“I know,” Remi replied, her throat tightening. “I miss him too.”
Zoe looked down at her hands, fingers fidgeting with the bracelet Gerard had given her on her fifteenth birthday—a small gold charm shaped like a sunflower. She never took it off. “Do you ever … feel like just giving up when things get too hard?”
Remi reached over and gently took Zoe’s hand. “Sometimes. But then there are moments like this—sitting here with you, and I remember why I have to keep going.”
Zoe nodded slowly, not quite ready to smile but close.
“We’ll get through this,” Remi added. “In time.”
Zoe leaned her head back against the lawn chair. “Okay.”
“And whatever you’re going through with Bas. It’ll work itself out too.”
Zoe didn’t agree or disagree. She just looked out at the pool.
Downtown Napa was already alive by the time Remi and Zoe arrived. The streets hummed with Monday afternoon energy—locals carrying baskets from the farmers market, tourists snapping photos of historical brick buildings framed by flower boxes and wrought-iron balconies. The scent of espresso and buttery pastries floated from a corner café where two musicians played an upbeat acoustic set.
It was the first time Remi and Zoe had some time to themselves. They’d always spent a good amount of time together when they visited Napa for the summer.
Remi parallel parked beneath the canopy of a large oak tree. Zoe was out of the car before the engine stopped, adjusting her sunglasses and tucking her braids behind her ears, her leather backpack in tow. Remi often wondered what all she carried in that thing and shook her head at the thought. She stepped out of the car more slowly than her eager child, soaking in the sun and the buzz around her.
“Where to first?” she asked.
Zoe hesitated for a moment, then pointed toward the bookstore with its ivy-covered awning and weathered wooden sign.
Remi smiled. “Of course.”
There was a hot new series that all the young readers were raving about—the author was edgy and funny and had garnered a massive following of twentysomething-year-olds. It was the talk of the book world. The fourth book in the series had just been released and Zoe couldn’t wait to get her hands on it—to lose herself between the pages, as she did with so many other books in the past. She was a ferocious reader. Asking Zoe to come to a bookstore was like inviting her to a full course meal or a concert with her favorite artist. She was just that excited about books.
Inside, the shop was quiet, cool, and fragrant with old paper and cedar shelves. The owner, a soft-spoken man namedTheo, waved from the counter and said nothing more. He knew them both well—she and Zoe had spent countless hours in his shop. He knew them well enough to give them space to explore too. They would ask questions if they needed to.
Zoe immediately found the book she was looking for—the coveted fourth book in the series. She held on to it as if it were the last copy on the shelf. Then she drifted toward the back, where vintage vinyls, poetry collections, and obscure zines lined the shelves. Remi moved slower, in a different direction, trailing her fingers across the spines of books she’d read years before—Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, Edwidge Danticat—authors and characters who felt like old friends.
From a nearby shelf, Zoe called softly, “Mom.”
Remi turned as Zoe held up a slim book—On Grief and Grievingby David Kessler and Elisabeth Kübler-Ross.
Remi’s heart clenched. “You want to get it?”
Zoe nodded, her voice barely audible. “Yeah.”
They didn’t say anything else. Just brought it to the register along with a few other finds—an art book for Remi and a record—Scratchby the Crusaders—for Zoe. Her taste for old music and vinyl records had come from her father, who’d been spinning records since she was barely able to walk. They both had a deep love for classic jazz—Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, Sonny Rollins—and Zoe had built an impressive collection of her own, filled with artists like Earth, Wind & Fire, Marvin Gaye, Steely Dan, James Brown, Aerosmith, Elton John. An unusual mix, but Zoe had never been a typical child. Her musical palate was far from typical for someone her age. Gerard had made sure she grew up with soul, funk, and grit in her ears.
After the bookstore, they wandered to Honeybee, a tiny boutique where Zoe tried on two pairs of retro sunglasses and modeled them in the mirror while Remi gave opinions.
“These,” Remi said, pointing. “Very Hollywood …I mean, very Louisiana film student.”
Zoe’s love for the arts, for film, was strong. She was thriving in Xavier’s film program. She grinned, grabbed the glasses from her mother, and bought them. By noon, they were seated at a small riverside café with linen umbrellas and glasses of cucumber water. A summer salad was shared between them—arugula, peaches, and candied pecans.
“You okay?” Remi asked softly, watching her daughter.
Zoe stared across the water, sunglasses pushed up onto her head. “I’ve enjoyed today.” She said it with a light smile.
Remi reached for her hand across the table. “Me too.”
The sunlight, the river, the stillness between them was therapeutic for them both.
Chapter Nine