“He gave it to me a few weeks after he moved in,” she explains, turning it over in her palm. “Said he wanted to thank me for letting him live there. Of course, he’s doing a lot of work for me, but every week since, he’s brought me a new one.” She reaches back into her pocket and pulls out three more carvings—a book, a heart, and what looks like a tiny houseplant.
“He’s been carving these?”
“His grandfather taught him,” Mimi says. “Said it was a way to slow down and mull things over, because there’s no fast way to create something. A plain wood block can be whittled into anything, just like our lives. But it takes time and effort. And in the end, where you start is where you’ll end up.”
“But what do the figures mean?” I ask, fingering the tiny, carved book.
“I don’t know, but I think he sees you. Not just who you are now, but who youcouldbe. And he’ll take you for as long as you’ll be here, because that’s how much he cares: enough to let you go if that means you’ll be happy.”
I sit there for a minute, turning the figurines over as Mimi continues re-potting her plant.
“I don’t know what to do, Mimi,” I confess. “Seattle has been the plan for so long, but I care about him. More than I thought possible.”
She stops digging in the dirt to look at me. “The question isn’t Seattle or Maple Falls. It’s what kind of life you want to build. Your mom made her decision, and she never regretted it.”
I nod, blinking back the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “I miss her so much sometimes, Mimi.”
“Me too,” Mimi replies, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “But she’s still with you—in your baking, in your determination, in the way you care for others even when you’re hurting. She’d be so proud of the woman you’ve become. And she’d want you to be happy—wherever you choose.”
I shake my head, the tears threatening to spill out. “I don’t know if I know the difference anymore. I feel like I lost my internal compass when I lost Mom.”
“Then perhaps it’s time to find it again. Because you never lost your direction, sweetheart. You just forgot how to listen to your heart.”
I watch a sparrow hop between the potted mums, the distant sounds of the facility coming to life—breakfast trays clinking and voices in the hallway. Mimi looks at the plant in its new pot, the full, lush leaves shining in the light.
“How do you make these plants grow so beautifully?” I ask, watching her pat the soil around the plant’s roots. “The one time I bought a houseplant, I killed it in two weeks. I clearly don’t have the same green thumb you have.”
“I don’t force them to grow,” she says, examining the plant before looking up at me. “I remove what stops them.”
That’s what I’ve been doing wrong. I’ve been so focused on trying to force myself to move forward—to Seattle and a new life—that I never stopped to think about what’s actually holding me back.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” I say more to myself than Mimi. “ I don’t need to force myself to get over my past. I just need to…”
“Remove what’s stopping you,” Mimi finishes gently.
A breeze rustles the leaves on the plant. “I think I’ll finish that grant application this morning.”
“That’s my girl.” Mimi smiles as she brushes the soil from her hands and slowly rises from the bench. “Now, help an old woman back inside. I have a bingo game to play and you have an interview to give.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have an interview.”
“Yes you do,” she says, zipping up her jacket. “You’re meeting with a food critic who’s the daughter of one of our residents here.”
“Wait. Why would I meet with her?” I ask.
“She’s writing an article on our little town,” Mimi explains, acting like this is old news. “I told her I know someone who makes the best cupcakes in the Pacific Northwest. So after you texted me last night, I sent her a message. And she said she could come this morning.”
“This morning?” I freeze, staring at Mimi and not believing my ears. “A food critic—here?” I look around, expecting her to jump out from a hiding spot in the garden.
Mimi shakes her head. “No, dear. She’s coming to the bookstore cafe around eleven to meet you.”
“Mimi!” My jaw drops. “How could you spring this on me? I’m not prepared to meet a food critic.”
She beams as she squeezes my shoulder. “You’ve been preparing your whole life. I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t show up this morning. And take those cupcakes with you to give to her.” She nods toward the box. “You said you need sales, right?”
“Yes, but—” I rise, and Mimi practically bulldozes me toward the exit with surprising speed for an elderly woman.
“Nobutsexcept the one I’m about to kick if you don’t getmoving,” she says with a teasing note to her voice. “Now go show that critic what Maple Falls is made of. And don’t drop the cupcakes on the way there.”
