“You said this was about Sylvia,” Quinn said.

“Because it was,” Addison said.

Quinn pointed at the sprig of rosemary. “Rosemary is also a symbol for memory.”

“Quinn…”

“Come on,” Quinn said. “Can you at least try?”

“You’re taking advantage of my distressed emotional state,” Addison said.

“I’m being the sister you never had,” Quinn said.

With a sigh, Addison relented. “Fine,” she said.

Quinn grinned, and a dragonfly flitted toward them. It landed on Quinn’s shoulder.

“At least one of us is happy about this,” Addison said.

She held out her hands palm up, Quinn rested her own on top of them, and Addison closed her eyes. They stood like that for a few seconds, the summer air thick against Quinn’s denim. Sweat pooled at the waistband of her shorts.

“Well?” Quinn asked.

Addison cracked open one of her eyes. “Nothing,” Addison said. “You’re like an abyss.”

“I’m not giving up on this,” Quinn said.

“It’s not going to work,” Addison said. “And now I have a headache. Please leave me alone so I can cry for the rest of the day.”

“Not gonna happen. Let’s head over to the tea shop. I need to drop off these payments, and we can get you a cup of chamomile,” Quinn said.

As they rounded the corner that led to the Lavender & Lemon Balm tea shop, Quinn felt a prickle like a nettle sting, like tiny shards of glass burrowing beneath her skin. Only one family had ever given her that sensation, and sure enough, when the door to the shop opened, Sylvia Bonner stepped out onto the sidewalk, head held high. Her short gray hair gleamed in the sunlight as she turned and said to Irene, “I really do appreciate you making an exception, and I hope we’ll see you at the funeral.” The door closed behind her.

She started in their direction. Her thin-lipped grimace transformed into a sad smile as her eyes landed on Addison. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

Quinn rubbed at the space between her eyes. Every word out of Sylvia’s mouth pressed against her skull. It looked like she was on her way to a headache that matched Addison’s.

“I appreciate you convincing your family to let us buy from your garden,” Sylvia said.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Addison said.

When Quinn didn’t say anything, Addison elbowed her gently.

“We all are,” Quinn mumbled.

Sylvia glanced back toward the shop. “Somehow I doubt that.” With a heavy sigh, she rested a hand on Addison’s shoulder. “Thank you. I’ve never forgotten the debt we owe to your family. If it weren’t for your grandmother, this whole town would’ve gone under.”

“We’ve heard,” Quinn said.

“Quinn,” Addison warned.