Page 41 of April Flowers

Margot slipped into the driver’s side and raised her hand before driving off. Noah watched her, suddenly terrified. There was a chance he wouldn’t see her for another twenty years.Please let her show up, he begged of the universe, heading back to his truck.Please, let me see her again.

Chapter Sixteen

That afternoon, Margot helped Lillian take her medication and suggested, “Why don’t you lie down for a little while? The doctor said you need a little more rest than you used to.”

It had been a busy morning: a doctor’s appointment, followed by the grocery store, followed by a run-in with Margot’s favorite ghost, Noah Carson. Probably because she was exhausted, her eyes lined with red, Lillian didn’t argue for long. “I have to play cards later,” she reminded Margot as she mounted the staircase. “Tell your father I won’t be home.”

Margot went to the kitchen and tried to focus on the dishes piled up from breakfast and coffee. But she’d washed no more than half a dish before she cut the water and collapsed into the nearest chair. Outside, another snowfall swirled, matching her inner chaos, her turmoil, and her excitement. She’d seen Noah Carson today. Noah Carson had run after her.

Noah Carson hadn’t forgotten her.

Over the years, Margot had, of course, allowed herself to search online for Noah Carson a handful of times. It wasn’t his style to be on social media, which was something that made her like him even more. But she had learned via the Nantucket HighSchool website that Noah worked with at-risk youths, helping them after rocky periods, assisting them in fixing relationships with their parents, working to find them jobs and next steps. He was the sort of person who never gave up on you. Margot knew that firsthand.

When everything had happened in Margot’s life, when everything had exploded, Noah had said, “Let me help you fix this. Let me help you with what’s next.”

But Margot had been too broken to let him. She’d left instead.

With many hours to kill before her “date,” or whatever it was, Margot tiptoed back into her father’s old study and sat down with her mother’s diaries. She knew she was digging around where she didn’t belong. She knew it was wrong. But curiosity was like a fire in her belly. She couldn’t help but flip to an entry from the day of her birth.

October 3, 1986

This morning, our baby girl came into the world. Margaret Sarah Earnheart, seven pounds, nine ounces. She was quiet at first, looking at Frank and me with all this curiosity and eagerness. I burst into tears immediately. I don’t know why. I think a part of me thought I didn’t have it in me to take care of her. Frank held her first, and the doctor and nurses left for a while to tend to other patients. Another baby girl was born this morning, but I think they’re tourists, or at least Frank said he didn’t recognize the dad.

Frank looks so smitten with the baby. He keeps telling me it’s going to be better this time. “We’ve practiced enough, haven’t we? She’ll be perfect.” But I can’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. What if I’m not enough for her?

It’s strange. People have babies to fill their hearts, I think. But with each of my babies, I’ve felt my heart breaking.

Soon, Daniel, Henry, and Melissa will come to meet their baby sister. They’re apprehensive. Daniel keeps talking about “all that racket” that’s coming. I understand what he means. Usually, a baby comes into the world louder than they’ll ever be later on.

I wonder—do most adults have the instinct to scream and yell like a baby? What makes them stop?

But still, Margot is quite restrained. I wonder what she senses about the world that other babies don’t.

After that, Margot stopped reading, her heart pounding. Her mind’s eye filled with images of a much younger version of her mother, holding Margot on the first day of her life. The fact that her mother had looked down at her with confusion and fear and a broken heart made sense to Margot. What was a baby if not a promise to yourself—a promise that you had to keep yourself upright and clean and focused for another eighteen years? It was an enormous commitment.

Was that why Margot never tried to have a baby?

Or was that because she’d never managed to love anyone but Noah?

Margot didn’t have it in her to keep reading the diary. While her mother slept, she cleaned the kitchen, tidied the living room, and called Gabby at the flower shop to check on things. Gabby was exuberant. She’d taken to the job like a fish to water.

“I feel so proud,” Gabby was saying, speaking too quickly. “I know it’s your shop, and I know you’ll come back soon, but right now, I get to pretend it’s mine.”

Margot laughed. “Your bouquets are sensational. I’m sure everyone is pleased you’re there.”

“They’re not as good as yours,” Gabby protested.

But Margot sensed in Gabby’s voice that Gabby thought her bouquets were just as good as Margot’s—maybe even better. Margot was glad her flower shop was in such capable hands.

“Oh!” Gabby said. “Pete came by the shop.”

Margot snorted with surprise.

“I think he wants to give it another go,” Gabby said, a smile in her voice. “I think he regrets it, you know? Breaking up with you like that. On Valentine’s Day! But I don’t know if he deserves you.”

“Did I ever tell you I used to love someone?” Margot said suddenly, surprising herself. “I thought I was going to marry him.”

Gabby was stunned into silence. “Sorry. How much time have I spent with you now? Why haven’t you mentioned him?”

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