Chapter 24: A Seat by the Tree

Linnea stayed the week, and on Sunday Ingrid made dinner for everyone.

It was the first day of real spring.

The back door stood open, and the smell of rosemary and roasting chicken drifted out across the yard to the nursery rows.

Ingrid had dragged the long wooden table out of the shed and set it under the lemon tree.

I came out of the cottage in my navy coat, because the evening was cool, and because I had worn it every day since I bought it.

Linnea was on her knees at the end of the table, tucking a paper napkin under each plate.

She looked up and froze.

"Don't move," she said. "I want to see something."

"What?"

"Turn around."

I turned.

"Now open the coat."

I unbuttoned it and held it wide.

Linnea came over and ran her thumb along the inside, where the lining met the hem.

I felt a small, flat stitch, then another.

"I did it last night while you were asleep," she said, a little defensively. "I took the lining out at the corner and put in a pocket."

"You what?"

"It's the wool. From the old one. The piece with the stain."

I looked down.

On the left side, sewn into the lining where a person would put a phone or a key, was a small square of dark navy wool.

One corner had a brown mark in it, faded, the exact shape of my palm on a kitchen floor.

"I thought you might want it," Linnea said. "Not to remember what happened. Just so it's with you, and not in a doll's dress."

My throat closed.

I could not speak for a minute.

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