She pulled weeds from his ex-wife’s garden. Some had started into trees, and she couldn’t get to the roots. Bare-handed, she picked up sticks and branches. Baseballs and candy wrappers buried under bushes. Rusty scissors. A barrette. She put the items by the swing. Around her were roses, lilies, bleeding hearts, and many others she would never know by name. There were chives and basil, oregano. He still used the spices in the dishes he prepared. He’d taught her how to make them. His food was delicious. She got down on her knees and pulled his lavender by accident. She thought it was dead, but it wasn’t.