Spring came earlier than expected. The herb noticed first. By the second week of March it was moving again with the same ambitious energy that had made her refuse to cut it back in January. Then the rosebush. New growth at the stem ends. The specific determined green of something that had been waiting through the cold and had decided the waiting was over. She planted the tomatoes on a Saturday. Lorenzo helped without being asked. He appeared at the garden door with the second trowel from the shed and crouched beside her and they worked down the row together the same way they had worked down every row in every season since she had arrived here. "Your mother called this morning," he said. "I know," she said. "I missed it. I'll call back after this." "She wants to come next weekend," he said. "I know," she said. "She wants to see the lemon tree." "Is the lemon tree ready to be seen?" he said. She pressed a seedling into the earth. "The lemon tree has two leaves and a great deal
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