Though his mop of curly hair was cut short and was now white instead of brown, the fifty-nine-year-old Riaan was instantly recognizable as the nineteen-year-old he’d been the last time I’d seen him. His hazel eyes were the exact same shade of autumn leaf I remembered, deepening from emerald to russet. Though they were bracketed by wrinkles, they were the same eyes that had beseeched me not to leave almost forty years ago.

Riaan reached out to shake my hand, clearing his throat as he did so. “Hello, Delilah.”

That’s all he said, just my name, but his voice caught as he said it, and I felt the scab I’d let grow over that particular wound crack a little in response.

I reached my hand out to match his formal greeting. “Riaan. What a surprise.”

“I heard you were back but didn’t believe it. I thought I’d come check for myself.” His Afrikaans accent was stronger than I remembered.

“Yes, I am,” I said stupidly. “Please, come in. Can I offer you some tea or coffee?”

“Coffee would be good, thank you.”

I led him through the dining room and then back outside, pushing aside the sliding door to the patio, collecting my racing thoughts as I set about making the coffee. Jezebel hopped up onto a patio chair next to him, making him laugh.

“Your dog has been keeping me company,” he said when I came back out and set a mug down in front of him. “How did you find one who looks just like Shadow?”

Riaan had loved that dog as much as I had. She’d always been just a step or two behind us when we were children, trailing us on all of our adventures.

“She found us, actually. And she’s more Ruth’s dog than mine.”

Riaan took a sip of his coffee, closing his eyes to savor the patch of warmth he was sitting in. Winter was making itself felt and the houses were cold inside. Without double-glazed windows or central heating, a South African winter, mild as it was, could feel quite brutal. When he opened his eyes again, he looked out onto the garden. He didn’t say anything but he didn’t have to. I knew what he was thinking, that Ma would have had a fit if she could’ve seen it.

The garden was the only part of the property that hadn’t served a practical purpose back in the day, and it had been her domain, her pride and joy. The rest of the farm had been a working farm, but despite her fierce practicality, Ma insisted on having something of beauty to look at.