Chapter 18 - Arthur's Garden
Spring arrived early in Columbus that year. The snow melted, giving way to blooming purple crocuses and bright yellow daffodils along the brick walkway of my home.
With the restitution money Kyle was ordered to pay, along with the recovered rental income, I hired a local landscape architect to transform my backyard.
Where Denise had once parked her rusted lawn chairs and thrown cigarette butts into my hydrangeas, a stone memorial garden now bloomed.
In the center sat a solid granite bench, dedicated to Arthur. Beside it was a tranquil stone water fountain, bubbling softly under the shade of a flowering dogwood tree. On the granite bench, I had the stonemason engrave Arthur’s favorite quote:
*“Peace is not the absence of trouble, but the presence of honor.”*
On Sunday afternoons, I would sit on that bench with a fresh cup of Earl Grey tea and read my mystery novels in uninterrupted, glorious quiet.
No surprise doorbells.
No uninvited guests rummaging through my refrigerator.
No strangers shouting at a football game while trampling my rugs.
May you like
My home was once again my sanctuary.
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