Category:

"Well, you look beautiful. Come over here and give me a hand, will you?"

Paradise. That's where she was. She was with Grandpa and Roxie in a stunning garden, and it was absolute paradise.

Grandpa turned back to the tomato plants and cut a tomato as big as a volleyball from the vine and placed it in his wagon. He cut another one and bit into it, juice dripping down his chin. "That's good." He held up the tomato for her to take a bite. The burst of flavor in her mouth was so shockingly delicious that she never wanted to eat anything else ever again.

"I've got an excellent crop," Grandpa said proudly. He cut two more from the vine and put them in his red wagon. "It's the compost. You get some great compost here." He moved down the path.

She grabbed the wagon handle, trailing behind him like she always had during those summers spent with her grandparents at the ranch. She'd follow him for hours, pulling the red wagon and saying aloud every thought that popped into her mind, no matter how trivial. He never tired of her. When she asked if she could be in the rodeo when she grew up (because her sister said she couldn't), Grandpa said she could be anything she wanted to be in the whole entire world. When she pondered if she wanted to be Mandy Grant's friend anymore because Mandy had told Kelly, who told Sariah, who told Nora that Mandy thought Nora's hair was cut like a boy's, Grandpa said she could be friends with whomever she pleased, but that he didn't think a haircut was something to end a friendship over. The point being, he listened.

As she followed him now, Nora noticed the light near the back of the garden seemed to be expanding onto the path they were on. It was getting brighter, turning from gold to pale yellow to almost white. It reminded her of a veil—something shimmering and beautiful was behind that bright light. "Is that a lake?"

"Don't look back there, kid. Look at this squash." Grandpa held up a yellow squash the size and shape of a baseball bat like he was the Lion King holding his cub. He put it in the wagon. "You like salad, Nora?"

"I love salad." She stated this with an enthusiasm she'd never felt about salad.

"You know what the secret is to a good salad?"

The secret to a good salad was the dessert that came after, but she gave it her best guess. "Dressing?"

"Nah, dressing is superficial—you pour it on top to make it look good. A good salad is about the ingredients underneath the dressing. You gotta have the right mix of flavors. Too much of one thing throws the whole salad off. Not enough of another thing, it's boring. Do you understand?"

She understood the words, but they seemed to be dripping with meaning she couldn't grasp.

Grandpa produced a perfect watermelon crescent. He bit into it, then handed it to her to taste. "Do you remember what I told you makes for a good watermelon?"

"Lots of water," she said automatically. Grandpa smiled proudly.

It was weird that she could remember some things with vivid clarity, but other things were murkier. Like how she'd gotten here.

A movement caught her eye—a stately Black gentleman dressed in a lab coat was standing beneath some orange trees. Jesus? But that didn't seem right because Nora was pretty sure Jesus wouldn't be there for her. He'd have nuns and other devout people he needed to greet. Still, she had a feeling she knew who the man was, but his identity slipped out of reach.

She turned back to the man who had shaped her life. The surge of love she felt for him was so great that she could barely physically contain it. But then something hard clamped down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She sensed her grandfather was about to slip away. Her euphoria began to sink under the weight of fear he wouldn't take her with him. "Grandpa, I'm so sorry—"

"Earthly concerns have no place here, Nora. They go in the compost bin. Come on, bring the wagon."

She tried to swallow, but the fear of losing him was stuck in her throat, choking her. She followed Grandpa, glancing over her shoulder at the shimmering white light again. She was desperate to stay here with him, where she was safe and loved.

"Don't look there, sweetie. Now, what are you growing in your garden? Did you tend my plot?"

When Grandma died, Grandpa sold the ranch and moved into senior living in Austin, where he got himself a plot in a community garden. Nora had solemnly promised that if anything ever happened to him, she'd take care of it.

A different sensation flooded her, hot and potent. Oh, she knew that feeling—it was shame, and it stung like the devil. She looked around for Roxie, needing her support. Roxie was gone.