Page 113 of Made for Mayhem

She said it like a simple truth, then leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my middle, cheek pressed against my overalls. I folded myself around her and held on.

“Mom said emotions are like weather. Sometimes sunny, sometimes stormy. Both can happen at the same time and change just as fast.”

“She was a smart woman.”

We went back to painting, the only sounds the river and the scratch of bristles. Then I told her about the summer Violet and I built a fort in the backyard here. How we’d draped sheets over lawn chairs, pretending it was a castle, and Violet had declared herself queen, demanding tribute in popsicles.

Junie giggled, the sound so real, I couldn’t help but laugh too. She then launched into the time Violet taught her to whistle with an acorn cap, which ended with a mouth full of bark. I countered with the road trip we took when I was sixteen, Violet navigating with a paper map she refused to fold correctly, getting us lost somewhere outside Denver but finding the best cheeseburgers along the way.

The sun shifted west, shadows stretching long across the porch. Our pots gleamed—Junie’s a precise galaxy of blues and golds, mine a chaotic riot of every color in the bin. We set them in a row on the railing to dry.

Junie stood back, hands on hips. “Mom would approve.”

I slung an arm around her shoulders. “She really would.”

For the first time in weeks, the house didn’t feel like a museum of ghosts. It felt like a place where new stories could still bloom alongside our memories—on the porch steps, in the paint under our fingernails, in the flower crowns in our hair.

Junie slipped her hand into mine. “Can we plant strawberries next spring? The seed catalog says they like full sun and well-drained soil.”

“Deal,” I said. “We’ll start a whole patch. Two hundred seeds per berry, right?”

She squeezed my fingers. “At least.”

We left the pots to cure in the sun and walked back to the blanket; the mountains glowing pink in the afternoon light. The day had healed nothing, but it had stitched something bright and living into the holes grief had left behind.

Junie plopped onto the blanket and reached for her lemonade again. Before she took a sip, Rowdy barked, alerting us just before we heard the crunch of gravel under tires.

A white county SUV rounded the bend, dust rising behind it.

Junie’s shoulders tightened. Mine did too.

Sandra Diaz stepped out, smoothing her blouse against the July heat, her tablet tucked under one tan arm. She gave us a gentle wave as she crossed the yard, careful not to trample the flowers.

“Afternoon, ladies,” she said, her voice warm but threaded with that official calm she always carried. “I was in the area finishing another home visit and thought I’d stop by for a quick check-in, if that’s alright.”

Junie leaned into my side, Rowdy between her legs, and I squeezed her hand. “Of course,” I said. “We were just painting.”

Sandra’s eyes flicked to the porch railing, the pots lined up like a mismatched art show. She smiled, then crouched to Junie’s eye level. “They’re gorgeous! Which one is yours?”

“The one with the stars,” Junie said.

Sandra missed the importance of stars, but I didn’t. She and Ty talked about them every night, pointing out which one she thought her mom was.

“Did you have fun at the carnival this weekend, Juniper?”

Junie shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Sandra said gently. She rose, tapping something into her tablet. “Since we’re here, I’d love to see the progress on the house. Would you like to come inside with us? Only if you want to.”

To my surprise, Junie nodded and took the lead, ushering Sandra through the front door and narrating each improvement like a tiny professor while Rowdy and Piggie trailed her every step. When we stepped back out onto the porch, Sandra wore a warm, approving smile.

“Everything looks great,” she said. “I can’t wait to see what color you paint the living room.”

Then she turned to me. “Do you mind if we talk for a moment?”

Junie stiffened. “Are you taking me away?”

The question landed hard and fast, like she’d been holding it for weeks.