“That would be a safe assumption.”

“It was Lydia’s idea. Sort of.” Please, someone give me the strength to understand these cryptic words. I cross my arms and stand waiting. My posture and silence let both of them know I want an explanation. Now.

“Lydia kept looking for new things that Lizzie might want to paint. But I could tell her heart was being pulled elsewhere.” He shifts the bag of peaches to his other hand. “When Jack arrived in my shop at the same time Lizzie was there, we . . . I had an idea. We meant to include you, but . . . well . . . we didn’t.”

So Hank is as much to blame as Jack? This situation has moved from bad to worse. Someone I thought was a trustworthy friend has gone behind my back. For something I probably would have allowed after a proper discussion.

“Claire, I’m sorry.” At least Hank has the courage to say those words.

I glare at Jack, wondering if he’ll follow suit. When he doesn’t, I redirect my focus to Hank. “I trusted you.” I know there’s hurt in my voice, vulnerability exposed again. I can’t stop it this time. Flashing another quick glance at Jack, I notice genuine regret in his eyes. “And I wanted to trust you.”

I won’t remain here any longer. I climb the uphill path toward a town that now feels less like home.

“Claire, wait.” I pause for a short second, contemplating the urgency in Jack’s words. With determination, I march forward, never turning around. I’m done waiting for things to go right for me.

14

I understand Lizzie is not innocent in this lapse of judgment. But she’s still a young girl with a malleable mind. How do I broach this conversation with her—especially after the talk we had about her mom and mine?

I’m not her mother, nor her parental guardian. But if she looks up to me as Russell says, I need to say and do something. And I sure don’t want to mess it up like everything else in my life.

I walk more slowly back home. That final word creates a bitter taste in my mouth. Home. I chew on it and contemplate spitting it out, but I can’t. Not yet. Does the universe ever stop making things so difficult?

I FIND HER WHERE I knew she’d be, sitting in the same rocking chair. We’re more alike than we are different, even if separated by twenty-five years. She doesn’t see me, and it’s surprising that she’s touching up a painting of the garden. When has she been working on that?

The sight of her work creates a momentary glimpse at contentedness. I try to exhale some of my negativity. When Lizzie notices I’m watching her, she hurriedly closes her sketchbook. Why is everyone so intent on hiding things from me?

I run my palm over the side railing and lean against it. The reflection of my garden in the kitchen window catches my eye. It supplies me with some gentle motivation. “We should talk.”

“I know.” The way she speaks, it reminds me how mature she is for her age.

“What happened?” It’s an open-ended question, a chance for Lizzie to approach it from whatever angle works best for her. She’s silent, staring off into the distance. I realize she can’t possibly read the flurry of thoughts racing through my mind, so I try something different. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how.” She grips her brush tighter, as if unwilling to let go of some intangible thing. “Whenever I asked my dad to go somewhere new, he promised we’d find the time. But we never did. He was always too busy with work. So I stopped asking.”

A deep inhalation is followed by a sigh filled with frustration. I sense her painful disappointment. “When someone else offered to do that for me? And have the chance to get tips from Jack? He’s so talented . . . I couldn’t say no.” Lizzie glances over at me, and I see the guilt in her eyes. “Well, I didn’t say no. I’m sorry. It was wrong.”

I appreciate her honesty, but she hasn’t answered the burning question inside. “But why didn’t you just ask me? I would’ve said it was okay.” I fib a little. Knowing what I do now, I’m not sure I would have been comfortable allowing it.

“I noticed something between you and Jack that day.” That day. Yes, there was something, and I guess it was plain for everyone to see. “I didn’t want to make you any more uncomfortable.” What did she observe happening between Jack and me? While I felt a strong connection, did she sense nervous tension? “That, and I was afraid you’d say no.”

Lizzie’s more grown up than I was at her age, providing the complete truth. Even when she could hide behind someone else’s bad choices.

“It’s not Jack’s fault.” Her words attempt to defend his actions. I need to put a stop to that mistruth.

“Actually, he is as much to blame as anyone. Hank too.”

“They told me to share it with you, but I never did.” That bitter taste in my mouth becomes a little less sour. Still, they should have been up front with me.

“I realize we don’t spend a lot of time together, but you can talk to me. You know that, right?”

She nods her head in agreement, looking down at her lap. “I just wanted to be strong and independent.” She pauses for a second, glances at me, then stares out toward the garden. “Like you.”

