Chapter 6 - The Following Spring
By spring the lake house looked alive again.
Some of the blooms came up in slightly different spots. A few of the colors were softer than they'd been. But the garden had found its shape again.
I drove out one Saturday and found Brooke already there, kneeling by the peonies, pulling tiny weeds before I'd even unlocked the shed.
A little girl visiting the cottage next door reached out toward one of the flowers. Brooke stopped her hand, gently.
"Careful."
The girl looked up, confused. "Why?"
Brooke smiled. "Because somebody loved that flower a long time before we did."
The girl nodded and stepped back.
I stood on the porch and watched. The lake glittered behind the beds. Butterflies moved through the lavender.
For the first time since Grandma died, the place didn't feel stuck in the past. It felt alive.
Grandma had been right all along. Flowers really are better than photographs.
May you like
A photograph holds on to one moment. The garden proves somebody kept coming back.
And now one more person understood why.
