Maya nodded seriously, clutching a pillow. “Grandma would’ve hated this.”
“So,” Maya said. “What happens in May?”
Leo laughed. “That’s exactly what it is. Wet dirt and hope.”
And when they went inside, Maya made hot chocolate—terrible, watery hot chocolate—and Leo added a splash of bourbon to his. They sat by the window, watching the sheets flutter in the dark, and listened to the wind try one last time to be winter.
“You have to do it before the May heat cooks them,” he said. “April is the month of second chances.”
That night, a late frost warning came through on every phone in the county. Leo and Maya ran outside with old bedsheets, draping them over the tomato plants like ghosts. They laughed until their stomachs hurt, breath fogging in the cold air that had sneakily returned.
“Green is rain. Red is bad. Pink is where you go to the basement.”