With excitement, Rae drew it out. Her mother’s neat cursive ran across a sketch of the trees nearest the house. From the looks of it, the globes were meant to attach to the lighting already in place. With her finger, Rae traced a smudged line of writing near the bottom of the page. Impossible to make out, except for three words in the middle of the sentence.
With a start, she read them. Griffin to hang . . .
“Be right back.” Hoisting the boxes into her arms, she hurried out back.
“Rae—wait! What is it?”
She was too excited to explain. During the last months, why hadn’t it once occurred to her that Griffin knew as much about Hester’s grand design as anyone? He and Rae had been tight in high school, best buds during the summer before their senior year—before they’d discovered the passion that would alter their relationship. Griffin had been over at the house constantly. He’d been fascinated by Hester’s new project, discussing the design with her whenever he and Rae stopped goofing off outside, or spent blistering-hot afternoons inside playing board games. And he’d been the one most excited about getting started on the project, overriding Hester’s objections that she’d hire a man in town to hang the lights. At seventeen, he’d needed absolutely no encouragement to climb the highest trees to handle the task.
Remembering, she quickened her pace. She peered at the barn, where her father stood discussing something with Yuna’s husband. Quinn was on a ladder, a steel hand scraper in his fist.
Rae spotted Griffin ambling toward her.
“Where’s the eats?” he called out. He joined her beside the third tree from the house. “I thought you and Yuna were bringing something out. We’re starving.” Frowning, he took the top box from her arms. “What’s all this?”
Together, they opened the boxes on the grass. “Griffin, look at this.” Unfolding the schematic, she pointed to her mother’s handwriting. “‘Griffin to hang’—do you remember this? It looks like my mother wanted you to put these up.”
“She did.” With a casual shrug, he pointed to the label. “These are the lights from Mexico—she ordered them after the ones from Germany. About two weeks later. It was right in the middle of all those doctor visits. Right around when we finished eleventh grade at Chardon High.”
“What doctor visits?” she demanded, misunderstanding him. “I was perfectly healthy in eleventh grade.”
He flicked her nose. “Not you,” he said, “your mother’s visits.” He studied her closely, nodding with satisfaction when she released a sudden breath. As her eyes began to blur, he kissed her lightly on the forehead. “It’s no big deal, Rae. You went through so much the year of the White Hurricane, some stuff got lost in your memories. It happens. Besides, everything was fine in the end.”
Slowly Rae came to her feet. She had forgotten—completely. What’s wrong with me?
Griffin nodded at the back deck. “Go on—turn on the lights. I know how these fit into place. Hester showed me.”
“You remember?” she asked, her voice catching. She swiped at her eyes.
“Like it was yesterday. And don’t cry. You should feel happy—your mother is thrilled we found the last parts of her design.” He teasingly glanced at the clouds racing across the sky. “Right, Hester?”
“Well, don’t keep me waiting,” Rae said, pulling herself together. “I’m eager to see the final result.”
Starting toward the deck, she wondered how she could’ve forgotten Hester’s breast cancer scare. It had seemed inconsequential to a teenager; her mother hadn’t even mentioned the tests until receiving an assurance from her gynecologist that the tumor was benign. The same night she’d told Rae, she’d gone into all-out creative mode, staying up late in the studio to begin plotting out the lighting design.
Griffin had just screwed the final globe into place as Rae returned to his side. The effect was beautiful, the larger bursts of illumination spilling color across the grass. A rainbow of hues, a celebration of light.
Considering, Griffin slung an arm across her shoulder. “Your mom had a saying, after the doctor gave her the all clear and she got excited about this project. Not a saying, come to think of it—it’s what she called this project, whenever we talked about it that summer. I can’t remember what it was.”
“I do,” Rae murmured, her heart lifting. “Hope lights the way.”