Celeste listened beside me.

“That’s your old life inviting you back,” she said.

I turned off the phone.

Later that evening, I drove past the community garden where Hannah used to spend Saturday mornings.

The gates were closed for winter, but I could see the wooden beds she had helped build.

Each was marked with the name of a neighborhood volunteer.

I had once offered to hire a landscaping crew to redesign the entire place.

Hannah laughed at me.