“I don’t know.” Raven glanced toward the back of the house, his gaze finding the empty plot of land where the roses had lived. First red, then white. But Raven wasn’t certain he wanted to fill the fresh, upturned earth with crimson roses. “For most of my life, my mom was everywhere. Her roses were in the garden. Her portrait was in the hall. Then Evelyn moved in, and she was everywhere, and my mom was just gone. If we put everything back the way it was…”

“It’ll be like none of this ever happened.”

Raven nodded, a twinge in his chest making it difficult to breathe. “But it did happen. They’re both gone, and my dad thinks he can just bring back my mom’s memory by hanging up pictures and changing the furniture. Maybe he is doing it for me, but I don’t want it.” He turned the potted rosebush in his hand, fingers brushing the barely opened bud. “Maybe I’ll just keep it in my room.”

“We could put a planter’s box outside your window. The roses could grow there, and maybe they’d climb up the side of the house. She’d still be here, but it would be different. We wouldn’t be pretending she’d never left.” Jack stepped closer, brushing Raven’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Your dad has old home videos of your mom. I saw him watching them in the middle of the night, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t seen all of them, because Evelyn—”

“Can we talk about Evelyn when the girls get here?” Raven asked, setting the rosebush on the ground. “I want to show you what I’ve done.”

Jack nodded, a soft smile on his lips, and Raven’s desire for an innocent sleepover drifted into the air. The orchard was filled with apple blossoms. They fluttered down to the ground, pale petals blending with elegant white sheets. There were a dozen fluffy pillows under the fort Raven had created, and Jack settled into them, looking up at the sheet billowing above their heads. “What time are the girls coming over? It’s already after seven.”

“I haven’t invited them yet.”

Jack blushed, eyes catching Raven’s for the briefest of instants. He ran a hand through his recently shorn hair. The tea lights in the branches were flickering through the pale white sheets, and when the light reflected in Jack’s eyes, they glowed like emeralds. “We have some time then,” Jack murmured, and then his blush deepened. “I mean—it’s not like we’re going to—”