“Perfect, we’ll go with green for good luck,” Marina decides, nodding to Marigold, who quickly scribbles notes. Then, in the gentlest tone, with her hand still atop his on the counter, she says, “Let’s make this place beautiful again. For her.”

She tempers her words with an expression that reads I’m here to help you through your bullshit, not unlike the ones Maureen would give him all the time. It’s uncanny, the Maureen memories she stirs.

And unbelievably, grizzly Wade transforms into teddy bear Wade. His eyes go hooded, his jaw slackens, his shoulders release, and he doesn’t move his hand away from hers, like she’s a lifeline pulling him from a mental prison.

“Okay,” he says finally, shifting away and restoring his knocked-over chair.

Christie gasps and waves a hand over his eyes like he might cry. Roy sits up, removes his tattered baseball cap, and seems to say a prayer in reverence.

My eyes fix on her satisfied gleam and knowing smirk—I can’t look away. She is effervescent.

A loud honk and the rumble of tires against gravel interrupt the moment. Marina perks up. “Oh, my surprise is here!” she coos, waving for everyone to follow her.

When we file out the front door, we find her directing a pick-up truck pulling a flatbed trailer to the side of the building between it and the swamp. An odd structure is strapped to the low-lying trailer.

Marina introduces the bulky man emerging from the truck as Peter Pike. Marigold lights up when she sees him, her usual expressionless face beaming into an almost-smile. I fielded texts in the family chat all day yesterday about Marigold’s late-night date and her new desk, delivered promptly at ten yesterday morning. It’s nice putting a face to the guy who seems to be romancing my sister. I have to give him credit. Building a high school crush an art desk after upsetting her, keeping it for years on the chance she might reenter his life, and then presenting it, hulk-style, to her when she happens to visit your tenant and following up that genius move by dazzling her with trains—I don’t blame her for being enamored with him.

Based on the Tripp family texts, we all are. Marigold hasn’t had many friendships, none that have stuck, anyway. Dating prospects have been an even farther reach—she’s never shown interest. Now, even I see the sparks between them. It makes me smile.

Marina bypasses questions about the structure by organizing us to move it into place—an effort she attempts to join, taking one side, and I quickly refute, reminding her that she’s still healing. Though big, it’s not very heavy. We move it exactly where Marina wants it—butted against a sprawling live oak between the store and the swamp.