Chapter 8
The GardenSpring arrived with reluctant sunshine.
Daniel's roses began blooming again outside Margaret's old house, now cared for by Ellen.
One Saturday, the family invited Harrison to help in the garden.
He quickly proved that Margaret had been correct years earlier.
He knew almost nothing about gardening.
"You've planted the roses upside down," Lucy laughed.
"I was testing their determination."
"They're flowers."
"So am I."
Even Ellen laughed.
An elderly neighbor named Mrs. Dawson watched from across the fence.
"You must be Harrison," she called.
"I am."
"Margaret spoke about you before she died."
His hands stopped moving.
"What did she say?"
Mrs. Dawson smiled.
"She said she'd finally found the boy who had been missing for fifty years."
Harrison looked down at the soil.
The sentence stayed with him long after the conversation ended.
Not the man.
The boy.
Perhaps grief had frozen him at twenty-two.
Perhaps love had finally allowed him to grow older.
That afternoon, Noah buried a small wooden sign beside the roses.
It read:
Margaret's Garden
"Grandma said flowers should have names," Noah explained.
"They already do."
"I mean family names."
Harrison rested a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"I think she'd like that."
A warm breeze carried the scent of fresh blossoms through the yard.
Margaret had once said that hope sometimes pretended to be an accident.
May you like
Looking at the roses, Harrison thought hope looked more like a garden.
It returned every year whether people believed in it or not.
