Eight-year-old Nanna opened her eyes to the gentle murmuring of voices drifting from Grandmother's living room. She didn't remember falling asleep. She remembered that Grandmother had died yesterday.
It was a very warm morning in August. She looked outside through the floor-to-ceiling window. Sunlight spilled across the stone floor, where pots of bright red geraniums and deep purple petunias crowded the steps and gathered around the blue, rectangular, shallow pool.
The water shimmered quietly, and green plants climbed along the walls and windows, making the courtyard feel like a secret garden tucked inside the house.
At the far end of the yard, behind the pool, stood a wooden arbor covered in thick green vines. The leaves spilled over the beams like a green curtain, casting soft, dappled shade underneath. Sunlight peeked through the leaves and wooden lattice, making little patches of light dance across the garden below.
Nanna thought, "Grandmother is not gonna stop me from climbing up the wooden arbor anymore!” Grandmother had died!
She got up and peeked through the door into the living room. Grandmother's house was full of people. They all seemed to have forgotten how to laugh.
That afternoon, Nanna's cousins were going to sing for the family in memory of Grandmother, who loved singing. They had practiced at school. Nanna didn't know what to sing!
She saw a portrait of Grandmother with white flowers arranged around it at the front of the room. Grandmother didn't like white flowers.
Nanna thought about how Grandmother had always loved red and purple flowers. She knew because she spent every summer with her, falling asleep to her stories — stories about kings and queens, gods and goddesses, little girls who were frightened but brave, who got lost and found their way home.
Nanna had to sit down so her cousins could sing their songs. They knew all the words.
When their song was over, she stood up, looked around, and began to sing the stories out loud.
Everyone was quiet. She finished her song.
Before going to sit next to her cousins, she said, "Grandmother doesn't like white flowers."
