They were planting a garden. Not a victory garden like during the war. This time, she and Dibbie were planting perennials. Masses of orange zinnias, Black Eyed Susans, and dozens of daisies with a border of sunflowers. Snacks for the cardinals. Her sister scooped up handfuls of soil and inhaled the rich manure. Wiggling worms squirmed in her palms. The bright sunshine vanished. Hurry. A storm’s coming. They inhaled the moist air. Hurry. They’d never finish everything that needed to be done. She gazed at the thunderheads massing overhead. Up high, perched on a velvety black cloud was Dibbie, waving, beckoning. Her heart faltered. Was it time to join her? No. Not yet. Still so much to do. She waved to her sister, floating overhead, and mouthed her a kiss. Soon, my darling, soon. We’ll be together soon. Rain rushed toward her. She welcomed it, wanted to dance naked inside the storm’s embrace. She extended her fingertips. Raindrops embraced her face. A calloused hand squeezed her fingers. She opened her eyes and turned her head away from rain pounding the window until she faced her husband, his eyes pleading. “It’s all right. I’m still here.”