Page 115 of Meet Me in the Garden

I go back to the bathroom. My mascara’s run. I dip a tissue into cold cream and fix it. My hair’s fine as it is. I still have plenty of time before the ceremony, so I drive to Ginny’s house, hoping she’ll be there, and she’s out front, talking to a neighbor, my heart pounding at the sight of her. Standing in the sun, her hair tucked behind her ears, her hands in her pockets. She does a double take at my car, squints to check that it’s me, waves goodbye to her neighbor, and comes to my door.

“You look so pretty,” she says. “When’s the ceremony?”

“One o’clock. I had some time so I thought I’d come say hi.”

“I’m headed to the shoe repair before Gerard closes shop for lunch. Walk with me?”

I keep pace with her as she tells me about her latest exam and the job opportunities she’ll have in the fall. People are out on their stoops and she knows so many of them, keeps stopping to exchange a few words. We reach the shop. “Have you been here?” she asks me. “If you ever need shoes repaired, Gerard’s the best. But he’s also hopelessly disorganized. You’ll see.”

The bell chimes as we walk in and he greets her by name. She hands him her ticket. “Two pairs,” she says.

“I know,” he says. “I know.” He’s colored, small-framed, balding, an apron tied at his waist and polish-stained hands. He searches the shelves behind the counter for the shoes.

“I have something to tell you,” I say. “Some good news.”

“What is it?”

But Gerard turns and says, “What do they look like again?”

“One is a cream loafer. The other is light brown, woven.”

He nods like he knows exactly what she means but he keeps picking up the shoes and turning them over, shoes that are all wrong—black shoes, men’s shoes—and she sighs and says, “Gerard, my friend, you need asystem.”

“They’re in the back,” he says. “Just a minute.”

He disappears through a door, and she says, “Okay, I’m listening. What is it?”

“Elise sold my paintings. All of them. On the first night of the show.”

Her whole face changes. More than gladness. Almost painful, how clearly she sees me. Work to not look away. “Now you know what you’ll do once the plant closes. Or before it, even. You’ll paint.”

Is it possible? I hadn’t allowed myself to think of the money yet. Those figures Elise threw out at me, the percentage I would get, the possible commission if the buyer is serious, if I can find my way back into creating. My life as a working painter, not the stolen hours but the main thing. I can almost see it, and then the vision rushes in, like I’m living it already. I’m lost in it when the door swings open, and Gerard is back, setting two pairs of shoes on the counter, shiny and as good as new. “Here they are,” he says, like he knew where they’d been all along.

We walk back in the June sun, the day my children will graduate high school, past two little girls skipping rope and a group of men laughing outside a liquor store. Past a church and a bicycle leaning against a fence and to Ginny’s building. I climb the steps with her, not ready to go yet, and somewhere close, a dog starts barking. Ginny turns the key in her lock, opens her door, and a little brown-and-white terrier leaps onto her leg, tail wagging ferociously, pink tongue hanging out of its mouth.

“Odette, meet Holiday. The fella followed me home from the store the other day,” she says. “Refused to leave my side.” She scoops him up and the dog wriggles in her arms, reaching for me. “Give him some attention. He wants to meet you.”

I pet his little head, scratch the place between his ears. “What a doll,” I say as the dog calms, settles into Ginny’s arms.

“I know. He’s just a puppy but he’s learning so quick. We aren’t allowed to have pets. I asked the landlord if he’d make an exception, but he said no.”

“What are you going to do?” I ask, even though I know from the way Ginny’s cradling the dog what her answer will be.

“I’m ready for a change anyway. I’ve already started looking at other apartments.”

“Move in with me,” I say.

On the street, a car revs its engine, speeds past. Holiday startles, barksat the sound, and Ginny holds him tighter, comforting him. I wonder if she heard me. I wonder if I even said it.

“What do you mean?” Ginny says at last.

“I’m ready,” I say. “If I’m not too late.”

“You’re ready,” she says. She isn’t smiling. She’s serious and it’s not what I expected but it feels right. Like she’s repeating a vow. An old woman passes below, stops to adjust her sun hat, carries on. Someone nearby is baking, the air turning cinnamon and sweet. A boy bursts out of his house, shouts for another boy who stops and waits. And music plays from behind a closed door. And a pigeon lands on a telephone wire, followed by another and another. And Holiday lets out a whine.

And Ginny says yes.

Graduation is full of applause and tears, my sisters and Al and Bernard and all my nephews and my niece, together for the first time in months. Time seems to have eased things. Claire compliments Adele’s new purse, Adele tells Claire she’s always loved her in that shade of violet, and the kids are fine, their parents’ grievances nothing to do with them. Nathalie and Clément find us afterward. Embraces on the football field, everyone beaming. We drive to Brookside Park for the party, and I watch Nathalie and her friends, and she looks happy, seems okay after all, at least right now, which is all I can hope for any of us. Later, the party winding down, I spot Claire and Adele together, at a bit of a remove. My stomach lurches—if not now, when? I head toward them.