“She was saving up to leave as soon as she turned eighteen. She loved to tell me that every chance she got.” Ms. DeVeau stared into her counter. “Marley’s death was an accident,” she said softly.

Aidy thought she’d found a last unfinished thread; unaware it was in fact the very first thread to be tied up. Ms. DeVeau’s certainty swiftly answered our biggest question.

Suddenly, Ms. DeVeau started crying. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she poured out, hugging me as if I were her own daughter, kissing and petting my head. “I didn’t want her stuck in the same life I was.” Ms. DeVeau clung onto me. “This place is all I have left of her.” Her nails formed half-moons along the side of my arm.

“She loved you,” I assured her. Even though Ms. DeVeau had been cruel at times, Marley wanted her mother to have a happiness that didn’t exist. Marley tried to build it anyway. Much like the rest of us. Skewering rules and logic for love.

“She loved you too,” Ms. DeVeau said.

A truce of sorts unfolded between us. We recognized our shared ability to play grand roles. Knew it was a way to remember Marley. We didn’t agree with each other’s interpretations, but we accepted the talent. The whole exchange seemed to be the only way Ms. DeVeau knew how to admit she’d gone too far. She told it to me through her tight grasp and genuine tears; another secret hidden in plain sight.

“I’m sorry about your garden,” I told her.

She laughed. She knew a good transition when she saw one. “What were you trying to do out there?”

“Finish one of Marley’s adventures.”

“The one with the buried treasure and the map?”

“How’d you know?”

“I read the journals. And I know everything you kids used to get into.” She pasted on her most knowing smirk, so reminiscent of Marley, I had to do a double take. “Wasn’t it supposed to be some plan to get me back together with her father? If so, I can tell you that certainly won’t be happening.”

“I didn’t realize that’s what it was supposed to be, so I made it about the Albany kids,” I said.

“Trust me, no hard feelings there.” Ms. DeVeau swirled her finger around the edge of her cup. “You know what’s funny about that map she and her dad made? That’s how I chose this house. She’d marked it on there. It was vacant when she was alive, of course. Up for sale for years and years. I bought it because I knew it meant something to her, whatever that something was.”