After the ceremony, a little girl in a yellow dress tugged on my sleeve.
“Are you Natalie?” she asked.
“I am.”
“My mom says this place helps people who had scary houses.”
I crouched so we were eye level. “That’s what we’re trying to do.”
She considered this seriously. “Does it have a library?”
I smiled.
“It will.”
“Good,” she said. “Libraries are brave.”
When she ran back to her mother, I had to turn away for a second.
In the garden, the greenhouse had been restored first.
Not the ballroom. Not the study. The greenhouse.
Lavender grew in neat rows. White roses climbed new trellises. Sophie had planted rosemary for Lydia. Madison had planted daisies because she said the place needed something cheerful and stubborn.
I planted a single small tree in the center.
A magnolia.
Grandmother’s favorite.
As the sun lowered, painting the glass gold, my mother came to stand beside me.
“I signed the divorce papers,” she said.
I looked at her.
She gave a shaky laugh. “That is probably not traditional opening-day conversation.”
“No,” I said. “But it’s a good one.”
She nodded.
For a while, we watched Madison and Sophie argue over whether the refreshment table needed more napkins. Claire was teaching Detective Hale how to take a decent selfie. He looked like he would rather face another courtroom.
My mother touched my hand.
“I know I cannot ask you to forget,” she said.
“I won’t.”
“I know.”
“But I think,” I said slowly, “we can build something from here.”
Her eyes filled again. “I would like that.”
Then Madison called across the garden, “Natalie! We’re doing the toast!”
I groaned. “Do we have to call it that?”
“Yes,” she said. “We’re reclaiming the word.”
Sophie lifted a glass of lemonade. “Journalistically, I support this.”
