Before she went to sleep that night, Iola came out to the porch and gave Beverly Elmer’s drawing.

“It will always have the crease, I suppose,” said Iola. “But it’s yours, and you should keep it, honey.”

Beverly stared down at the picture.

“What?” said Iola.

“Is that really how I look?” Beverly asked.

“Yes, darling,” said Iola. “That is really how you look. Beautiful, like that. Now take it. It’s yours.”

That night, Beverly dreamed that she was lying on the ground by Buddy’s grave — in the backyard, underneath the orange trees. When she looked up, she saw that the trees were bare. There were no leaves on them at all and no fruit.

Now we’ll have to cut them down for sure, thought Beverly. Now, there is no point.

She heard the rustle of wings. She looked up. Hovering above the dead orange trees was an angel. Her wings were brown, not blue.

She floated above the trees, looking down at Beverly and the grave.

“What?” said Beverly.

The angel shook her head. She kept opening and closing her mouth. She flapped her brown wings. Why weren’t the wings blue? Where was the lapis lazuli?

“What?” said Beverly to the angel again.

And then, in the dream, it started to snow — big swirling flakes.

The snow fell on Buddy’s grave, and on the branches of the tree, and on the brown wings of the angel.

The angel kept opening and closing her mouth.

“What did you come to say?” said Beverly.

But the angel didn’t speak, and soon everything — the trees, the grass, the grave — was covered in snow.

“What’s the message?” Beverly shouted. “Tell me!”

The angel smiled down at Beverly.

The world was radiant with the light from the falling snow.

Beverly woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Iola talking.

She put on a pair of jeans and got up and went into the kitchen. A man was sitting at the little table. His hair was slicked back, and his shoes were shined. He was wearing a suit.

“Tommy,” said Iola, “this is Beverly.”

The man looked directly at Beverly. She looked back. Neither one of them said anything.

“Now, remember your manners. Both of you,” said Iola. “Tommy is my oldest son, honey.”

“Hi,” said Beverly.

“You’re the one driving my mother’s car?” said Tommy. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

“Yeah,” said Beverly. “Because your mother asked me to.”

“You’re just a kid,” said Tommy.

“Maureen called Tommy and told him that something crazy was going on over here last night,” said Iola. “And now Tommy is worried. That’s all. He’s just worried.”

“That’s right,” said Tommy. “I’m worried.”

“There is nothing to worry about, honey. I told you. We all went to a dance at the VFW last night, and I won the world’s largest turkey. That’s all that happened.”

“Who are you?” Tommy said to Beverly.

“Honey,” said Iola, “I just told you. She’s Beverly.”

“This is the thing, Ma,” said Tommy. “I just don’t know if I can trust you. You’re letting strangers come into your house and live with you. I’m starting to doubt your decision-making skills.” He drummed his fingers on the table some more.

“I make excellent decisions,” said Iola. She looked very, very small. “Honey, today is our Christmas dinner. Don’t ruin it for me.”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about. Today is not Christmas. It’s August, Ma. Not December.” Tommy looked at Beverly. “You need to be out of here,” he said to her.

“No,” said Iola.

“In a week’s time,” said Tommy. “Or else I take the car.”

“You can’t do that,” said Beverly.

“Sure I can. This is my mother we’re talking about. I’m her son. Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do? Huh? Who are you?”

Beverly just stood there.

“Who are you?” said Tommy. “Huh?”

Who was she?

She was someone who used to have a dog. She was someone whose father had held her hand. She was someone who had held Elmer’s hand and danced with him. She was someone who was friends with Raymie. And Louisiana — still — even though she was far away. She was someone who had written I am properly sorry five hundred times, and didn’t mean it once. She was someone who had written Iola’s name eighty-two times, and meant it every time. She was someone who had dug a hole and buried someone she loved. She was someone who knew what lapis lazuli was, and that you could grind it up and turn it into wings.

She was someone who wanted things to be different from how they were.

She was someone who wanted things to change.

“See?” said Tommy when she didn’t answer him. “You’re nobody.”

“Don’t say that,” said Iola. “Don’t you tell her that.”

Tommy spread his arms wide. “Ma,” he said, “I’m trying to take care of you. That’s all.”

“I can take care of myself. Your daddy would be so . . . so disappointed in you, Tommy. He would.”

“Yeah, well, Dad’s gone,” said Tommy. “I make the decisions now.”

Iola cried after he left. She sat at the little table with her head in her hands and cried and cried.

Beverly sat across from her. She said, “I don’t care, Iola. It’s fine. I can’t stay here forever anyway.”

“I care,” said Iola. “And I always knew that you was going to leave. I knew that would happen no matter what. It’s just that it was so much fun. Having you here was fun.”

Nod hopped up on the table and sat down in between them.

“You stupid cat,” said Beverly.

Nod started purring.

“I’m sorry,” said Beverly.

“So am I, honey,” said Iola. “But I guess there’s no point in sitting here crying all day, is there? Get me my purse. You and me are going to go shopping for Christmas dinner.”

They went to Muskie Market and walked down the aisles together. Iola pushed the cart. The lights were bright, and the air-conditioning and the freezers and the refrigerators made so much noise that you couldn’t hear the ocean, which was kind of a relief.

They got green beans and sweet potatoes and regular potatoes and celery. They got cranberries in a can and onions and bread. They got butter.

“I think I’ll make some ambrosia,” said Iola. “Do you like ambrosia?”

“What is it?” said Beverly.

“Well, for heaven’s sake,” said Iola. “I’ll just make it for you, and you’ll find out. Get me some of them itty-bitty marshmallows and some oranges. And maraschino cherries. And let me think on what else I want to put in there.”

She stood with her hands on the cart and stared out into space. Her glasses winked in the overhead light. She was so small.

Beverly put her hand on top of Iola’s. “I’ll come and visit you,” she said.

“Of course you will, darling,” said Iola. “I know that.” She kept staring off into space. She blinked. “Get me some coconut,” she said finally.

“Marshmallows, oranges, maraschino cherries, and coconut. Is that it?” said Beverly.

Iola blinked again. “And also pecans. I believe I’ll put some pecans in there. We need to make it the best ambrosia ever, just so you’ll know how good it can be.”

“Okay,” said Beverly. “I already believe it’s good.”

“Honey,” said Iola, “you will be amazed.” She looked up at Beverly and smiled. “It is just the best thing, the best and sweetest thing there is.”