Lining the walkway between her house and mine, she’ll plant more pansies. My mother, aunts, and I have also planted tons of crocuses. Purple. White. Yellow. Those are the first flowers up, and when I see those flowers, I always heave a sigh of relief.

They know me, my mother and aunts, and they know the sweet, inexplicable umbrella of safety that their garden offers me, via their mother, a woman of French and Greek descent, a woman of innate kindness who jumped off a cliff, her own demons chasing her into the air.

* * *

Marco came in a week later, on a Wednesday, to buy books.

“Hi, Marco.” I smiled on automatic, so happy to see him. Then I was struck by the premonition I’d had of him, and me, and that cooled me way down. I shivered. I actually felt that shiver wind its way down my spine.

“Hi, Evie.” He came to stand in front of me in his full masculine, healthy, manly way and smiled. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” I was so glad I’d washed my hair that morning. Plus, I’d put on my best jeans and a tighter blue shirt with white roses embroidered in lines down the front. It was a tad low cut, thank heavens. Maybe my lacy pink bra would show! “Can I help you find a book?”

“Yes. Please. I need a few books. I’m thinking history, a biography, and something funny.”

“So let’s start with history. Here’s our history section.” I turned. I hoped my butt didn’t look too big, but it is what it is, my butt. Who am I to deprive myself of pie? Boring that would be. Plus, it’s what I look forward to every night as I am alone, again, with my books: Pie. What is that saying? The more the cushion, the better the pushin’?

“What time period are you most interested in today?”

He liked World War II, but he also liked learning about the Depression era and how families and individuals survived.

We had a professional book conversation, which I loved because of my obsession with books and all things nerdy. I probably told him way more than he wanted to know. I could not seem to close my mouth and stop my stupid talking.

We then went over to biographies and he picked up one on Ernest Shackleton, the Antarctic explorer, after a long discussion we both enjoyed. At least I hope he enjoyed it. He was smiling at me. I probably droned on too long then, too. Then we headed to the humor section. I read a lot of humor because it helps me calm down.

We pulled a couple. He bought five books. I gave him a discount, but he refused. “Look, Evie, you bring your animals to me, I buy my books from you.”