Page 16 of April Flowers

“Not great. My mom isn’t home, or she’s not answering, or…” She trailed off. “My parents were always too paranoid to keep a spare key anywhere. But I don’t want to break in, anyway. I feel strange. Like I never really belonged here.”

“But you did,” Sam reminded her. “And you do. You’re still an Earnheart. You’re still Lillian’s daughter.”

Margot knew these words were meant to calm her down, but all they did was ramp up her anxiety. She inhaled sharply and pulled her phone away from her ear, eager to check the ferry timetable and see when she could return to Hyannis and her normal life.

“Why don’t you come over?” Sam suggested. “I’m at my parents’ place with Darcy and the baby, and a few other Colemans are headed here for dinner. Oh! You’re a florist, aren’t you? My sister’s getting married soon. We might need your help.”

Sam was throwing information at Margot faster than she could catch it. Margot swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Sorry. Too much?” Sam laughed. “I’ll text you the address. We don’t bite. I promise. And we have plenty of wine—and a spare bedroom.”

Margot closed her eyes. Exhaustion had fallen over her like a shadow. “I’ll be there soon.”

Samantha’s parents were Roland and Estelle Coleman, one of the wealthier couples on an already mega-wealthy island, who lived, naturally, in one of the more beautiful and expansive properties. This site had been featured more than once on a reality television show calledNantucket Lives and Nantucket Dreams. Margot wasn’t clear what Roland did, exactly—something boring that made him a lot of money—but she was well-versed in Estelle’s career. Estelle was a harlequin romance novelist, a beloved one frequently featured for readings andbook signings at a bookshop Margot loved in Beacon Hill. Once, Margot had poked her head into the shop to see Estelle wearing a gorgeous velvet dress, her hair cascading to her shoulders, her head lifted as she read aloud from her novel. Margot had watched long enough to realize that Estelle had the text memorized. Margot could tell because Estelle looked up at the audience so often that it felt more like a performance on a stage. Her fans adored her. She recognized a few of the fans as frequent visitors of Margot’s Blooms. It made her feel closer to Estelle and closer to Nantucket, even if she hadn’t felt comfortable coming in and re-introducing herself.

But right now, Margot didn’t know what else to do, so she drove to the “Coleman Estate,” hoping Samantha would guide her.

Proof of the goodness of her heart, Samantha was out of the house just as soon as Margot cut the engine. It looked as though time had hardly touched Sam’s beautiful face, and her hair was blond and shining in the February light. When she reached Margot, she didn’t hesitate to hug her. “My girl! How wonderful to see you!”

Margot couldn’t help but laugh. It was a surreal feeling. She wanted to get through the weirdness and out the other side.

Samantha ushered her inside. “Darcy?” she called as they entered the foyer, then twisted her head around to look at Margot. “Did I tell you Darcy just had a baby?”

Margot’s heart thumped. “You didn’t.”

Darcy! My beloved niece! She was already a mother?

It felt impossible. How old was she? Margot did a brief and incorrect calculation in her head. But the numbers fell out of her mind when, suddenly, Darcy appeared in the foyer.

Darcy looked much like other brand-new mothers: exhausted but brimming with happiness. She also looked to be about twenty-five years old. Later, she’d tell Margot she wastwenty-six, which felt impossible. In the foyer, she tucked a curl behind her ear and smiled nervously at Margot.

“Honey, you remember your aunt Margot, don’t you?” Sam asked.

Margot thought she was going to collapse. She hurried to add, “I’m sure you don’t. You were so little the last time we saw each other.”

“I was nine,” Darcy said with a light shrug. “I remember everything.”

Everything? The word hung between them and became more and more powerful. Margot didn’t want to know exactly what Darcy remembered.

“Nine,” Margot said. “I remember. And Rachelle was, what? Seven?”

“Around that,” Sam said.

Margot wasn’t sure what to do. She suddenly ached with the desire to hug Darcy. At the same time, she had the sense that Darcy was a stranger. You didn’t go around just hugging strangers.

When was the last time she’d hugged someone who wasn’t a boyfriend she was about to break up with?

But then, from upstairs, came the sound of a baby crying. Darcy was there, and then, very suddenly, she was gone. Up she went, hurrying to tend to her baby, a brand-new baby in the Coleman family—a blessing.

“Come on,” Samantha urged.

Margot followed Sam into the kitchen, where a clock on the wall read five fifteen. Nobody else was around yet. Sam explained that her father was on his way home from visiting her grandpa Chuck in Martha’s Vineyard, and her mother was upstairs, finishing her word count for the day. “It’s weird to have the house to myself,” she said, retrieving wineglasses fromthe top shelf. “Especially because I wasn’t exactly welcome here. Well, you know that, I guess.”

Margot knew it had been difficult for Sam and that her relationship with her parents had always been strained. As a result, Sam had once grown closer to the Earnhearts, inviting Margot, Melissa, Lillian, Henry, and their father, Frank, over for frequent family parties.

“It’s been two years since we sort of mended everything,” Sam explained, pouring them each a glass of wine and leading Margot to the sun-drenched room along the beach, which was glassed in and warm despite the chill outside. “My divorce kick-started the reunion, I think.”

“Daniel helped out for once?” Margot asked.

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