She had suggested the name Hope Haven, and the organizers were considering it.

“It doesn’t have to be a big foundation,” she explained.

“A place with a comfortable chair, useful numbers, and someone who listens can matter.”

I thought about Dana and the cup of tea she had brought me in the ICU hallway.

“It can matter a great deal.”

We spent the afternoon on the porch, where the roses had finally begun growing along the railing again.

Oliver reached for the leaves as they fell.