“Probably not every night, but it’ll be nice to be nearby.”
“We wanted to make sure you were okay with the idea,” Quinn says.
“I think it’s fab-oo-lous!” Lily wraps her arms around my neck.
I hug her back. “You’re the one who’s fabulous.” I glance over at Quinn. “And your mommy Quinn is pretty fabulous, too.”
Ruffles barks and jumps up on the sofa, not wanting to miss out on the action.
Lily giggles. “She wants you to say she’s fab-oo-lous, too.”
I pet the furry creature’s head. “You’re all right for a dog.”
“No!” Lily laughs. “Fab-oo-lous!”
“Okay, okay. Every female living in this house is absolutely fabulous.”
Over Lily’s shoulder, I see Quinn smiling. I give her a thumbs-up, and she returns the gesture.
I love how she handled the conversation, how gentle yet honest she was with Lily. I already thought she was amazing, but the more I’m around her, the more I find to admire.
—
ON SATURDAY, Idump yet another bag of topsoil in the just-built raised garden bed, then wipe my brow. It’s hot as blazes. Across from me, Quinn and another volunteer are spreading the soil with rakes. It occurs to me that having a pregnant woman out in the summer heat might not have been my brightest idea.
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine.”
“You should have stayed home and rested this morning.”
“I wanted to come. I enjoy gardening, and I love the idea of helping out.” She grins over at Lily, who’s lying on top of a stack of soil bags. “But it looks like somebody else needed extra rest.”
“I’m not restin’,” Lily says. “I’m huggin’ the Dirt Mother.”
“Huh?” I say.
“Mommy said the Dirt Mother grows plants an’ animals an’ people, an’ we need to give her lots of love.”
“Oh—Mother Earth!” Quinn says with a laugh. “Yes, Lily—that’s absolutely right. Your mommy talked a lot about Mother Earth and how we need to take care of her.”
“Yeah,” Lily says. “So I was givin’ her a hug.”
I look at Quinn and we exchange a smile, but my throat grows kind of thick. What a funny, loving, pure-hearted little creature Lily is!
She stands up, her pigtails bouncing. The front of both her T-shirt and shorts are covered with soil. She tries to dust them off, but her efforts are foiled by the mud-caked garden gloves she’s wearing.
“Oh, honey, you’re smearing dirt all over your clothes!” says a white-haired volunteer approaching with a flat of seedlings.
“It’s okay,” Lily says. “These are the get-dirty kind of clothes. Mommy Quinn says clothes can be washed and they shouldn’ get in the way of livin’ life.”
A male volunteer with a neatly trimmed gray-and-black beard laughs. “I like the way she thinks.”
“I do, too,” Lily says, her face serious.
“I do, three,” I chime in.
Quinn laughs and gives the woman a smile. “All I can say is thank goodness for washable safety seat covers and wet wipes.”
