She reached over and rubbed my shoulder, her touch steady and warm through my sweater.

In the backyard flower bed, the hydrangeas my grandmother had planted decades ago were turning a deep rust color in the autumn sun.

“It feels very quiet out here,” I said.

“Quiet is good,” Evelyn said, looking out at the garden.

“Quiet means nobody is making promises they don’t plan to keep.”

I looked across the lawn at the wooden potting shed where my grandmother kept her garden tools.

“Rachel said the emergency lockout motion was formally dismissed once the deed was stamped,” I said.