Page 96 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

Mariah held up her book. “Ayurvedic medicine?”

He shrugged. “You like alternative medicine. This is at least rooted in ancient current practice.”

“Huh. Well done. Thank you. What should we do today?” Mariah asked. “We should get out in Marrakech before we have to leave.”

“Agreed. Let’s go to the gardens,” Veronica said. “I can’t face any more eating.”

They both laughed. “Great idea. Henry, would you give us lessons in photography?”

“Can do,” he said. “I’ll bring a macro lens.”

“We can forget about Christmas entirely,” Veronica said.

“That was the whole point of being in Marrakech at Christmas,” Mariah said, and raised an eyebrow.

“Great plan,” Veronica said, and high-fived her. “Let’s go play tourist.”

Chapter Forty-Four

Mariah had been dreading Christmas for months. As they toured the Jardin Majorelle gardens, she felt something inside let go, and her entire body felt more at ease.

“I’m surprised it’s so busy,” she said as they made their way around the paths thick with tourists.

“The weather is good, and Muslims don’t celebrate Christmas, so it’s just a normal day here.”

“True.” The crowd did seem to be mainly made of up non-Europeans in many different modes of dress, jeans and Western dresses, hijabs and tunics and loose trousers. A young blond woman sashayed through the crowds in a sundress that was almost nothing, her hair braided in cornrows, a big African necklace around her throat. Mariah raised a brow toward Henry. “Can you spellclueless?”

He shrugged. “People do their thing.”

Veronica swooned over one plant and then another, naming them by their Latin names, cacti and palms and the odd trailing vine. She was lost in it, her fingers brushing over the leaves of a flowering tree, raising her head to look at the weavings of plants overhead, and bending over to examine some in pots. She exclaimed over the lily pond and the pools with fountains.

“Youreallylike plants, don’t you?” Mariah said.

“I really do,” she said. “When I was a girl, plants were something my mom used to beautify our world. Petunias and geraniums brightened things up inside, and all the potted plants made our trailer seem like a place where happy people lived.”

Mariah almost saidA trailer?but stopped herself in time. Rude, even for her. “Did you have a garden in the house your kids grew up in?”

“Yeah.” She took a breath. “It was the worst part of leaving, honestly. It was beautiful, and my ex is never going to take care of it.” She shook her head, then physically shook her shoulders. “Not a thing I can control, but yeah—I look forward to planting a new one someday.”

It was probably right then that Mariah started hatching her plan, but she said, “Maybe that’s your job going forward, plants or something.”

Veronica looked up, her fingers lightly cupping a tender pink flower. Henry clicked his shutter, and she smiled. “Maybe it is. Thanks for the idea.”

“Sure.”

“Show me how to take a picture of a flower, Henry.”

“Of course.” He looped the camera strap over her neck, and said, “Look through the viewfinder.”

She did. Unlike looking through her phone camera, the world narrowed to a square of color. Peering through the viewfinder was like seeing everything through a magic door, all distractions chopped away. The vivid orange flower with a long red tongue, the curve of its petal downward, the blur of the background.

“Turn the focus to see how it works,” he said, placing her finger on the right spot. “Now shoot some pictures, just to see what you have.”

She did, feeling something tilt a bit with each snatched moment. Just this one, only that. Here, then gone. Again.

“Good. Keep moving the focus and your body, and shoot experimentally.”

Mariah became aware of a sense of ... quiet ... in her body as she followed instructions. She shot several photos, raised her head, focusedin the distance on a blue wall, a yellow pot, the alternating pattern of checkerboard tiles. Quiet, quiet, quiet.