Chapter 3
I remembered that birthday clearly.
I brought Henry white flowers because he always said roses looked as though they were trying too hard.
Then I sat beside his grave until the groundskeeper gently told me the cemetery was closing.
I did not meet with Monica.
I did not authorize a sale.
I did not sign away the garden.
Ada read the document again.
“Who witnessed this signature?” she asked.
Monica said nothing.
Lionel answered.
“It was supplied to my office as part of the foundation’s approval package.”
“By whom?”
“Mrs. Hayes’s program director.”
He looked at Monica.
She lifted her chin.
“Ruth had expressed support for exploring partnerships.”
“Exploring is not signing,” Ada replied.
David stood beside the table, pale and silent.
I had seen that face when he was fourteen and learned that a friend had been stealing from classmates.
He wanted a different explanation.
So did I.
“Monica,” I said, “tell us what happened.”
“I was trying to secure funding.”
“Did you sign my name?”
She pressed her lips together.
“Did you?”
“I used an existing signature image.”
The garden went quiet around us.
Even the children near the food table stopped laughing.
I looked at the paper.
“You copied my signature onto a land document.”
“I expected you to approve the project once you saw the benefits.”
Ada closed the packet.
“We are ending this discussion here. These documents need to be preserved.”
Lionel began putting papers into his folder.
“Copies will be made available.”
“Do not remove any foundation records,” Ada said.
“They’re company records.”
“Then preserve them. You have been informed the authorization is disputed.”
Her voice was firm without becoming loud.
I admired that.
Mine was beginning to tremble.
David reached for Monica’s arm.
“Come with me.”
She pulled away.
“Don’t act as if I’ve done something terrible before you understand.”
I thought of the fees paid by neighbors who had trusted the letters.
“Something terrible has already happened,” I said.
She turned toward me.
“I made this garden visible. I brought donors. I built relationships while you stayed home.”
The crowd shifted.
David said her name sharply.
But I raised a hand.
I wanted to hear exactly what she thought.
“You were grieving,” Monica continued. “Nobody wanted to say it, but the foundation needed someone who could move forward.”
I could almost understand how she had convinced herself.
Grief made me slower.
It did not make me absent.
“I was caring for my dying husband,” I said. “Then I was learning to live after losing him. That did not give you permission to impersonate me.”
Her face hardened.
“If I had waited for everyone to feel ready, nothing would have happened.”
I looked at the tomatoes beside us.
“Things were happening here. People were eating. Children were learning. Neighbors were helping each other. You simply decided those things were not impressive enough.”
She glanced toward the crowd, perhaps realizing they had heard every word.
Ada asked David to take Monica home while she and I secured the office records.
Monica objected.
“It’s my office.”
“You are being placed on leave pending review,” Ada said. “The trustees will formally confirm it tonight.”
“I haven’t agreed to that.”
“You don’t need to agree.”
David looked at me.
“Mom, I’ll call you.”
I nodded.
He left with his wife.
I watched them walk through the gate and felt older than I had all evening.
Beatrice came to my side.
“She should never have spoken to you like that.”
“I’m more concerned about how she spoke to you.”
She gave a tired smile.
“We’re used to it.”
That sentence hurt.
“Tell me.”
At a folding table, the neighbors began explaining.
Monica had canceled the weekday lunch gatherings because they looked untidy.
She removed the donated chairs near the herb beds.
She said children needed permission forms and fees before joining Saturday activities.
Then she introduced registration payments.
“Some folks stopped coming,” Alvin said. “They were embarrassed.”
I knew several names he mentioned.
People who used to visit even when they didn’t need vegetables.
People who came because somebody would ask how they were doing.
Ada took notes.
We went to the small office in the converted garage next door. The foundation leased it for storage and administration.
Files were missing from the cabinets.
The computer remained.
Ada called the foundation’s technology provider and asked them to preserve records.
Then she phoned an accountant.
I sat beneath a photograph of Henry at the first planting day.
He was holding a crooked shovel and smiling.
I had built this garden with him.
I had trusted Monica to care for it.
Now his photograph looked down on an empty drawer.
My phone vibrated.
A message from David.
Did Dad know about any plan to develop the lot?
I stared at it.
Henry had hated that idea.
I called David immediately.
“No.”
He breathed out.
“Monica told me he wanted it eventually. She said you couldn’t bear to discuss it after he died.”
I looked up at the photograph.
“She lied.”
May you like
David was quiet.
Then he whispered, “I think she’s been lying to me for a long time.”
