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My field gear owns the mudroom. My water bottles migrate through the house without supervision. Theo built shelves in the greenhouse room for my samples and maps. Ezra labeled one section Disgusting Swamp Science in gold vinyl.

Every night, I sleep in our nest between my men. Every morning, Ezra is solid. Every afternoon, when I grade papers in the living room, Theo eventually pulls me into his lap and refuses to acknowledge this affects my handwriting. Ordinary has become my favorite kind of miracle.

Junie sweeps toward us with a cupcake in one hand. “I have a complaint.”

Scarlet sips her cider. “About the art show?”

“About my exclusion from the creative process.”

“You brought napkins,” Honey says.

“I mean the paintings.” Junie points toward the stars-and-water piece. “I could have posed for a piece.”

“No one asked you to pose,” I say.

“That is the complaint.”

Theo’s chest moves with a quiet laugh behind me.

Junie looks at him. “See. Theo understands.”

Theo tightens his arms around me. “I’m staying out of this.”

“Coward.”

Honey nudges Junie with her shoulder. “You’re in one.”

Junie stops. “What?”

Honey points toward a smaller painting near the rear wall. We move closer. The piece shows four women standing beside dark water. Only their backs are visible. One has red hair. One holds a flat gray stone. The third carries a small book beneath one arm. And the fourth looks as though she is made of sunshine. Wildflowers grow around their feet.

Junie leans toward the canvas. “Is that me? What am I holding?”

Scarlet studies it. “A recipe book?”

Junie’s humor fades. She steps closer. A small white flower is painted on the book’s worn cover. It has five narrow petals and a yellow center.

Junie lifts one hand but stops before touching the canvas. “My grandmother pressed those into her recipe pages.”

I look at Scarlet. She looks at me. Ezra painted something he should not know.

Junie turns toward him across the gallery. “When did he paint this?”

“Last week,” Theo says.

“Did he see my grandmother’s book?”

“Not that I know,” I answer.

“Right. Cursed town, weird visions.” Junie stares at the flower again. “Cool, cool.”

Honey takes her hand.

Junie exhales. “My dead relatives are commissioning art now.”

Scarlet snorts. I laugh. The sharpness of the moment softens, but the question remains between the four of us.

That sounds like a tomorrow problem. Tonight belongs to Ezra.