Chapter 18

Three days later, I'm helping out in one of the Center's art classes. Marie, who usually leads the children's programs, is out sick. I suspect we'll lose her to another job in the near future anyway.

I lean over the shoulder of one of our regulars, an enthusiastic seven-year-old named Erin. We're working with watercolors today, and she holds up her work-in-progress.

"It's a garden, Miss Lily," she says. "Like the one in my book."

"It's beautiful. You've been practicing, haven't you?"

She beams at the compliment.

"Look, those are the roses," she says, pointing them out. "And these are the daisies and these are the tulips. And here's the cat. He likes to sit next to the fountain."

I smile at her, trying to ignore the pang I feel in my stomach. I was in a garden like this only a few days ago - minus the cat, admittedly - and I'd thought it was one of the most beautiful places I'd ever seen.

But I'm not supposed to be thinking of that. Or him.

"It's beautiful," I tell her again.

S