It’s a joke, but no one laughs. “Look at that Pablo,” Maravelle says in an attempt to hijack the conversation. The big dog is still sprawled out in the tiny wading pool. “He knows how to cool off.”

“Am I not supposed to mention Teddy?” Shelby asks.

“Well, I don’t want to talk about him,” Jasmine says.

Dorian glares at her. “Maybe you should blame yourself for bringing Marcus around.”

“It’s not my fault! I didn’t tell him to take Mami’s money or steal from us.”

“Jasmine,” Maravelle warns.

“Am I supposed to pretend I don’t hear this?” Shelby asks. “What am I? The cleaning lady? Because if I am, I forgot my broom.”

“What’s wrong with you people?” Dorian gets up from the table and heads for the house, most of his food untouched. “You all just turn your back on him and pretend nothing is happening.”

“Are you sure you want to know?” Maravelle asks Shelby.

Shelby nods, so after dinner she and Maravelle take the dogs for a walk. “There’s nothing so terrible you can’t tell me,” Shelby says. “You know that.”

“He’s in with a bad crowd. I didn’t see what was happening for a long time.”

“How bad?”

The neighborhood is quiet. It’s the place Maravelle moved to in order to get her kids away from bad influences. “He’s doing drugs.”

“I did drugs and I turned out fine,” Shelby reminds her friend.

“Compared to what?”

They both laugh, but only a little.

“It’s more than just using,” Maravelle says. “My mom found a shoe box under his bed full of the stuff. He’s been taking money from my purse and stealing from Jasmine’s savings. Most of my jewelry is gone.”

Shelby used to steal from her mother’s purse when she came back from the psych ward. She’d paw through the medicine cabinet for whatever prescription looked like it could put her out of her misery. She was a good girl on the day of the accident, and then she turned bad. But she always loved her mother, even when she stole from her. She loved her like crazy.

Maravelle gives her a ride back to the city, and all the way home Shelby feels the sting of her remorse. She wishes she’d been a better daughter and hadn’t caused her mother so much worry. It’s her biggest regret, but she was so lost she couldn’t think of anyone else back then. Now she’s gotten into the habit of calling her mom on Sunday nights, and even though it’s late she phones.

“Hey, Shelby,” her mom says when she picks up. “You should be here.” Sue sounds a bit drunk. “I’m out in the backyard on the picnic table. There are so many stars. You used to think you could count them all when you were a little girl.”

“Is Dad with you?” Shelby hasn’t talked to him since her mother revealed he hasn’t always been faithful. She’s afraid of what she might say. How can you hurt the one woman in the world who waits up for you at night till you’re safely home? Who puts up with your moods and your disappointments in life? Who remembers you when you were young and handsome and had faith in the world?

“He’s watching television. It’s that show you hate. The singing contest.”

“That piece of crap?” Shelby says dismissively, but she goes to switch on the TV and watches without the sound. She almost never misses it. She thinks of her mother outside alone, staring at the swirling heavens, living with a ghost who doesn’t even come home for dinner anymore. “Is Dad treating you right?”

“Not as good as Ben treated you,” her mom says.

“Suddenly everyone loves Ben Mink.”

“It’s not sudden, honey,” Sue says. “We always liked him.”

Shelby doesn’t answer because the truth is, it was sudden for her.

Sue says she’s growing dahlias. She gave them up because you have to unearth the tubers in the fall and keep them in buckets of dirt to winter over because they can’t take the cold. But now Sue has time for her garden and for those big, beautiful flowers that remind her of Shelby’s face when she was a child. Upturned and glorious. “When you were little you’d help me dig them up,” she reminds Shelby. “You thought the tubers looked like giant worms.”

“Was I ever a little girl?” Shelby says wistfully.

“Oh, yes,” Sue says. “I have the photos to prove it.”

Later in the week Shelby gets an envelope addressed in her mother’s neat librarian’s script. There’s a postcard inside. Her angel hasn’t forgotten her after all.

Believe something.

The illustration is of a tree with a hundred black leaves. The veins of each leaf make up a spidery word: sky, cloud, rose, kiss.

There’s something else inside the envelope, an old photo that Shelby’s mom stuck in, the color faded, the edges upturned. It takes a moment before Shelby realizes she is the little girl in the picture. Her mother’s handwriting is on the back. Shelby at five. She’s wearing a sun hat and there’s a huge smile on her face. She is surrounded by stalks of dahlias, orange and yellow and pale red, with leaves so big you could write your life story on each one. She looks like a flower in the garden, just like her mother said.

When the phone rings at five a.m., Shelby is dreaming that she’s following Helene through a field. There are white and black butterflies rising from the tall grass. There are flowers the size of pie plates. Shelby is her current age, but Helene hasn’t aged. She’s seventeen and beautiful, and she runs so fast her feet don’t touch the ground. When Shelby pulls herself out of her dream to grasp the phone, Maravelle is on the other end of the line. Teddy’s been arrested. Shelby is awake in an instant, pulling on her clothes before Maravelle is through telling her the story. She still smells the grass in the field. She feels the sunlight on her skin, though it’s a gray, rainy dawn.

“Do you have an attorney?” Shelby asks Maravelle. “And not that old real estate lawyer you dated. Maybe we can get Teddy out tonight. They can’t just lock someone up without probable cause.”

“There’s cause. His whole crew has been arrested for home invasion. It was supposed to be a robbery but the couple was in bed, so they were tied up and terrorized. I think the old man had a stroke. Maybe he’s dead.”