CHAPTER FOURTEEN B — THE NIGHT SHIFT

Mina worked a twelve-hour shift at the hospital on the evening that the newspaper article appeared.
She returned home exhausted and found a printed copy taped to her front gate.
Someone had written TRAITOR across the headline in black marker.
She photographed it before removing it.
At midnight, she called me and asked whether I could sit with her for a while.
I crossed the narrow strip of grass between our houses and found her at the kitchen table.
Her uniform was still on, and her dinner sat untouched beside the sink.
“I thought I’d be relieved when people started asking questions,” she said.
“Instead I feel sick.”
“You’ve had a hard day.”
“I spent twelve hours helping strangers in the emergency department.”
She pointed toward the gate.


“Then I came home to find out I’m the enemy here.”
I sat across from her.
“Did you report it?”
“I called the nonemergency number.”
“Good.”
She pushed the newspaper toward me.
“My sister called after she read this.”
“What did she say?”
“She asked whether I was safe.”
Mina looked down.
“I used to ask her whether she was overreacting.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I said I was scared.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she’d come stay with me if I wanted.”
Mina covered her face with both hands.
“I didn’t deserve that kindness.”
I waited until she lowered her hands.
“Your sister gets to decide what she wants to offer,” I said.
“You don’t have to decide whether you’ve earned it.”
Mina laughed through tears.
“Now you sound like my sister.

”
We heated her dinner and sat at the table until the street outside became quiet.
The following morning, her sister arrived with a suitcase and a small potted basil plant.
Mina opened the door and hugged her without trying to explain anything first.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN C — THE UNFINISHED GARDEN

My mother wanted a raised garden bed beside the porch so she could tend plants without bending too far.
I ordered a kit and asked Oliver to help carry the lumber from the driveway.
He arrived with his father, who insisted on checking that the boards were not too heavy for one person.
We assembled the frame in the morning and filled it with soil after lunch.
My mother sat in a chair giving instructions that none of us had requested.
“The corners need to be square,” she said.
“They are square,” Oliver replied.
“Check again.”
He checked and found one corner slightly out of alignment.
My mother smiled triumphantly.
“That’s why librarians make good supervisors.”
Oliver’s father laughed.
“I’ll remember that.”
We planted rosemary, parsley, and two small tomato plants.
When the work was finished, my mother tested whether she could reach the far side with her cane beside her.
She could.
“Now I have a reason to get up every morning,” she said.
“You already have several,” I replied.
“This one grows tomatoes.”
Patricia watched from across the street but did not approach.
Oliver noticed her and grew quiet.
His father followed his gaze.
“Finish the job you agreed to do,” he told him.
“That’s all you need to worry about.”
Oliver nodded and swept the remaining soil from the path.
I paid him for the additional work and thanked his father for helping with the heavy boards.
After they left, my mother sat beside the garden bed and examined the leaves.
“I thought this house would be peaceful,” she said.
“So did I.”
“It can still become that.”
I looked at the repaired door, the reinforced gate, and the small plants in their new soil.
“I hope so.”
She reached toward a parsley leaf and rubbed it between her fingers.
“Hope isn’t a schedule,” she said.
“But we can water the plants tomorrow.”