I helped her select a beautiful tree and checked its graft.
On the nursery tag, I wrote my usual instructions:
Water deeply during the first summer. The graft is healthy. She’ll bloom.
Avery smiled.
“You look strangely familiar.”
I nearly introduced myself.
But years of following my mother’s instructions had made silence automatic.
I sold her the tree and watched her leave.
I had no idea what I’d just done.
By 2022, Mitch and Avery were preparing for their wedding.
My mother had already informed me that I wouldn’t be attending.
That Easter, another message arrived.
The Lockhearts are coming Saturday. Be gone before ten.
I opened my notebook.
Departure number 211.
I was twenty-six, had my own health insurance and no longer had a practical reason to stay.
Yet I still packed my bag and drove to Ruth’s.
That evening, I discovered I’d forgotten some medication.
