This garden isbeautiful. Eddie and I took a stroll earlier, and now he’s taking a stroll to go find a bathroom, but no one’s perfect,” she added with a sigh. Then she bumped her shoulder against mine. “You did good, sprout. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you for coming.”
“I knew I had to—Eddie did, too. You’ve never talked about someplace the way you’ve talked about Lilymoor, and Eula, and Juliette, and that bear of a man—what’s his name?”
“Wykofski.”
“Right, Wysocki.”
