“Actually,” Benton said, “I do.”

At that moment, Grace poked her head out the back sliding door. She seemed delighted to see Hope and Benton talking. “Benton,” she said, “lunch is ready.” To Hope, she said, “Honey? Would you like a ham sandwich?”

Hope shrugged. As always, her mother ruined everything. “I guess,” she said.

GRACE

Just when she thought life couldn’t get any better, she received a phone call from Hester Phan.

“I have exciting news,” Hester said. Hester was a serious Vietnamese American woman with a deadpan voice. She sounded as if she were calling to tell Grace that there was a sale on rubber gloves at the Stop & Shop.

“You do?” Grace said.

“The home-and-garden editor of the Boston Globe loved the photos. They want to do a feature in the Sunday paper.”

Grace shrieked. “When?” she said.

“They’re sending a writer and photographer on July twenty-first,” Hester said, “to run five days later on Sunday the twenty-sixth.”

They had less than a month to get ready!

“Whoo-hoo!” Grace said. “Thank you, Hester, thank you!”

“That’s my job,” Hester said. “I’ll call closer to the date with the exact details. And I’ll send Eddie my final bill.”

Grace hung up. She didn’t know whether to call Eddie or Benton first. The right thing to do was to call Eddie. This was his house, and he was paying Hester’s fee. Besides, she wanted to tell Benton in person.

She said, “You’re not going to believe this! The Boston Globe said yes! The Sunday Boston Globe!”

“Yes to what?” Eddie said.

“Yes to the gardening feature!” Grace said.

“Oh, right, right,” Eddie said. “Does this mean I can stop paying Hester?”

“After the final bill,” Grace said. “Which, I think we agreed, includes a success bonus.”

“Why should she get a bonus for success?” Eddie said. “It’s her job. She should succeed as a matter of course, not get a bonus for it.” He sounded like he was in some kind of cavern. His voice was reverberating, and Grace could hear his footsteps.

“Where are you?” she said.

“Number thirteen Eagle Wing Lane,” he said.

“It sounds empty,” Grace said. “Aren’t there supposed to be guys working?”

“Yes,” Eddie said. “There are supposed to be guys working.”

She couldn’t decipher the tone of his voice. Was he being sarcastic?

She didn’t care. She was too excited about the Sunday Boston Globe. She said, “Honey, aren’t you happy for me?”

“Thrilled,” Eddie said.

Grace hung up. Eddie didn’t sound thrilled—but what had she expected?

She wished the girls were home, but Hope had started her job at the church rectory, and Allegra was off island at her new SAT-prep course. Instead of once a week for six weeks, this class met every day for a week, including Saturday. Allegra needed yet another prep class because the other class had resulted in only a thirty-point increase in her critical-reading score, and her math score had stayed the same. Neither score was very high.

Eddie wasn’t happy about spending money on another class, in addition to the cost of flying her back and forth.

Grace said that some people just didn’t test well.

Eddie said she wasn’t trying. Had Grace ever seen her studying?

No, Grace had not seen Allegra studying, and, furthermore, Allegra was out every single night.

Grace would tell the girls about the Sunday Boston Globe that evening at dinner.

Would they care?

Grace wanted to call Madeline, but Madeline had been very busy writing her new novel at the apartment, and Grace didn’t want to interrupt her. However, she was too excited to keep the news to herself, and it was still half an hour until Benton would arrive.

Grace sent Madeline a text: Sunday Boston Globe featuring my garden July 26!

Madeline texted back: Great!

Grace tried not to feel deflated. Great! was an appropriate response. She couldn’t expect anyone to understand how far beyond Great! this was.

Grace pulled the cork from a bottle of vintage Veuve Clicquot that she had found down in Eddie’s wine fridge just as Benton rounded the corner of the house.

“Champagne?” he said. “What happened to mint tea?”

Grace poured two glasses but left them on the table. She said, “Hester Phan called.”

He said, “Break it to me gently.”

She said, “On Sunday, July twenty-sixth, we are going to be featured in the… Boston Globe!”

Benton swung her in a circle and let out a cowboy rodeo whoop.

This was the reaction Grace had been craving. As Benton took her face in his hands and started to kiss her, she marveled at how it felt to have someone in her life who shared her passion for this yard and who was just as over the moon about this feature as she was. A partner. A friend.

And more.

Benton pulled Grace by the hand toward the garden shed, leaving their champagne in the sun.

The following day, Grace received an invitation to the Nantucket Garden Club’s Sunset Soiree. This year’s soiree was being held at Jean Burton’s home, which Grace had always thought of as the House of a Thousand Koi Ponds (really only five, but for Grace that was five too many). Jean was president of the Nantucket Garden Club; she had taken over for Grace when Grace’s term ended. Jean was a native Texan, filled with charm and hospitality. She continued to call Grace for advice and help with logistics, and she kept Grace in the loop, even though Grace had become consumed with her own project.