Meredith picked her way through the terracotta shards—the bright hope of a little garden shattered in the wind. She approached Thelma on the bench and shifted her feet a little, settling into the weight of silence.

“There’s coffee inside, if you want some.”

Thelma kept gazing off into the distance like a bronze statue.

“I could bring a mug out for you.”

Thelma didn’t blink. Meredith studied her for a minute, hoping, and then started to turn away.

“Them was dahlias,” said Thelma.

“I’m sorry?”

“Them was dahlias you walked through.”

“The flowers?”

“My Davy planted those. Fourteen years ago.” Thelma watched Meredith turn over a bit of gravel with her shoe. “Go on, sit down,” she said, patting the seat beside her. “I don’t bite.”

“It’ll probably take about eight to ten weeks.”

Thelma nodded. “That’s what the man said.”

“Somebody donated brand new cabinets, new carpet for the bedroom, tile for the bathroom. It’ll take a little while, but I think you’ll love it.”

Thelma reached for a terracotta shard at her feet and fingered it slowly.

“I’m grateful, Miss Meredith.”

“We’re very sorry about…” Meredith pulled up short as Thelma turned away to hide the glisten in her eyes. “We’re very sorry. As I said, eight to ten weeks. In the meantime…”

“I’ll sit out here when the weather’s nice. Most days it is.”

“It’ll be awfully noisy, lots of people in and out.”

“Never bothered me. People in and out. Kids hollerin’.”

“Still, I’m not sure it’s the best place for you to be.”

“Miss Meredith, you see them dahlias? Fragile, aren’t they? But they sit out here in the sun, in the rain. It don’t do them no harm.”

“That’s true. Flowers are meant to be outside.”

“Honey, I been outside most my life and it hadn’t done me any harm neither.”

“You’ll need a place to stay at night.”

“See that house up there?” Thelma pointed to a cottage painted in peeling pink, just beyond the borders of devastation. “Lizzie has a room fixed up for me.”

“Okay.” Meredith nodded. “I’m sorry about your dahlias. I’ll get someone to clean up these broken pots.”

“I’ll get ‘em. They make a good walkway. Turn ‘em over, press the points into the mud real good.” She demonstrated, sinking the shard she held into the soft black earth. Thelma glanced at the muddy boot prints leading up to the front porch. “Keeps the mud out the house.”

Meredith made a mental note to pick up a few pavers to help finish out the walkway. Thelma brushed the dirt off her hands and surveyed the work to be done.

“Can I get you some new flowers?”

Thelma grinned, wrinkling up wisdom around her quiet eyes.

“Don’t need much, Miss Meredith. Don’t need much at all.”

“These were special, I know. Couldn’t really replace what they mean to you, but…”

“They got lemonade inside?”

“Just coffee right now, but around lunchtime there will be.”

“All right. You bring me some lemonade with those flowers, and we’ll plant ‘em.”

“Yes, Miss Thelma. We’ll do that.”