“She planted these very same roses in sixty-nine,” Helen said.

“Called the color butter yellow and got irritated with the catalog for calling it yellow diamond.”

“I remember that catalog sat on the counter for a week.”

“That was her, through and through.” Helen packed a scoop of dirt around the stem and sat back on her heels.

“The association asked about you again.

On Thursday.”

“And what did you tell them.”

“I told them the woman who buried her grandmother and then fought half the county for a porch swing would show up when she was good and ready.” She wiped her hands on her slacks.