If only she could understand the truth. Life is hard and confusing. Is this what it means to be strong? To do what you know in your heart is true, even when it goes against what everyone else believes is the right thing to do?

It would be hypocritical to tell Lizzie otherwise. I would have made the exact same choice. It’s also what Hank, and even Jack, has done. Nurturing a young artist who needs to prove something to herself. Even when it goes against what I believe. Or might believe.

Their choice still borders on misguided. But I can see where their hearts and intentions pointed. And that look in Jack’s eyes? How he stayed locked with my emotional glare, even through the gut-wrenching turmoil of it? Even now, part of me wants to hope there is something there.

“He shared other things with me too. It’s why I had that talk with you out in the garden the other day.” I glance over at Lizzie as she allows a feeble smile to spread across her face. “Jack told me that as important as art might be to my life, connections with other people are even more important.”

Carried through the voice of my teenage niece, his words still cause a tingling sensation. Through every part of my being. The physical, emotional, and spiritual. There’s definitely something there. For me. I just don’t know whether my words do the same thing for him. But I must find out, and soon.

15

I can’t rightfully take credit for the brilliance of her idea.

Such is the innocent beauty of a young mind, encouraging risk in the face of fear. Even when the likelihood of a disappointing failure is high.

Lizzie helped me gather all the ingredients from local sources. The eggs originated from Feldman’s Farm on the outskirts of Pigeon Grove. Princess Lay-ah is the hen extraordinaire. She earned the name thanks to her fancy-pants gait unlike any other in the brood. But with the quality of each egg she produces, I can’t fault her pretentious nature. They are that good. Knowing and sharing little tidbits like this? It transforms a small town into a close-knit community.

All the vegetables came from Hank and Lydia. I insisted on paying for them, but neither one would take my money. They said it was their contribution to the neighborhood brunch. It’s another perfect example of simple kindness leading to bountiful warmth. I got fresh coffee beans from Caldwell’s, even though I no longer have a need for its caffeinating effects.

This is the first time I have allowed people other than family into my home. It is scary, but it feels right. I’m appreciating how those two conflicting emotions nurture each other. Those things that frighten you the most are often the ones you’re meant to pursue. Chatty neighbors and hearty laughter replace the silent echoes of creaking floorboards. Yes, this is right.

There are tomatoes, onions, and spinach in the omelets. The smell of sautéed vegetables mixes with fluffy eggs and cheerful conversation. It delivers a moment of sensory bliss. I glance around at everyone mingling and breathe in the ambiance.

Jack holds a glass of lemonade while sharing some flowing hand gestures with Hank. I understand why his art is so compelling. There is a magnetic quality to his every movement, even when he’s doing nothing more than engaging in a casual chat. I chastised myself for falling victim to his charm, but my opinion on that matter has changed. Life is short, and experiences like this don’t arrive often. It’s our duty as human beings to recognize and live those special moments to the fullest.

My talk with Lizzie encouraged a different vegetable on today’s menu. An intangible one. The olive branch extended to Hank, Lydia, and Jack offers my heartfelt apology. For being far too judgmental.

Speaking of my niece, it’s her final day in Pigeon Grove. Despite all the joy and happiness surrounding me, I’m saddened by her imminent departure. This has been an extraordinary and sensational week. One that never would have come to pass in this remarkable way without her presence.

The knock on my front door, once intimidating and frightful, is welcome music to my ears. Especially when I see who’s standing on the other side of the mesh screen. “Russell Stover. How’s the sweetest brother in the world?”

“Hey, Claire Bear.” I can tell he notices the new glow surrounding me. A meandering and cathartic path has led me to this moment, but I’m a different person than I was one short week ago.

“So?” I need not say any more. We have a sibling bond that never disappears, no matter what. A beaming smile stretches wide across his face. I know the answer to my question before he shares another word.

“I got it.” Relief, exhaustion, and exhilaration seep between his words. There it is again. Conflicting emotions come together with amazing cohesion when we allow them to.

“I’m so proud of you.” To see someone work so hard toward a dream and have it fulfilled is inspiring and motivating. To have it be your own brother makes it that much better.

“The same goes for you.” He wasn’t here, but I can tell Russell understands the depth of what transpired over the past seven days. There’s that unspoken sibling connection again.

“Dad!” Bouncing into the room, Lizzie jumps into her dad’s open arms. Their hug communicates more emotion than any words could ever summon, even if it’s short-lived. “Wait here.” She bolts up the stairs and back down again a moment later, before I can share a single word with Russell. “I made it for you.” She hands him her sketchbook.