Chapter 18 — The Foundation

Six months after the night in the rain, on a warm morning, I sat on the back porch of my craftsman house with a cup of chamomile tea, watching six-month-old Lily babble in her jumper and track a butterfly across the garden with her bright hazel eyes, her cheeks flushed pink and healthy in the sun.

Evelyn came out onto the porch carrying a plate of blueberry muffins she’d baked, and sat down on the swing beside me.

“Phoebe called,” she said, setting the plate between us.