I chose yellow marigolds because Mom would have liked them.

Then I carried them upstairs to the apartment I could now afford without counting every coin.

The kitchen had a new coat of paint.

I kept the chipped mug from the night the SUVs came, though I rarely drank from it.

Beside it sat my mother’s photograph, her smile unchanged.

I filled the mug with water and put the marigolds inside.

At 9:17 that night, I happened to glance at the clock.