The rain had turned steady, and the treehouse was leaking in three places now. Juno grabbed jars, Kaylani used towels, and Kalen tried to patch the roof with a board that didn’t quite fit.
“We need buckets,” Solani said. “And fast.”
"There's some at the shed, we can get a bunch, but who's going to go? If we go to the house, they may make us stay inside because of the rain; we might as well wait it out", Kalen blurted out
“I’ll go,” Juno offered, already slipping Lupi into her pouch.
The garden shed was about a hundred yards away, tucked behind the Mateo family’s home—the clinic below, their living space above. Juno ran through the rain, feet splashing, heart thudding.
The shed stood ahead simple, weathered, with a slanted roof and a single misted window. From the outside, it looked like any other shed.
But as she reached it, the door creaked open—not by her hand, but by someone already inside.
Juno stepped through—and stopped.
Inside, the space glowed.
Plants hung from the rafters in clay pots, their leaves trailing like whispers. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of dried herbs, bundles of fabric, and tiny labeled boxes.
A sewing machine sat on a wooden station, surrounded by spools of thread and a bin of soft material.
Lanterns hung from hooks, each one different—some stitched, some painted, some glowing faintly with Willow Wicks. A white wicker couch sat inviting with plush oversized cushions. You weren’t sure whether to sit or take a nap—it looked so cozy. Gentle flute music lulled the air.
The rain and the candles, the colors and scent, the plants everything, created a warm atmosphere, and Juno's eyes took in everything.
Mama stood at the far end, tying a bundle of pens with a rubber band. Her wrap was dusted with flour, paint splashes, and rosemary. She turned, eyes soft and knowing.
“You’re here for buckets,” she said, already reaching for them. “And towels, I imagine the kids sent you.”
“You’re wet, there's a towel to dry off, she said pointing to a shelf that had towels neatly stacked on a shelf.
And here's somethings for whatever project you guys are up to” she said, already reaching for a basket. “I put a few items together—things together, and some snacks and juice are in there.”
She handed Juno a small box of supplies, a folded cloth pouch stitched with a butterfly, and a lantern already lit.
“And towels, tell them don't leave them out, they will mold” she added. “There's some buckets too. Tell Solani and the rest—if it gets too wet, come home. I’ll let Mateo know you kids are going to need help.”
"Can you carry all of this?", Amari asked Juno
Juno nodded, breathless. She had an empty paint bucket in one hand, towels rolled inside and some supplies in one hand, a glowing lantern in the other, and a basket of goodies tucked under her arm.
She looked around once more, eyes wide. The outside had given no hint of this. It was like stepping into a story.
“This shed,” Mama said softly, “wasn’t built for tools. It was built for creating. For remembering.” She looked kind and Juno wondered why they hadn't spoken about her more.
Juno smiled. She could see the strength Solani carried—and now, she knew where it came from.
Juno nodded, breathless.
Amara handed her the supplies, then paused. “Are all of you guys together, you're not getting too wet, are you?”
Juno blinked. “We're in treehouse. We're going to fix it for the Canopy Club.”
Juno was careful with the words she didn't want the kids to have to come home yet.
Amara smiled, the kind that felt like sunlight after rain. “Then take this too.”
She handed Juno a small flashlight and a pouch—stitched with a butterfly, faintly scented with rosemary.
“For memory,” she said. “And for light.” Have fun.