“No, please don’t, kiddo, not for me.” The last thing I want is to start a fight among the kids.

The little girl in black looks at me, her eyes soft. “I think you’re going to the market and then to the school gardens. But it’s probably on your phone.”

“Yes, of course, thank you, uh, um—”

“Maree!” say Nina and the other girl in tandem, followed by Nina’s giggles. “Her name is Maree!”

I give the kids a thumbs-up for their assist. “Thanks, Maree.” Then to the teenager: “Stop by if you’re interested in lessons. I might not be very good at it, but I’m probably the only choice you have around here, right?”

I wave goodbye and head to the market, where Hank sits behind the counter, reading a National Enquirer.

“Another Bigfoot sighting?” I say.

Hank nods. “Last spotted wrestling a grizzly bear.”

“Who won?”

He peruses the paper, lifts his eyes, and winks. “Doesn’t say.” We both laugh and Hank’s bearded face softens. “Kids giving you a hard time, Claire? I’ll speak to their parents.”

I shake my head. “Nah. They’re just curious about me. Actually, I’m kinda like a teenager myself.”

Hank’s big eyebrows meet. “How’s that?”

I smile. “I could be angry one minute, sad the next, happy right after and have no idea why the people around me look exhausted.”

Hank laughs, a deep rumble that shakes his beard. “You always know how to look on the bright side, Claire.”

A little girl is waiting outside the market with her hands on her hips. “Sorry about those stupid girls,” she says.

I shrug. “What girls?”

Her lips quirk up. “Stupid one and stupid two,” she says.

I laugh. “It’s okay; I’ve already forgotten all about the stupids.”

The girl’s eyes widen. “You can forget mean people? That’s like having a superpower!”

“It is, isn’t it?” I smile. “I like the way you think. What’s your name?”

Disappointment flashes across her face, but she covers it up quickly with a smile and an enthusiastic, “Maree! Like Mary with a y but with two e’s ’cause of Anne of Green Gables and stuff.”

“Well, hi, Maree.” My phone buzzes—Gardens—and something about her comfort level with me, or her blue eyes that are so dark they almost look black, makes me want to invite her. “Would you like to come to the gardens with me?”

“Yeah!”

As soon as we enter the room, the sticky moisture clings to my skin, beads into condensation that slips down my back. She picks up an apron and slides it on, then starts rooting around the plants, picking off dead leaves. I raise my eyebrows. Okay, seems like we’ve done this before.

I join her, and for a few minutes, we work in silence.

“Ms. Claire?”

“Yes?”