She held Izzy close and talked and talked and talked, laughing every now and then, and occasionally wiping a tear from her eye. She talked of girlhood pranks and loves lost and found, and wedding days; she talked of babies being born and growing up, and of Natalie. She talked about Nick, and how strong and handsome he had been and how much he loved Kathy, and how sometimes grief sent a person into a deep, cold darkness from which there seemed to be no escape.
She was still talking when night fell and plunged the room in darkness, when Izzy’s breath took on the even wheezing of a deep and peaceful sleep.
Spring chased away the last vestiges of winter, threw its bright colors across the rain forest. Dainty crocuses, hyacinths, and daffodils bloomed in beds, along walkways, and in pockets of sunlight in the damp, needle-strewn forest floor. The birds returned, sat together on telephone wires, and dove for bits of string on the road. Jet-black crows hopped across the lawn, cawing loudly to one another, and used the driveway as a landing strip.
Against her father’s pointed advice, Annie had packed a small suitcase and moved into Nick’s house. It had proved to be a blessing, for although the nights were still long and lonely, she found that she now had someone to help her through it. She was no longer alone. When she woke in the middle of the night, her heart pounding from familiar nightmares, she climbed into bed with Izzy and held her tightly.
They spent all their time together, she and Izzy. They went to town, baked cookies, and made jewelry boxes from egg cartons. They concocted elaborate care packages for Natalie and mailed them every few days. They worked out of kindergarten and first-grade workbooks, to ensure that Izzy was still learning what she needed for school. And every evening, Nick called to say good night.
Today, Annie had special plans. It was time to revive Kathy’s garden.
She stood at the wobbly white picket fence that framed the garden, and Izzy was beside her. The earth was a rich brown, soggy to the touch from last night’s heavy rain. Here and there, puddles winked with a strange, silvery light.
Annie set down her big cardboard box and began extracting her tools: spades, hand shovels, trowels, scissors.
“I wish I’d paid more attention to the gardeners at home,” she said, spying a big lump of brown twigs that looked promising. “That must be something good—or it’s the biggest individual pile of weeds I’ve ever seen. And see how they’re growing in clumps—that surely must be a good sign. I think cutting it back will help; at least that’s what Hector at the Feed Store said. Come on, Izzy.” She led her across the necklace of stepping stones that formed a meandering trail through the large garden. They stopped at the patch of dead stuff.
Annie knelt. She could feel the moisture seeping from the soil into her pants, squishing cold and clammy against her skin. Pulling on a pair of gloves, she attacked the dead plant and yanked a handful out by the roots. “Bulbs,” she said with a triumphant smile. “I knew it.”
She turned to Izzy, gave her a self-satisfied look. “I knew it was a flower all along. Never questioned it, no sirree.”
She separated and replanted the bulbs, then attacked the dead stalks of perennials with her clippers, hacking everything down to ground level. “You know what I love about gardening? Paying someone to do it for me.” She laughed at her own joke and kept working. She pulled up everything that looked like a weed and divided and replanted all the bulbs. At last, she turned to the roses, carefully pruning the thorny branches. As she worked, she hummed. She tried to think of a song that Izzy would know, but all she could come up with was the alphabet song, and so she sang it in her wobbly, off-key voice. “A-B-C-D-E-F-G . . . H-I-J-K . . . L-M-N-O-P.”
She frowned suddenly and looked down at Izzy, keeping her gaze averted from the tiny black glove. “My goodness, I’ve forgotten the alphabet. Not that it matters, of course. It’s just a song and I’m sure I’ll remember it in no time. “L-M-N-O-P. Well, there I go again, getting stuck on P.”
Izzy reached slowly for a trowel. It took her a while to pick it up with only two fingers, and after the first fumbling attempts, Annie couldn’t watch.
She kept singing. “H-I-J-K . . . L-M-N-O-P . . . darn it. There’s that block again. Oh, well. I think we’re about done for a while. I’m starving. What do you say we—”
“Q.”
The spade fell from Annie’s hand and hit the ground with a thunk. She looked at Izzy, who was still kneeling in the dirt, awkwardly pulling up weeds with her two “visible” fingers as if nothing had happened. The moment bloomed, full of beauty and possibilities.
Izzy had spoken.
Annie released her breath in a slow sigh. Stay calm, Annie. She decided to act as if speaking were as normal as not speaking. “Why, I do believe you’re right. L-M-N-OP. . .Q-R-S . . .”
“T-U-V. ”
“W-X-Y . . . and Z.” Annie felt as if she would burst with pride and love. She forced herself to keep digging weeds for a few more minutes. She wanted to shriek with happiness and pull Izzy into her arms, but she didn’t dare. She didn’t want to scare Izzy back into silence.
“There,” she said at last. “That’s enough for now. My arms feel like they’re going to fall off. Jean-Claude—that was my personal trainer in California—he would be so proud of me right now. He always said I didn’t sweat. I said if I wanted to sweat, I wouldn’t wear color-coordinated clothes that cost a fortune.” She wiped a dirty hand across her slick forehead. “I have lemonade in the fridge, and some leftover chicken from last night. What do you say we have a picnic dinner out here? I could make us milkshakes . . .”
When Izzy looked up at her, there were tears in her eyes.
At last, Annie pulled the little girl into her arms.