“Neither did I,” I admit, wiping at my own eyes, because apparently, I’m not done crying today.
“Frankly,” Carlotta grunts, “I expected more from Suze.”
I shrug over at the woman. “And I expected nothing less.”
My sisters drift over—Meg with baby Piper balanced on her hip, Charlie with a glass of lemonade and a knowing smile, Lainey with her ever-present sunshine energy and her two little cutie pies—and we form a little cluster of Lemon women watching the Daughters of Honey Hollow carry on like it’s the 1950s all over again.
“Did you really just solve another homicide?” Meg asks, adjusting Piper’s tiny black dress. Like mother, like daughter.
“Yup.”
“On Mother’s Day?” Lainey asks indisbelief.
“Yup.”
“And almost get killed in the process?”
“That, too.”
Charlie shakes her head. “You are insane, Lottie.”
“I prefer dedicated,” I say.
Lainey laughs. “You’re both. And we love you for it.”
“Lottie!” I turn to see Keelie jogging toward us, her blonde hair bouncing, Little Bear toddling along beside her. He spots Lyla Nell and immediately veers off toward the play area where she’s organizing the other children into what looks like a military formation.
“Happy Mother’s Day!” Keelie throws her arms around me, then Meg, Lainey, and Charlie in quick succession. “To the best mommies in the world!”
“Back at you,” I say, hugging her tight. “How’s Little Bear?”
“Wild as ever.” She grins. “Hey, speaking of wild—the circus is coming to town in a couple weeks! We should totally take the kids. Make a whole day of it. Cotton candy, rides, the works.”
“A circus?” Lainey lights up. “The kids would love that.”
“I’m in,” Meg says. “Piper’s probably too young, but I want to see the elephants.”
“There might not be elephants anymore,” Charlie points out. “Isn’t that controversial now?”
“Then I want to see whatever they replaced the elephants with,” Meg declares.
I look at Keelie. “When did you say it’s coming?”
“Two weeks. I saw the posters going up downtown. It’s setting up at the fairgrounds.”
“Count us in,” I say. “What could possibly go wrong at a circus?”
Keelie laughs. “With you? Everything.”
The sun is starting to dip lower in the sky, painting everything in shades of gold and amber that make the whole garden look like a painting. The party continues to rage all around us with women laughing, children playing, the fountain splashing,the jazz drifting softly through the air like a soundtrack to the most perfectly imperfect day.
And here I am, surrounded by my family—biological, blended, chosen, and everything in between. My husband—okay, both of them, sort of—my children, my sisters, and a garden full of women who just watched one of their own get arrested for murder but are still here celebrating Mother’s Day anyway.
Because that’s what family does. They show up.
I look down at the stones in my hands—Bernard Thornbury’s final resting place, now covered in acrylic paint, glitter, and love notes—and I can’t help but laugh.
Motherhood, apparently, means taking whatever life hands you, even when it’s messy and weird and slightly horrifying, and finding a way to live with it.
