The first person who asked to be taught was a bus driver.

He didn’t say it like that. He said, “Your kid has a way of calming rooms,” and he said it with the cautious politeness of someone who expected to be laughed at. He’d come to the gardening day because his doctor told him to lower his blood pressure. He stayed because the silence felt different there, like it wasn’t accusing him of wasting time.

Marga was nine by then. Taller. Still hated socks with seams.

She looked at him, ...