“Sandwiches are almost ready,” she said, forcing a smile. “Why don’t you boys pick some lettuce from the garden?”

“Oh my God. That freaking garden.” Flynn threw back his head dramatically, and Diego raised his eyebrows, amused at their theatrics. “She’s obsessed,” Flynn said by way of explanation, and then he and Diego were slipping out the side door, into the darkness beyond.

Jack waited three beats before racing back to the living room, stuffed pillowcases in hand. She found the poker beside the fireplace. It only took a moment to get the fire blazing, and then she was feeding the red, ravenous flames her best friend’s clothing. She’d told herself this wardrobe was all she had to remember him by, but that wasn’t really true.

She had the garden.

It had begun with a story. Back when Flynn was ten years old, and their younger brothers were three and four, Jack had gotten her hands on an old book of fairy tales. Flynn had rolled his eyes at the sight of the book, but he’d still curled up beside his little brothers in their attic bedroom and listened as Jack read them stories. “Snow White.” “Beauty and the Beast.” “Jack and the Beanstalk.” That last one had been Jack’s favorite, and days later, when they’d gone to the store to pick up some canned beans for dinner, she’d gotten an idea. The boys always went to bed hungry. They had so little to look forward to, and the book of fairy tales had made them happy.

What if she could bring the fairy tale to life?

And so, she ignored the aisle of canned vegetables and led them to the store’s outdoor garden. There were little pots of dahlias and begonias, but she passed them by, seeking a packet of beans. Magic beans, she told the younger boys, who were just little enough to believe it. They were going to plant them in the backyard, and in a few weeks a beanstalk would grow, just like in the story. They wouldn’t be able to climb it, but they’d have fresh vegetables all summer without ever having to go to the store. The boys were thrilled by the idea, and the second they got home they raced to the backyard, eager to start planting. Meanwhile, Jack stopped by the kitchen to put away the bread and the milk.

She hadn’t expected her mother to be home.

Bobbi McClain was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the wall. She looked strung out and exhausted, her eyes red and her fingers flicking a lit cigarette. Her gaze swiveled to the left, finding the packet of beans in her daughter’s hand. “What the hell is that?” she asked, waving her cigarette in Jack’s direction. It seemed to take all her strength.