Chapter 20 - The Garden AgainEight months after the suitcase was uncovered, Tyler asked to visit the garden.
Edmund did not celebrate.
He simply said:
“When?”
“Saturday.”
They went together.
The flower bed remained empty.
Edmund had refused to replant it.
He did not know why.
Perhaps he feared disrespecting Tyler.
Perhaps he was waiting.
Tyler stood at the edge.
“This is where?”
“Yes.”
He looked at the soil.
The exact location had been disturbed repeatedly by investigators.
Nothing remained from Celeste’s neat row of white flowers.
Tyler stepped closer.
Edmund’s body tensed.
Tyler noticed.
“I’m okay.”
“I know.”
“You look like you’re not.”
Edmund smiled weakly.
“Fair.”
Tyler crouched.
Touched the dirt.
His breathing changed.
He stood quickly.
“That’s enough.”
“Okay.”
They walked away.
Three weeks later Tyler returned.
This time he stayed longer.
Then again.
Recovery did not move in a straight line.
One visit ended with tears.
Another with jokes.
Eventually Tyler asked:
“Can we plant something?”
Edmund looked surprised.
“What?”
“Not flowers.”
“Anything.”
“A tree.”
“Why?”
“So it’s not just where Mom put me.”
Edmund understood.
They chose a young maple.
Professionals planted it while Tyler watched.
No ceremonial shovel.
No dramatic speech.
Tyler did not need the place turned into a monument.
He needed it to become ordinary again.
He named the tree:
“Steve.”
Edmund stared.
“Steve?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Trees shouldn’t have serious names.”
Edmund laughed.
Steve grew beside the old flower bed.
And slowly the garden became a garden again.
Then sentencing notices arrived.
Celeste faced significant incarceration across the child and financial cases.
Daniel requested family impact statements.
Edmund wrote one.
Not demanding maximum punishment.
Not requesting mercy.
He described Tyler’s nightmares.
The foundation damage.
The betrayal of trust.
His own failures.
And one sentence:
I love my daughter, but love cannot be presented to this court as evidence that her choices should cost less.
Lydia read it.
“That may be the most difficult thing you’ve ever written.”
“Yes.”
Tyler was not asked to write one unless he wanted.
He did.
Three paragraphs.
The final one said:
I want my mom to get better. I also want grown-ups to know that when a kid says they are scared, they should listen before something gets worse.
Edmund cried when he read it.
Tyler rolled his eyes.
“You cry a lot now.”
“I’m retired.”
“You’re not retired.”
“Emotionally retired.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Most useful phrases don’t.”
The night before sentencing Edmund could not sleep.
He walked outside.
Past Steve the maple.
Past the place where the suitcase had been.
The garden was quiet.
He almost heard the thumps again.
Then he realized the sound came from Tyler’s bedroom window.
Tap.
Tap.
Tyler was tapping the glass to get his attention.
Edmund looked up.
Tyler waved.
The same two sounds.
Different meaning.
May you like
Edmund smiled.
Perhaps someday that would be enough.
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