Page 84 of The Drowned Woman

“What’s this?” They sat down on the rock, facing the river. The water was the last thing Cherise saw, Luka thought, another poem beginning to crystallize in his mind.

“Open it.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He tore the paper off and tugged the box flaps apart. Inside were a dozen or more books, slim volumes of various sizes. Books of poetry. Tennyson, Dickinson, Frost, Eliot, Robert Hayden, Chinua Achebe, Rainer Maria Rilke, Rita Dove. And more.

Luka glanced up at Leah. He recognized these books, knew exactly where they came from: they were Ian’s. “Leah, are you sure? This is a treasure trove—shouldn’t it go to Emily?”

“Emily has plenty to remember Ian by. When he wrote code, he said it felt like writing poetry, so I thought of you.”

He placed his palm over his heart. “Thank you, I’m honored.”

Nate and Emily raced past, Rex leading them both as he chased a butterfly.

“You’re doing a good job with him,” Leah said. “Seems like he’s starting to open up.”

“More like I’m opening up to him.” Luka smiled at the children, feeling as warm inside as outside. “You know, a very wise person said something that I’ll never forget. She said you can’t go your whole life trying not to love. I’ve decided that she’s right.”

“Cherise would agree.” Leah rubbed her wedding ring, glinting in the sunlight.

“As would Ian,” Luka said, knocking his shoulder against hers. He stood and reached a hand down to help her up. “C’mon, let’s go plant some memories.”

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