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“Hi,” said Annie. “Is this, um, are you the gardeners?”
Stupid question. Why else would a group of people be gathered around a patch of waste ground behind a bus shelter, leaning on spades and pulling up weeds?
A woman with a baby in a sling said, “We sure are. Come to join us? I’m Kate and this is Finn.”
Annie looked at the little face peeping out, and realized it didn’t hurt as much as it used to. She could smile at a baby now without always seeing Jacob, his small body on that terrible morning, his skin already cold. It would never leave her, not really, and she didn’t want it to. But at least she could function again. “I’m Annie. What can I do?”
“You could help Geoff pull up those weeds over there, maybe.”
Geoff was an older man in a Rolling Stones T-shirt and white beard. He took off his soil-covered glove to shake her hand. “Welcome, Annie. Know your way around a trowel, do you?”
“I think so.” She put down her mat and knelt, feeling the give of the earth beneath her. This patch of ground didn’t look like much now—sprouting with cow parsley and nettles, filled with broken bottles and no doubt worse—but with a bit of work she knew they could make it flower again.