“I stay because everyone needs me to,” June said. “Because if I leave—even just to take a breath—I worry everything will fall apart. Lily. Work. My whole life.”
She swallowed.
“And I’m scared that the second I stop being useful, people will stop needing me. And if no one needs me... what’s left?”
That one hit harder than anything I’d said.
She looked down into her mug. “I know that’s not healthy. But it’s real.”
I reached over and rested my hand on her leg. Just for a second. No big speech. Just...I hear you.
Harper looked like she might bolt. Not because she didn’t care. Because she did, and caring made her come unglued.
She cleared her throat. “I don’t have anything profound to add. I’m just... trying. That’s all I’ve got right now.”
I nodded. “Trying is good. Trying counts.”
We sat there for another stretch of silence. And this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was quiet like shared understanding. Like stitching. Like the first seam holding.
Then Harper shifted gears. “What’s the next wish?”
June stood, wiped her hands on her jeans, and disappeared inside. A few minutes later, she returned with the wooden box and the next card—green ribbon, tied with more precision than Iris ever showed in life.
She unfolded it, voice steady.
Wish Three:
host one event that gives back to the town.
make something beautiful. feed someone. offer a kindness.
remind them you were here.
I stared at the words like they might bite. “She really knew how to pick the nerve, didn’t she?”
Harper stood and stretched, cracking her neck. “Okay. So. We plan something. A community dinner? Donation drive? Flower planting? Memorial bench?”
“I like the food idea,” June said. “Something simple. Neighborhood potluck, maybe?”
“And we can do it here,” I offered. “The backyard’s a mess, but that’s kind of our brand.”
June smiled. “Iris would’ve liked that.”
Harper nodded. “Let’s pencil it in for next weekend.”
“Do people still say pencil it in?” I asked. “Or is that just you and the cast ofMad Men?”
“Willa.”
“I’m just saying, there are digital tools?—”
“Willa.”
I held up my hands in surrender.
That night,after the dishwasher had run its little symphony of suds and steam, I found myself upstairs, alone in the guest room.
It was dark, except for the light from the moon pouring across the floorboards.
