Page 19 of April Flowers

Margot! He thought because ever since he’d run into Sam on Sunday, Margot hadn’t been far from his mind. Was she back in Nantucket? He searched his heart for some understanding of whether she was here. Shouldn’t he be able to feel it?

You aren’t psychic, Noah, he reminded himself, annoyed.

When he answered, Sam’s tone was strained. “Hey. I’m sorry to bother you like this.”

Is she here? Is she all right? What is she talking about? What does she look like? Did she mention me?

The questions buzzed through his mind, but he knew he couldn’t ask them.

“This is sort of crazy,” Sam said. “But I need to ask a favor.”

He waited, thinking,Margot wants to see me? Margot wants to talk?

“Anything. I’ll try to help,” he said instead.

“It’s crazy. Margot got back yesterday and went immediately to the old Earnheart place. You know, where Lillian has lived by herself for twenty years. But Lillian wasn’t there. So we had Margot over for dinner, thinking Lillian would show up by nightfall at the very least. But nope! No Lillian. Not this morning, either.”

Noah was on his feet.

“I think I mentioned she has Alzheimer’s?” Sam said. “I’m terrified she wandered off. Just, if you happen to have time to drive around today…”

“I’m on it,” Noah said, racing to grab his keys.

“Thanks, Noah. Really.” Sam hesitated, and Noah prayed she’d tell him something else, something about Margot. But that was it. “Call me if you see her.”

“Will do.”

Noah fell into a sort of trance. For hours, he drove up and down Nantucket, parking at beautiful beaches and near the bluffs, hopping out to search for Lillian, calling her name. The wind was especially blustery and seemed to make a mockery of all his yelling. How could anyone possibly hear him? But doing something worthwhile—something for Margot—felt productive.

All he wanted to do was walk up to Margot and say,I did it for you. I’m here to help you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.

But of course, he could only do that if he found Lillian.

Right now, Lillian felt like a needle in a haystack. But he kept going, pausing only briefly around two to grab a burger. As he scarfed the burger in the parking lot and texted Sam to see if there were any updates (not yet), his phone rang. It was the school.

His heart thudded in his ears.

Maybe it was Mr. Marcum asking if he could restart his after-school program sooner than two weeks. Perhaps it was one of Avery’s teachers calling to compliment him on how bright and attentive Avery was. Maybe it was a prank call.

Noah swallowed a bite of burger and pressed his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

The news was not entirely unexpected.

It was also the worst he’d received all day.

Chapter Eight

Lillian Earnheart had never disappeared like this. As far as Margot knew, her mother had always been steadfast in her belief that being at home, locked away from the outside world, was the best course of action. It kept her safe. It kept her away from the ever-terrifying, ever-changing world of different ideas and horror stories, most of which involved Nantucket tourists (tourists she was always frightened of). Frequently in Avery’s childhood, Lillian had said, “There’s nothing more terrifying than other people.” Margot had grown up with a mix of equal fear and annoyance. She wondered what had happened to her mother that made her so frightened of everything.

Margot had been driving around all day, from six that morning to now, two thirty in the afternoon. It felt as though her stomach was eating itself. Now, she found herself returning to her childhood home, just in case her mother had somehow found her way back since she’d checked that morning. But again, there was no car in the garage and no sign that anyone had gone inside. Exhausted, she slumped over on the front porch and called Sam to report back.

“Nothing?” Sam asked when she answered.

“No.” Margot licked her lips, remembering Gabby and all the ChapStick she kept behind the flower shop counter. Oh, how she missed the warmth of her wonderfully smelling and brightly lit flower shop! “I’m at the house now. Have you heard from the cops?”

“No,” Sam admitted. They’d called them last night when Lillian hadn’t shown up, and they’d called them again that morning. Because Lillian had Alzheimer’s, they’d immediately gone on alert, looking all over for her. But even her car hadn’t been found.

Margot wanted to blame all of this on small-town cops and their inefficient resources, but she knew that was unfair.

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