Chapter 1

The night the heater in our greenhouse died, my husband told me he couldn’t spare ten minutes from work.

Then Willa called.

Dean shut his laptop and reached for his keys.

“She’s alone in the company parking lot,” he said into the phone, his voice softer than it had been during his meeting. “Don’t cry. I’m on my way.”

I stood at the greenhouse door with the dead thermometer clenched in my hand.

The glass had already fogged over from the cold.

The seedlings nearest the door had begun to droop. In another hour, the temperature would fall below freezing.

“Dean,” I said. “The heater’s broken. You promised we’d hook up the backup unit tonight.”

He glanced at the greenhouse, then at his phone as another call came through.

“I know. But Willa’s not doing well.”

“She isn’t doing well, so you’re going to sit with her. My greenhouse is about to freeze, and you can’t give me ten minutes?”

He frowned, like I’d chosen the worst possible moment to create a problem.

“June, you know how to handle this. Cover the beds with the frost cloth. Check the breaker box. I’ll deal with it when I get back.”

I stared at him.

The backup heater was in the trunk. We had bought it the week before because he had canceled on fixing the main heater the last time he promised he would.

Now he started the car.

“You’re taking the heater with you?”

“My work laptop is in there,” he said, fastening his seat belt. His patience was already thinning. “I’m not leaving it out here.”

Willa was still crying on the other end of the call.

Dean didn’t look at me again.

As he pulled out of the driveway, one of his tires rolled over the edge of the frost cloth I had dragged out beside the greenhouse.

The corner sank into the mud.

I stood there until his taillights disappeared.

Then I hauled the frost cloth inside by myself.

The cold slipped through the cracked roof vent as soon as I shut the door.

My fingers were already stiff.

The backup system wouldn’t connect. Every time I reset the breaker, it tripped again. The problem was bigger than a blown fuse.

I called Dean.

He didn’t answer.

I called again.

This time, he declined it.

I watched the screen go dark, then called Rosa. She coordinated volunteers at the community garden and lived two streets over.

When I explained what had happened, she asked only one question.

“Which beds got hit first?”

Twenty minutes later, she pulled up in her old pickup. Two portable heat lamps and a roll of thick plastic sheeting sat in the truck bed.

“Where’s your husband?” she asked, already helping me secure the roof vent.

I moved the freezing seedlings toward the center bed without looking up.

“Taking care of someone.”

Rosa didn’t ask another question.

We worked until after one in the morning, when we finally got the temperature high enough to keep the rest of the greenhouse safe.

The basil along the outer wall had gone limp. The edges of the tomato leaves were already turning black.

I had picked those seeds one packet at a time all winter. They were meant for the spring open house.

Before Rosa left, she rested a hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t throw anything out until morning,” she said. “You won’t know what made it through until the light comes up.”

I nodded and locked the greenhouse behind her.

Dean came home after three.

I was still sitting on the kitchen floor, my boots on, dirt dried across the back of my hands.

He stepped inside carrying the cold with him, but there was no urgency on his face.

“Willa’s asleep now,” he said. “She was really falling apart tonight. I couldn’t leave her there alone.”

I didn’t ask why she had been falling apart.

I slid the greenhouse maintenance sheet across the table.

Three dates had been crossed out.

The first time, he had said his project was behind schedule.

The second, a client had changed the meeting time.

The third was tonight.

Dean looked down at the page. For the first time, he seemed uncomfortable.

“I’ll make it up to you. We can replace whatever froze.”

“It isn’t about the seedlings.”

He looked up.

I kept my voice low.

“Dean, out of those three times, when did you ever actually plan to come help me?”