Marlo led her to the kitchen window and pointed out the places where flowers would grow. She had already drawn plans for marigolds along the fence, strawberries near the path, and a tiny tree that would eventually provide shade for the dog she still hoped to own. Serafina listened carefully, asking whether the flowers would be different colors and how Marlo planned to protect them when the weather changed. Marlo explained with all the authority of a seven-year-old who had recently discovered the existence of gardening books.
They moved to the living room, where Marlo spread her drawings across the floor. Serafina lowered herself beside her, an awkward motion in her tailored trousers but one she managed without asking anyone to bring a chair. The child showed her pictures of the old apartment, the new house, and a series of animals with slightly improbable proportions. Serafina examined each page as though it contained information she genuinely wanted to understand.
"Did you draw when you were little?" Marlo asked.
"Not very well," Serafina admitted. "But my son did. He liked to draw houses and gardens too."
"Do you have a picture?"
Serafina took the framed photograph from her bag. Adrian stood outside on a sunny day with a camera hanging from his neck, laughing at something beyond the frame. He had dark hair, warm eyes, and an easy smile that made him look much younger than the nearly grown young man he had been. Serafina held the picture carefully while Marlo studied it.
"He looks nice," Marlo said.
"He was."
"Where is he now?"
Everett started to speak, concerned that the question might hurt, but Serafina met his eyes and gave a small shake of her head. She told Marlo that Adrian had died years earlier and that she missed him very much. Marlo looked at the photograph again and thought for a long moment, the same way she did when choosing a color for an important part of a drawing.
"My mom died," she said. "Sometimes I draw her as a star so she can find us."
Serafina felt the room grow still. "That's a beautiful way to remember her."
"You could draw him as a star too. Or a tree. Then he'd be in the garden."
There were a hundred responses Serafina might have offered, many of them polished enough for a public speech. She chose none of them. Instead, she asked Marlo whether she could show her how to draw a tree with branches wide enough to hold a family of birds.
For the next half hour, a billionaire who had commanded conference rooms across the world sat on the living-room rug beside a seven-year-old and learned how to draw a tree. Marlo instructed her to press lightly before adding the darker lines, to leave space for birds, and not to worry if the branches leaned to one side. Everett stood in the doorway watching them, moved by the unfamiliar sight of Serafina listening without needing to lead. The woman everyone feared was holding a colored pencil as carefully as though it might break.
When Marlo went to wash her hands before lunch, Serafina remained on the floor looking at the drawing they had made. The tree was uneven, and one bird looked like a comma, but the page felt precious. Everett offered her a chair and a cup of tea. She accepted both, then looked toward the kitchen where Marlo was singing quietly to herself.