Aunt Iris found me two wine barrels—“Wine makes life sweet,” she said—which I used as side tables by the leather couches, and I used an old wooden sea chest of my grandfather’s for the coffee table. The chest opened up so I could pour more books in.

My mother gave me her favorite light blue vase. “To remind you to always have fresh flowers, dear. Bring beauty to your life, as it will not always come to you on its own.” As soon as the roses bloomed each year, they were in that vase. Light purple. Pink and yellow. White. Burgundy. Bright red. That vase was never empty. Roses brought peace, hope, and color to my life like no other flower.

I hung six amazing hats on one wall that my mother and aunts had made me, and I hung family photos in the short hallway to my bathroom. There were photos of my mom and aunts in hats, photos of my parents on their wedding day, holding Jules and me as babies, and me on top of my dad’s shoulders. I bought a white clawfoot tub from an estate sale and created a bathroom/spa.

I saved up, then drove down to central Oregon to buy a commissioned collage by Grenadine Scotch Wild. It was a painting of Rose Bloom Cottage. I’d sent her fabric from my mother and aunts’ dresses and she made tiny pillows out of them for the porch swing. I sent her one of my dad’s ties and she made a sheet on a clothes line with it. I sent her a charm in the shape of a motorcycle for Jules and she used it as a door knocker. She added an abundance of roses, using faux petals. That painting has the place of honor in my kitchen nook.

I repainted the exterior of the carriage house a light blue, the shutters black, and the trim white.

It was a cottage by the bay, the water lapping against our beach.

When I finally got myself and my house together, and could eat and breathe normally, I opened my bookstore with money that I had saved for years, as I am a naturally frugal person. My motto: If something bad can happen, it will. Hence: Save your money.

Not a fearless way to live, but there it is.

I saw the rent for the building on Chrysanthemum Way and knew I could not pay it. I offered half. The owner took it. He lived on the mainland and wasn’t too concerned about money. I painted the inside; rolled up yellow rose wallpaper; bought boxes of books; and set up the shelves, café, and cash register. I brought fresh roses in regularly to sit next to the cash register and in my office. I was happy there. I am happy there.

It’s not that I’m scared to leave the island again. I’m scared of what will become of my brain if I do. This is my place of calm. It’s my place of sanity. It’s my home.