The last time I’d sat here, Iris had been beside me, wearing her cardigan with the butterfly pin and sipping peppermint tea.
“You girls will come back someday,” she’d said. “Even if it’s just to bury me.”
I hadn’t laughed then. I didn’t laugh now.
The wind was picking up, carrying the scent of salt and lilacs. I pulled my cardigan tighter and let the silence wrap around me.
Behind me, the house stood tall and tired, full of history and heartbreak.
In front of me, the summer stretched out like a dare.
2
JUNE
Ialways forgot how quiet it was here.
Not city quiet, where the absence of sirens feels like an anomaly. Not suburban quiet, where everything is muffled by fences and lawn sprinklers and the hum of central air. But the kind of quiet that settles inside your body. Coastal quiet. Clean air, gulls calling, the faint clatter of a fishing boat in the distance.
I stood in the upstairs bedroom that used to be mine, the same gauzy curtains fluttering at the window, and tried to remember who I was the last time I looked out over this town.
Seventeen. Angry. Determined to leave.
And now I was back. Thirty-three. Tired. A little frayed at the edges.
Lily was already curled up in the armchair with a book, her legs tucked beneath her like she’d lived here all her life. I watched her for a second; the way she turned the pages slowly, her lips moving silently with each line. Her hair had started to curl a little in the salt air, same as mine used to. The resemblance startled me sometimes.
“Do you like it here?” I asked quietly.
She looked up and nodded. “It’s cozy. And the butterflies are magic.”
I smiled. “They are.”
I crossed to the small dresser, tugged open a drawer, and started to unpack. One pair of jeans. Two clean t-shirts. Lily’s swimsuits, all stuffed together in a grocery bag. I hadn’t packed like we were staying long. Maybe I hadn’t let myself believe we really would.
Downstairs, I could hear Harper’s footsteps pacing. Sharp and deliberate, like everything she did. Willa’s voice came through the window, bright and unfiltered. She was already in full performance mode. That was the thing about Willa. She could walk into any room and instantly own it, like the world was a party she’d just decided to crash.
I used to think I resented her for that. But really, I think I just wanted to know what it felt like.
“I think Grandma Iris is still here,” Lily said suddenly.
I turned. “What do you mean?”
“She left the butterfly pin for me. She wanted us to come. She wanted us to do the wishes.”
She said it so simply, like it wasn’t up for debate.
“Maybe she did,” I said. “Maybe she just wanted us to try.”
Lily stood and stretched, the book slipping to the floor. “Can we go see the backyard? I want to find more treasure.”
“In a little bit, okay? I need to talk to your aunts first.”
She nodded and padded down the hall, already humming to herself. That girl carried light wherever she went, even when I felt like I’d lost every match inside me.
I stayed in the room a moment longer, resting my hands on the old dresser. The wood was smooth and cool beneath my palms, the varnish worn down in the places where Iris must’ve kept her jewelry, her perfume bottles, the small glass dish fullof spare buttons and rosary beads. She was always equal parts elegance and grit.
I missed her more than I expected.
