“Then what are we waiting for?” He was up out of his seat and putting on his shoes before Addison had even set his mug down. Together they started across the yard toward the driveway, just as the back door opened and Maura stepped onto the porch.

“Addison?” she said. “River?”

“Grams,” Addison said, knowing there was no chance she was getting out of there without Maura realizing something was wrong.

“Well, this was the last thing I expected to see this morning.”

River grabbed Addison’s hand and gave it a squeeze. She had to tell her grandmother something, but she wasn’t sure where to start. The truth would be easiest, even if she didn’t tell it all. But she knew Maura, and it was always best to begin with an apology.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned that there was something wrong with the garden at dinner last night,” Addison said.

“No,” Maura agreed. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry,” Addison said.

Maura nodded, but still, her eyes were narrowed.

“I found River’s pain in there,” Addison said, pointing behind her.

“Impossible,” Maura said.

“It’s true,” River said, his aura rife with mourning, as if the fire had taken his grandfather the night before, rather than two years ago.

“How…” Maura stared out at the garden, and Addison’s stomach twisted.

The wilting had spread, and even from where they stood, the plants looked all wrong. Maura looked her granddaughter over from head to toe, her eyes landing on the scratches along her arms and wrists. Addison released her grip on River’s hand.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Addison replied, too quickly. “I just got stuck in some brambles.”

Maura arched an eyebrow. “We don’t have any brambles.”

“I… It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Addison? Did the garden do this to you?”

The color drained from Addison’s face. “I tried to offer it my pain.”

“You know it can’t take from our hearts,” Maura said. When Addison didn’t respond, Maura walked to the edge of the patio and dug a hand into the soil.

“It’s getting worse,” she said, brow furrowed. “There’s not enough sorrow in the dirt to keep them alive much longer. Not only that—the garden itself is in pain.” She sat on the ground. “I knew stepping back from healing would put more on Irene’s shoulders, but I didn’t think…”

She was talking more to herself than to Addison, but that didn’t stop Addison from saying, “You didn’t think I would be a problem—that I wouldn’t be able to feed it.”

“No,” Maura said. “It’s not that… It’s…” But her grandmother didn’t finish the sentence, and Addison’s throat grew hot with shame. “There has to be a way to fix it,” Maura said.

This, Addison realized, was her chance.