would have tried to calm everyone down. This time, he looked at the ruined garden and asked, “What do you need?”
“Grandma’s garden map.”
He brought me a long cardboard tube from the study.
Inside was Grandma’s hand-drawn plan of the entire garden. Every flower bed had a number. Beside each number, she had written the plant, the date, and the memory connected to it.
Peonies — my first summer.
Lavender — the year she recovered.
Daisies — my first recital.
Roses — her anniversary.
Zac and I spent the afternoon comparing the ruined
