By Sunday morning, Eleanor had almost forgotten that the visit to Thomas and Jessica’s house was supposed to involve gardening. She had spent the previous evening thinking about Richard’s apology, wondering whether it had been sincere, and reminding herself that sincerity did not have to be measured by how quickly she felt better.
She arrived shortly after eleven with a small bag of gardening gloves and a packet of seeds she had bought at the hardware store. Thomas opened the door with a pair of muddy sneakers in one hand and a look of exaggerated concern on his face.
“Please tell me those are gloves,” he said.
“They are.”
“Good. Jessica has already assigned me to the most difficult job.”
“What’s that?”
“Deciding where everything goes.”
From the kitchen, Jessica called, “Because he keeps suggesting we plant vegetables in the shade.”
“They’re leafy vegetables,” Thomas protested.
“They still need light.”
Eleanor stepped inside, smiling. The house was bright with the late-morning sun. A bowl of oranges sat on the counter, and the back door stood open to let in the mild spring air. There was no special arrangement for her arrival. No one had cleared the room or laid out a formal welcome. She was simply expected.
That ordinary welcome meant more to her than she wanted to admit.
Jessica had sketched a rough plan of the backyard on a sheet of graph paper. She spread it across the kitchen table, weighing down the corners with a mug, a jar of pens, and a small ceramic bird.
“I thought we could put the herbs near the steps,” she said. “That way I can reach them while cooking. Then maybe flowers along the fence.”
“What kind of flowers?” Eleanor asked.
“Something that can survive a beginner.”
“Then choose flowers that are forgiving. Gardening is mostly learning what you’ve done wrong and trying not to repeat it.”
Thomas leaned over the plan. “That sounds like marriage.”
Jessica gave him a look. “You’re welcome to spend the afternoon digging alone.”
“I’m only observing.”
They carried the tools outside. The yard was smaller than the one at the old house, but it suited the scale of their new life. A narrow patch of lawn occupied the center, bordered by a weathered fence and a strip of bare earth. The previous owners had left two pots near the back steps. One held a stubborn cluster of green leaves; the other contained only dry soil.
Eleanor knelt beside the empty pot and loosened the dirt with her fingers.
“This one might still be useful,” she said. “We can mix in fresh compost.”
Jessica crouched beside her. “I thought you said gardening was mostly mistakes.”
“It is. But sometimes the mistake is throwing something away too soon.”
Jessica looked at her for a moment, then returned her attention to the pot. Eleanor wondered whether the remark had sounded more meaningful than she intended. She had not planned to turn a gardening lesson into a family metaphor. Still, she did not take it back.
They spent the next hour measuring the beds and moving stones. Thomas dug a shallow trench along the fence while Jessica arranged the seedlings. Eleanor helped separate the herbs, explaining which ones would spread and which needed more room. She found herself enjoying the work, the physical effort, and the simple satisfaction of seeing a plan take shape.
At one point, Thomas struck a buried brick with his shovel. He pulled it free and held it up.
“Treasure,” he announced.
“An ancient foundation,” Jessica said.
“Or evidence that the previous owners were hiding something.”
“Probably just a brick.”
He turned it over in his hands. “You never let me have an interesting theory.”
Eleanor laughed. The sound came easily, and she noticed that Thomas was laughing too. There was no strain in the moment, no reference to the old house or the money that had passed between them.
By early afternoon, the garden beds were ready. Jessica planted the first row of herbs, pressing each small root into the dark soil. Thomas carried water from the kitchen, spilling some on his shoes. Eleanor arranged the flower seeds along the fence, careful not to scatter them too closely.
When they finished, the three of them stood near the steps, surveying the uneven rows.
“It looks a little sparse,” Jessica said.
“It’s supposed to,” Eleanor replied. “Things need room to grow.”
Thomas rested his hands on his hips. “I think we’ve done enough for one day.”
Jessica brushed dirt from her palms. “I agree. Lunch?”
They went inside and made sandwiches. Thomas sliced tomatoes while Jessica prepared a salad. Eleanor sat at the kitchen table, looking through the seed packet instructions. The room was warm, and the faint scent of damp soil drifted in through the open door.
During lunch, Jessica mentioned that her mother had asked whether they might visit for a weekend in the summer.
“That sounds nice,” Eleanor said.
“She also asked if we could all have dinner again sometime,” Jessica added. “Mom, Dad, us, you.”
Thomas looked at his wife. “Did she say Dad was asking?”
“No. She said she’d like it.”
Eleanor considered the invitation. The previous dinner had ended with an apology, but she knew that one conversation did not settle every disagreement. She did not want to avoid Richard forever. She also did not want every family gathering to become a test of whether he had changed.
