Page 16 of When Sparks Fly

Her hands clasp in front of her, hinting that she probably wants to reach out to me, but doesn’t. This restraint gives me more comfort than she knows.

“I doubt you know this, but your grandmother was at my house the night I got the call about my daughter being in the hospital.” Her bright eyes slip to the floor in memory. “My daughter, Samantha, was pregnant with ourfirst grandbaby. A little girl.” Her mouth tips up wistfully and she draws her eyes back up to mine. My heart clenches and I expect the worst.

“Everyone was on their way out. I hosted Bunco that month.” Her story isn’t hurried, but her words pick up. “My son-in-law called—which was odd because, although we have a wonderful relationship, he didn’t usually call. Sammi did.”

She digs in her purse for a moment before removing a thin, black wallet. After unlatching it, she turns it to show me a photo without explanation.

A gorgeous young woman, looking close in age to me, beams widely back at the camera. Her dark hair is tucked into a black graduation cap and falls over the matching gown, with a deep green sash over her shoulder. The resemblance between the two is obvious, despite the dark hair color, which must come from her dad.

“She’s beautiful.” I meet Andi’s eyes and hope for a pleasant end to this story. Whether she knows it or not, she’s allowed me to focus on someone else’s heartache instead of my own. To lean in, instead of pulling back.

“That was her graduation day. Baylor.” She beams in opposition to her watery eyes, then closes the wallet and places it back into her purse. “Justin, my son-in-law, let me know Sammi had been admitted to the hospital. She’d had a stroke as a complication of undiagnosed pre-eclampsia.”

My mouth threatens to drop open, but I catch it and reach forward without thinking to squeeze her hand. She gives me an appreciative squeeze back. “The baby, Viviane, was okay. It was an emergency c-section.”

She’s quiet for long enough that I’m not sure if she plans to, or can, go on. “I’m so sorry your family had to go through that. Is your daughter okay?” I’m terrified to ask, but also hopeful she wouldn’t have brought up something she isn’t ready to discuss.

“She’s home now. Justin was amazing, taking care of Viviane and caring for Sammi. He’s such a wonderful dad. We go up as often as we can.”

She smiles at me. “I don’t know what I would have done without Ruthie that day. I was determined to get in my car and drive right to Dallas, but she talked me into waiting until my husband, Michael, could get home and we could go together. She was right, too. I was in no condition to drive.”

“I’m so glad she was there for you. Thank you for sharing with me.” For a moment, I’m frustrated at my lack of words. Why is it that ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ can’t always convey what they need to, and yet they are so often all that can be offered?

“I’ll let you get back to everyone else. It was good to see you again. I can see why Ruthie was so incredibly proud of you.”

My heart swells. My grief is momentarily overshadowed by pride.

“Thanks for coming,” I say with a smile and gesture awkwardly to the bathroom as if Andi needs my permission to enter. If she notices, she doesn’t let on.

The living room has cleared out, though I notice more bouquets throughout the space as I head outside.

“Fabulous.” I backtrack into the living room. “More fucking flowers.”

It smells like a floral shop again and the mix of flowers invades my sinuses.

Rearranging vases, I catch a glimpse of Stephanie’s head swiveling back and forth on the front lawn through the front window. No doubt looking for me.

The screen door thumps closed. I sigh heavily and turn from the window braced to head into the crowd. I’ve reached my quota of somber words.

Sutton stands in the entry, eyes on me.

“Sutton, hi.” Surprise fills my words.What a greeting.

He removes his hat, holding it before him like he did at the funeral home.

“Maci.” He greets me in that cordial, southern way, giving nothing away as to what he could be thinking. Though, I suspect it’s that I need professional help.

Coming into the foyer, I gesture to the hall. “Your mom is in the bathroom.”

His eyes follow the motion briefly before coming back to me. “I wasn’t looking for her.” He assesses the living room. “Giving the flowers hell again?”

My cheeks heat and a rush of adrenaline floods my chest. “I—"

He chuckles and raises his hands in supplication. “No judgment here.”

I manage a small smile as he studies my face, like he’s contemplating saying something. His eyes flit back and forth between mine and the necklace from Nana. Instinctively, I grab it and drag the stone along the chain.

“I was on the front porch.” He jerks his chin over his shoulder and my eyes follow. Through the window, the tired swing glides back and forth, empty. “I thought I heard you in here talking to yourself.”

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