Page 20 of Wildflowers

I shake my head. “Did that actually just happen?”

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

And that’s how we wind up at Aunt Betty’s Cottages. The property isn’t far. Oak trees line the driveway leading to three old but immaculate wooden buildings. One is larger than the others and decorated with a sign saying welcome. Aunt Betty had big feelings about butterflies. They’re everywhere. Painted on the welcome sign and rendered in stained glass for the wind chime.

We find the lady herself beneath a brightly colored blanket on the couch in the reception. Deceased. Still wearing her name badge, however.

“Should we bury her?” I ask.

“If we start burying people, where do we stop?”

He has a point.

Spruce Cottage sadly seems to be occupied, but Larkspur Cottage is happily vacant. The keys are hanging on a hook behind the front desk. Lace was also big with Aunt Betty. It is onthe blankets, cushions, and curtains. Basically, anything in the cottage that could be decorated with lace has been.

As anticipated, however, the accommodations are scrupulously clean and tidy. There’s a small kitchen area with a wooden table and two chairs, a couch, armchair, and coffee table, a big bed, and a bathroom.

Dean says nothing and pulls items out of his pack. Starting with candles and a watertight container full of matches.

When I flick the light switch, nothing happens. He was right about that. But water flows when I turn the tap on the kitchen sink. And a cold shower is better than none at all. Or standing out in the rain and hoping for the best.

“I wonder if the person in the sports car was sick,” I say.

“Not everyone is going to die of the virus. Some people are just stupid. And stupid is now a death sentence.”

“You never gave in to the impulse to do something wild?”

He shrugs. “I kidnapped and caged you.”

“You’re amazingly adept at reminding me why I don’t like you,” I say with a frown.

His answering smile is there and gone in an instant. “I don’t do it on purpose. But without society to keep people in line, things are going to fall apart. We talked about this already.”

“We discussed it briefly. You really think societal norms were that strong?”

“For some people. Especially when it’s backed up by the law. But access to alcohol and drugs, for instance, generally came down to how much money you had. That’s not the case anymore. Anyone can throw a rock through a liquor store window now and drown themselves in whiskey without fear the cops will come calling.”

“Sad to survive the virus just to go out that way.”

“The trauma of watching everyone you know die and having the world fall apart would probably have the most balancedperson reaching for a bottle.” He scratches at his stubble. “Like you said…therapy is going to be a lot harder to get.”

“Mm.”

Speaking of which, inside the small fridge are bottles of water, a six-pack of beer, and a bottle of white wine. Aunt Betty knew how to have a good time. For my purposes, the bottle of wine will do just fine.

“If there’s a tub, we need to fill it,” he says. “And we should start boiling our drinking water.”

“Why?”

“Just to be safe. No idea how long the taps will keep working or how long we can trust the filtration systems.”

“That makes sense.”

“Glad you think so,” says the sarcastic dick.

I put my backpack beside the bed, grab my phone out of it, and head into the bathroom with my bottle of wine. There is indeed a tub. Along with a collection of scented oils and bath salts sitting in a basket bedecked with lace.

I start the water running as suggested. Then I shut the bathroom door and get comfortable with my back against it. This is going to hurt and there’s nothing to be done about it. Not a single thing. My need to hear their voices matters more than the pain. I grit my teeth, turn on the phone, and watch the notifications fill the screen.

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