Today, Keaton lay on his back, on a patchwork blanket Aurora had made from scraps of thrifted cloth, blinking up at glimmers of sky through the branches, blossoms, and feathered leaves of a mimosifolia, the blue jacaranda. An orange butterfly flew past, near enough for Aurora to have plucked it like a flower. Then a lustral hummingbird, shades of tourmaline, lapis lazuli, gold. The colors of my love for you, my son, my truest love.

Aurora lay beside her boy, watching the darting motions of his hands and his eyes that were the color of the jacaranda pods that would appear after the flowers died. The rest of him was still, entranced in a haze of blue petals.

Aurora saw something struggling in the branches. The hummingbird. Caught in a spider’s web.

She tried to free the bird, but it fell to the ground. The cobwebs still wreathed its feet. It tried to fly, batting its wings, but the web held it down.

She scooped it up and cupped it in her hand. Keaton blinked at her.

“Bird,” she said. “Hummingbird.”

She could have sworn he made the shape of the word with his mouth. Bird.

The creature stayed so still in her hand. Aurora opened her fingers just a bit, and it stuck its proboscis out. She slid her fingers along the fairy spear, removing the cobweb. Opened her hand some more. The hummingbird’s chest glinted with green iridescence, hundreds of golden flecks. She let its feet dangle out from the bottom of her hand and slid the cobwebs off of the tiny talons. Then she set the hummingbird down on the grass. It didn’t move.

Keaton looked at it, moving his mouth, waving his hands.

Aurora crooned to the hummingbird. Still, it didn’t stir. She sprinkled some water from her cup lightly over the bird.

Then. It shook its feathers as if she’d resurrected it. Like Cyrus, she thought. Like Ever.

Like Ever.

The hummingbird beat its wings and lifted into the air. It brushed against her arm before it flew away. As if it were thanking her.

Aurora put Keaton in his stroller, and they walked back from the park to the little office that belonged to her new boss, an attorney named Toni Weller.

“Officially, you only work here,” she’d said, handing Aurora the keys. Toni had glanced over at a cot in the back room. “But if you happen to fall asleep while working over-time, that’s okay; the sheets are fresh. And animals are okay. Even exotics, should you know any. Just don’t tell the boss.” She had flashed a smile. “The shower works, too.”

“Thank you,” Aurora had said.

Toni, almost out the door, had not glanced back. “For what?”