“I’d never do anything to hurt you,” I say softly. “I just wish you could tell me if this thing with me and Harry is okay with you.”
There are no answers, though—only the rustle of the leaves above and the silent stillness of the cemetery. Still, I’m glad I came. Now that I’ve been here, it won’t be as hard to return in the future. In fact, I look forward to it. I can bring a Christmas wreath, and spring flowers.
This is Mallory’s sacred place. Harry was right—it feels good having it.
“I love you and I miss you so much,” I say, kissing my fingertips and touching them to her headstone before rising from the ground.
Harry wants an answer from me, but I still don’t have one.
With a last look at Mallory’s name on the headstone, I turn and walk back down the path that brought me here. Even the bright afternoon sun isn’t enough to stay warm on this chilly fall day. I’m pulling my gloves from my bag when I hear a man’s voice calling out behind me.
“Young lady! Excuse me!”
I look over my shoulder and see an older man hurrying toward me, a bunch of flowers tucked under one arm. He’s a Black man who looks like he’s in his seventies, wearing a wool trench coat and black dress shoes shined to perfection.
“Everything okay?” I ask him, walking the few steps to meet him.
“Oh, certainly,” he says, giving me a wide smile. “It’s a beautiful day out here, don’t you think?”
“I do.” I smile back, hoping he’s not going to try to sell me something.
“I came here to visit my Helen’s grave,” he says, pointing in the opposite direction I came from. “I come here every Saturday to bring fresh flowers for her. She was a florist, you know. She loved her flowers.”
“How sweet of you. How long were you married?”
His dark eyes shine proudly. “The best fifty-nine years of my life. Four kids and eleven grandkids.”
“Wow.” I nod, touched by his obvious love for his family. “What would you say is the secret to a happy marriage?”
“Never go to bed angry,” he says firmly. “And never take each other for granted.”
“That seems like sound advice.”
He reaches into the bouquet of flowers he’s holding and takes hold of a stem, pulling it apart from the bunch and holding it out to me.
“I was on my way to Helen’s grave for our weekly visit when I saw you and something told me to give you this,” he says, grinning.
A chill zings down my spine. It’s a single, light pink rose—Mallory’s favorite. The reason she chose “Rose” as Avery’s middle name.
“I know, I can tell by your face what you’re thinking, and you’re right,” the man says. “These roses won’t last a day out here in this cold. But my Helen loved roses and daisies, so that’s what I brought her. Roses in every color they had at the florist’s shop.”
“No, I—” I put a palm on my chest, trying to gather myself. “I was thinking…that this means more to me than I can say.”
Tears flood my eyes, and I smile, amazed I still have any left after I sobbed all over Mal’s grave.
“Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways, doesn’t he?” the man says, looking pleased.
“Yes, you’re right.”
I take the rose and bring it to my nose, inhaling the sweet perfume the same way Mal did every time she saw a rose.
“You have the best timing,” I say. I can’t help the small laugh that escapes, too. “This is a time where I’m feeling…where I was feeling…unsure,” I admit. “And I think this is the sign I needed. Thank you so much.”
I take his hand and squeeze it, saying, “I’m Winter, by the way.”
The man scrunches his face and shakes his head, grin still in place. “That’s no kind of name for a warm, sunny spirit like you.”
“Well, thank you. That’s nice of you to say.”
“It’s a pretty name, though. Unique. No one else like you in this whole entire world. Remember that.”
He touches his pointer finger to the tip of his fedora and says, “Best be getting to Helen now. She always hated it when I was late.”
“Thank you again,” I say, warm now despite the chilly wind. “And can I ask your name?”
“It’s Harry. Harry Compton.”
He turns to walk away and I stand there, frozen, as I watch him go.
A pale pink rose. A man named Harry. I asked Mallory for guidance, never imagining I’d actually get it.
“Are you serious right now?” I whisper, looking up at the sky.
Somehow, though, I already know the answer. Mallory said before she died that she wanted two things—for me to raise Avery and for me to be happy.
I’m on the verge of having everything she wanted for me, and everything I’ve ever wanted for myself, too.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Harry
Avery’s eyes dance merrily as she belly laughs for the second time, making my heart stutter just like when I heard her full-on laugh the first time.
It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. I thought she might like to play peekaboo, so I tried it, jumping up from behind the couch with an expression of total surprise and crouching in front of her. She was sitting in a foam chair that keeps her upright even though she can’t sit on her own yet, and she burst out with a huge laugh both times I did it.
She thinks I’m funny. My daughter thinks I’m funny. I feel about ten feet tall.
“It’s a good thing you can’t talk, peanut, because I’d probably give you anything you asked for right now.”
Her smile slides away.
“Okay, I guess that wasn’t amusing. More peekaboo?”
I go back behind the couch and jump out again, getting another musical belly laugh. I wonder how many times it’ll work. I’m hiding behind the couch again when the front door to the apartment opens and Winter walks in.
“Harry?” she says as she closes the door, probably because she can see Avery sitting in the middle of the living room but I’m nowhere to be found.
“Hey,” I say from behind the couch. “Watch this.”
“Boo!” I cry, this time putting my hand on the back of the couch and vaulting my body over it.
I crouch on the cushions and make the funny face, and Avery busts out laughing.
“Oh my God,” Winter says, putting a palm on her chest. “That’s the happiest sound I’ve ever heard.”
She approaches Avery and gets to her knees next to her, brushing a hand over her head and kissing the top of it. My throat tightens as I watch the two of them together. They’ve become my entire world over the past several months.
“Can you do it again?” Winter asks me. “I want to get a video this time.”
“Yeah, I’ll try.”
I jump out and get Avery to laugh another three times before she gets tired of the game and starts fussing. Winter picks her up off the chair and asks, “Is it time for a diaper change?”
“Not unless she pooped,” I say. “Just changed her half an hour ago.”