As she watched a particularly showy painted bunting at the feeder, she thought about what she’d said at the house meeting when Anna had arrived. How she wanted to be able to look back at this time of sheltering in place not as a time of fear and distress, but as a gift of time she would not otherwise have been given. Time. That was the salient word. Time to do something different. New.

For her, that meant getting outdoors and paying attention to what was ordinary, and yet supremely exotic. For all that she knew about wildlife such as sea turtles, dolphins, manatees, she had a lot to learn about the wildlife that lived in her own backyard. Because of her time with Hope, learning the names of the extraordinary ordinary creatures that shared this bit of earth with her continued to be her new mission.

She heard a knocking on the kitchen door and left her musings at the bird feeder to open it. She was surprised to see John standing at the threshold. His face, already tanning from his work building the pond, was smiling as he held out a bunch of spring flowers. She tossed the dish towel across her arm and leaned against the doorframe.

“Did you raid your mother’s garden?”

“As if she’d let me. All those flowers out there and she won’t let me pick any. What’s the point?”

He handed her the flowers, a collection of pink and purple cosmos. She took them into her hands and admired them. “They’re beautiful, thank you. What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need an occasion? I was at the farmers’ market—it’s open, by the way. Oh, and here,” he said, handing her a brown paper bag. “I bought you this loaf of sourdough bread. I remembered you used to buy it all the time in San Francisco.”

She took the loaf gratefully, touched that he recalled that detail. “Want to come in?” She stepped back.

He shook his head. “Actually, I want you to come out. It’s a beautiful day and I promised Hope I’d come see her. I thought we might walk over together?”

Linnea hesitated. It wasn’t a date, she chided herself. They were simply going over to see a little girl they both cared about. “Hold on. I’ll get Luna.”

Luna wasn’t thrilled about using a leash for her first walk. She planted her paws on the ground and refused to budge. Rather than drag her, Linnea swooped the puppy into her arms.

“I’d better carry her if we ever hope to get there.”

“Sure,” John said, trying not to laugh.

They passed the white picket fence that bordered Emmi’s garden. She and Flo were working, both wearing large straw hats and gloves.

“Hello!” Linnea called out.

Emmi straightened and, with one hand on the curve of her back, waved with the other and called out a cheery hello. Flo stood unmoving, holding a hoe. She turned her head toward them and removed her large hat, her sparse white hair revealing a pink scalp. She was so thin now her clothes hung from her frame.