Page 29 of April Flowers

“She was out with some guy. Vic Rondell? Have you heard of him?”

“Nope.” He hoped Sam couldn’t hear how little he cared.

But Sam was an empath. He couldn’t get anything past her. Her tone shifted. “Noah? You good?”

Noah sniffed. “Um. Long story.”

“Explain.”

“Well. You remember my niece?”

“Avery. Yeah.”

“She told me she was ready to start school this morning, and I was stupid enough to believe her. She slipped out, maybe around lunch. They don’t know. I’m out looking for her.”

Sam groaned. “Oh, Noah. I’m so sorry. You both have been through so much.”

Noah was silent.

“Have you gone back home? Checked there?”

“Yeah,” Noah admitted.

He didn’t want to tell her his greatest fear was that she’d left the island, that she was somewhere, shivering, waiting for a bus that would take her to still more trouble, more loneliness, more ache. At sixteen, she could do very little for herself. There were people out there eager to take advantage of her. He wanted to scream.

“I can help you look,” Sam offered.

“It’ll be dark soon.” Noah sighed. “I’m sure wherever she is, she’s trying to find shelter. She’s acting like an idiot, but she isn’t an idiot deep down. Perhaps she’ll be back in juvie in a few days. Hopefully, she’ll turn up.”

Perhaps then she’d want to make a real go of it with Noah. Maybe then she’d tell him what was going on.

“Ugh. Noah. I don’t know what to say.”

“I better go,” Noah said.

He hung up and kept driving, rerouting himself back to his place. The sky was the color of a purple bruise.

Where are you, Avery?he thought, hoping that wherever she was, she could feel how much he feared for her.Don’t you know you’re the only person I care about in the world?

Chapter Twelve

Margot cleaned the kitchen and made herself and her mother steaming cups of green tea. Together—as though it were a far different and earlier year, they sat in front of the television and watched the slender blond woman on The Cooking Channel start a soufflé. Maybe because Lillian had decided to trust Margot, even if she wasn’t fully sure who she was right now, Lillian said, “That little girl doesn’t know what she’s up against. There’s no way she can make a soufflé.”

“You don’t think so?” Margot asked.

“She’s nothing but skin and bones. You have to have grit to make a soufflé.”

It was a funny quote, Margot thought. It was amusing enough for a cooking show. Maybe Lillian—with all her personality and hot-headedness—had been meant to be famous. Instead, she’d been the mother of four children (although she’d only set out to mother three). Instead, she was a widow and losing herself to Alzheimer’s.

Life is never what we plan for, Margot thought. Then she reminded herself that the life she’d built—owning her own flower shop—was one she was rather proud of. No, she didn’thave a romantic partner or any real close friends. But nothing was perfect.

At least she wasn’t her mother.

Suddenly, during a commercial break, it was as though the light in Lillian’s mind flipped back on again. She turned and gave Margot a shadowy smile. “Margot, are you going to tell me why you’re here or what?”

Margot gaped at her. It was almost like her mother was playing a game with her—testing her to see what she knew and what she didn’t.

An advertisement for a cotton candy machine played on the television, and two cartoon children were eating as much as they could at once. The music was sugary sweet.

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