She wore the green sweater. The one William bought her. It matched the color she was wearing when they first met. He said the green complimented the cornflower blue of her eyes and reminded him of his grandmother’s garden where he chased butterflies and dreamed the dreams of childhood.

She looked in the mirror and smiled. She could imagine him racing about and then falling into the soft grass to stare up at the sky and let a ladybug crawl across his fingers. He never lost that innocent quality, her William.

Spring was coming late this year. The groundhog saw his shadow and raced quickly back to his home for six more weeks of slumber. Still, she could see tiny bits of green pushing through the snow promising crocus and daffodils if we were patient. She was patient. Aways hopeful of another spring, the sparrows were already building their nests. Soon, the snow would be gone, and the damp soil would yield fat, juicy worms for the robins.

She walked carefully not wanting to slip. Only yesterday, patches of ice or puddles of water were adventures not enemies. Still, she walked. She walked to the market and selected her groceries, carefully pulling them home in a wagon. She walked to the library and read to the children during story hour. She walked to the church for morning mass and stayed to help make food for the soup kitchen.

On Sunday after mass, she walked to the little flower shop on Bristol to pick up the three small bouquets Sam always had waiting. Something pink for her mother Agnes; yellow roses for her father Lowell, and shamrocks for her William.

The soft tinkling of the bells on the flower shop door always took her back to the first day she and William opened the shop almost forty years ago. The bells had been William’s idea, so they could hear customers come in if they were working in the back. When she sold the shop to Sam and her wife, Fiona, they kept them. They also kept the little greenhouse where William grew his shamrocks. The shamrocks she lovingly placed on his grave every Sunday.

The shop hadn’t changed much; a little fresh paint and a new display case, but the arrangements were trendier and more upscale matching the revitalization of the neighborhood she loved so much.

The kids didn’t understand why she stayed instead of moving to Florida or North Carolina to be with her siblings where it was warm, and she wouldn’t be alone. But she understood; she was never alone. She had friends here. Fewer with each passing year, but the ones who stayed were nearby. She could walk to their homes or visit with them at the Senior Center or the church. They got together to make cookies for the cookie table when a family member or neighbor was having a wedding. They shared the wedding photos and felt a sense of pride for a job well done and a tradition kept.

The children at the library knew her and called her by name when they saw her in the neighborhood. She knew the shop keepers and she got to know the people they hired. She welcomed new neighbors with flowers from the little flower shop just like she and William used to do.

Who would look after her parents’ graves if she left? And of course, there was William. He was everywhere. He was in every corner of their home, laughing, eating, loving… she saw it all as she looked around those rooms. She could hear his laughter when a subtle breeze danced through the wind chimes on the back porch.

When she walked, she was taking their walks, the places they went together always holding hands. When she placed the shamrocks on his grave, it was a promise they would be together again one day. And it wouldn’t matter if no one were there to bring them flowers because they would have each other, hearts, and hands side by side for all eternity.