Page 92 of Dead Love
“What is it, sweetheart?” my mother asked. The grin on my mother’s face was pressed against her lips, permanently there. Like she expected from me. Her hand dropped from my back, but Andrew continued to stroke my arm. I flinched away, but he inched closer.
I couldn’t tell her the truth.
“I thought I saw someone,” I lied. I widened my smile, showing my teeth. But Shea’s eyes darted around the room.
“Who did you see?” she asked.
“Miss Kora and Miss Shea, you can rest assured that if you were in any danger, I would put your safety above my own,” Andrew said, putting a hand up to his heart. I grit my teeth.
“Let’s go,” Shea said, pulling my arm toward the door. “We should head back to the shop anyway.”
At Poppies & Wheat, the new seasonal worker, Nikki, wasn’t the fastest learner, but she was dedicated to doing her job as perfectly as possible every time. At first, this made her five times slower, but by the end of the day, she had gotten the hang of it. And it was like nothing had changed. The same customers. The same windows to stare out of. The same dreams to let go of. Just now, Nyla was gone, and Nikki was here.
But there were some differences. Like going with my mother on errands. Part of me thought that she truly wanted to include me, and the other part knew that it might have been her fear, that if she left me alone at the shop, I would disappear again.
One of Shea’s committees was meeting at the farmer’s market downtown. Booths were set up on either side of us in turquoise tents. I zoned out, looking around, taken aback by the number of people. But one booth stopped me: black and white art hung inside, a few canvases displayed on easels. Still life. Mount Punica. A portrait of a man standing by the stream near the flower shop.
“We’re hosting a competition auction,” a man said. He lifted his baseball cap so we could make eye contact. “Whichever piece gets the highest bid wins a gift certificate to Art Supplies & More. Auction proceeds go to the organization, We Are One Family.”
I glanced back at my mother. Her eyes flicked over to me, but she continued talking to the committee. I pulled the folded paper out of my pocket. For some reason, I had kept his painting with me, afraid that my mother would find it if I left it at the rental house. Would Vincent be mad if I entered his work?
Screw it. He wanted to protect me, and I wanted to do this for him.
The man handed me a submission card. “You want to enter?”
I filled it out quickly, leaving the artist’s name blank. On the title, I wrote,Her Ashes.I hoped Vincent would understand. At least here, in a contest, it would go to a good home where my mother wouldn’t find it.
“You don’t want to leave your name and number?” he asked.
I shook my head, then joined my mother, politely smiling whenever she turned to me for input. After she finished her meeting, we walked side by side, back through the farmer’s market. She never once glanced at the black and white art booth.
“There’s a wildflower I was curious about adding to our seasonal bouquet,” I said, as nonchalantly as I could manage. “I hear they have it on Mount Punica.” Shea didn’t say anything, so I continued on: “I was thinking we could look for it together.”
“Oh?” She tilted her head. “Which flower?”
I paused, biting my lip. “The narcissus.”
“A daffodil? We could have those delivered in perfect condition overnight if we wanted.” She tossed her hair over her shoulders. “That would be a waste of time.”
“It’s a rare species,” I muttered, but she must have known I was making it up now.
“I’ve never seen them on Mount Punica before.”
“I have.”
“Where?”
“Off of the Wild Berry Trailhead.”
The realization crossed her face, twisting her nerves. She remembered who we had seen the last time we were there together.
“Why do you want to go there?” she asked.
“I told you. I want to see if they have a narcissus.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
I perked up. “Really?”
