The Riddle in the Garden

Margaret stood in her garden at twilight, the old fedora perched precariously on her silver hair. It had been Arthur's hat—the one he'd worn to every race, every marathon, every silly morning jog in their forty-seven years together. Five years since he'd passed, and still she sometimes caught herself adjusting the brim before remembering he wasn't there to tease her about stealing his style.

'Grandma! You got another riddle!' Seven-year-old Leo came barreling around the corner, his sneakers pounding against the flagstones. He stopped dead, staring. 'Why are you wearing Grandpa's running hat?'

Margaret smiled, patting the worn felt. 'Because sometimes, even when you're eighty-two and your knees don't bend like they used to, you still feel like you're running toward something wonderful.' She winked. 'Now, what's this riddle?'

Leo fished a crumpled paper from his pocket. 'It's from my mythology class. Teacher said the sphinx asked Oedipus a riddle, and if he couldn't answer, he'd get eaten. But then she said sphinxes also represent wisdom and guarding secrets.' He looked up, eyes wide. 'Which is true, Grandma?'

Margaret's gaze drifted to the concrete sphinx statue Arthur had bought in Egypt on their thirtieth anniversary—said it reminded him of her, because she never gave away her secrets easily. She'd been furious at the comparison then. Now it made her laugh.

'Both, sweet pea. Life is full of things that scare us and things that teach us. Usually the same things.' She knelt slowly, knees popping, and took his hand. 'The sphinx sat at the crossroads, asking travelers who they were. Most couldn't answer.' Her voice softened. 'Your grandfather and I spent our whole lives figuring that out together. Some days we were running toward answers, some days running away from questions.' She smoothed Leo's hair. 'The best secret we learned? You don't have to solve every riddle at once.'