Chapter 230

• The letter sat on the counter for half the morning before I opened it. At first I thought it was another request from a brand, another offer I would probably turn down. But the handwriting on the envelope looked different. It was slower, careful, as though whoever wrote it believed letters still mattered.
• Inside was a note from the curator of the botanical garden. He wrote that he had slipped into the boutique a few weeks ago, unnoticed, and had been struck by the way the fabrics seemed to carry their own kind of breath. He asked if I would bring them into the garden for a seasonal show.
• For a moment I just held the page. A garden show was not something I had ever thought about. Fabric belonged on bodies, on mannequins, inside spaces where the light was controlled and the air predictable. Out there among trees and flowers, anything could happen. Rain. Wind. Silence that swallowed everything.