“I’m open to it,” she said. “As long as we’re all willing to keep things respectful.”
Jessica nodded. “That’s what I told her.”
Thomas set down his sandwich. “I think Dad is trying.”
Eleanor looked at him. “You can think that without making me responsible for deciding whether he’s succeeded.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t want you to feel you have to choose sides every time someone is disappointed.”
Thomas nodded slowly. “That’s probably something I need to work on.”
The conversation moved on. They discussed the garden, the possibility of buying a small outdoor table, and a neighborhood festival scheduled for the following month. Eleanor listened as Jessica described the food stalls she wanted to visit. The plans were uncomplicated, and she felt grateful for that.
After lunch, Thomas brought out a box of old photographs he had found while unpacking. He had been looking for a picture of the backyard before they planted it, but the box contained photographs from several years earlier.
One showed Thomas at twelve, standing beside Eleanor in front of a rented cabin. His hair was too long, his smile uneven, and one hand rested on a fishing rod that was nearly as tall as he was. Eleanor remembered the trip vividly. Thomas had insisted that he could catch a fish large enough to feed them all. They had returned with two small ones and a bag of chips from a roadside shop.
“I remember this,” Thomas said.
“So do I.”
“You told me the fish were probably frightened by my singing.”
“They were.”
Jessica leaned over his shoulder. “You look so young.”
“I was young.”
“You were also wearing that terrible shirt.”
Thomas examined the photograph. “That shirt was fashionable.”
“No,” Eleanor said. “It was not.”
They laughed, passing the photographs around the table. There were birthdays, school performances, holidays, and ordinary afternoons that had seemed too unimportant to remember at the time. Eleanor found herself surprised by how many pictures included all three of them. She had spent months thinking about the ways the family had fractured, yet the photographs reminded her that the relationship had been built over years of small, imperfect moments.
Near the bottom of the box, Thomas found a picture of the old house. It showed the front porch in summer, with the flower beds full and the windows open. Eleanor recognized the photograph immediately. She had taken it shortly after the purchase, before Thomas and Jessica moved in.
For a few seconds, no one spoke.
“I remember how excited we were,” Thomas said.
“So was I,” Eleanor replied.
Jessica touched the edge of the photograph. “It was a beautiful house.”
“It was,” Eleanor said.
“Do you miss it?”
The question was gentle, but Eleanor knew it carried more than one meaning. She considered giving a simple answer. Instead, she chose the truth.
“Sometimes I miss what I imagined it would mean. I don’t miss feeling responsible for everyone’s happiness.”
Jessica lowered her eyes. “I understand.”
Eleanor looked at the photograph again. She remembered the first walk-through, the empty rooms, and the way she had imagined future holidays there. She had believed that a house could make a family feel secure. She had not understood how easily a gift could become tangled with expectation.
Thomas slid the photograph back into the box. “I’m glad we have this place now.”
“Me too,” Jessica said. “It feels like ours.”
Eleanor felt no sting in the words. That was new. The couple’s independence no longer sounded like a rejection of her. It sounded like something they had worked for and deserved.
Later, as she prepared to leave, Jessica handed her a small paper bag.
“What’s this?” Eleanor asked.
“Some extra herb seedlings. We bought too many.”
“You should keep them. You’ll need them.”
“We have enough. Besides, I thought you might enjoy growing a few at home.”
Eleanor accepted the bag. The seedlings were small and delicate, their roots wrapped in damp paper. She held them carefully, aware that the gift had nothing to do with money or obligation. It was simply something Jessica wanted to share.
Thomas walked her to the car.
“Thanks for helping,” he said.
“You did most of the digging.”
“Which is why I’m exhausted.”
Eleanor smiled. “Your garden will be fine.”
He hesitated, then added, “I’m glad things feel easier.”
“So am I.”
“I know we can’t change what happened. But I hope we keep building something better.”
Eleanor looked at him. “That depends on both of us.”
“I know.”
She drove home with the seedlings resting on the passenger seat. At her apartment, she placed them on the windowsill while she searched for a suitable pot. She found one in a cupboard, filled it with fresh soil, and settled the roots into place.
The work was small, almost insignificant. Yet when she finished, she stepped back and looked at the green leaves against the light.
She had once believed that love meant creating a secure place for everyone else. Now she was beginning to understand that love could also mean allowing people to build their own homes, make their own mistakes, and invite her in without needing her to provide the foundation.
The seedlings would take time. She knew that much.
So would the family.
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: An Unexpected Financial Setback Forced Thomas to Ask for Help Without Turning His Mother Into the Solution
The Message That Turned a $350,000 Gift Into a Question of Who Really Belonged
Part 17 of 20
